“Make the call,” Claire said. “Damn it, Joan! Run!”
Claire’s mind was reeling. She obviously couldn’t count on Joan to do what needed to be done, and she didn’t know if she could count on Robert to help her, either. Claire was surrounded by eccentrics when she needed an ambulance filled with professionals and a platoon of cops.
She went back to Robert and Peter. Robert had completely lost his cool. As far as Claire could tell, he wasn’t acting. Clearly, he cared a lot about the man in his arms—and that man was currently pale, sweaty, and losing consciousness. She told Robert, “Joan is calling an ambulance.” Honestly, she couldn’t be confident that Joan had listened to her, but she hoped the news would calm Robert down.
Claire walked toward the street and looked out over a grassy hillock and the stone staircase that led toward the drive, the gates, and the street.
She was completely unprepared to see a woman’s body sprawled out on the stairs, her head facing toward the bottom.
Oh, my God. Peter had killed someone.
Of course. She and Joan had heard shots at breakfast, and they had been fatal. Claire ran toward the body, and once she got closer, her heart almost stopped.
It couldn’t be true, but it was.
The woman on the steps had a blond mop of curls and her entire outfit was baby blue. It was Cindy.
And she was lying motionless on the ground.
Please. Don’t let her be dead.
Chapter 27
Claire knelt down beside her friend. There was blood at Cindy’s temple. A head wound. But Claire could see the gentle rise and fall of Cindy’s chest. Her friend was still breathing.
Claire felt her pulse. It was strong. Thank you, Lord.
“Cindy, can you hear me? It’s me, Claire.”
She gently turned Cindy’s head and looked for the source of the blood. She was covered in it. It was running from her temple, down her neck, and into her sweater. Had Cindy been shot in the head?
But then Claire found it. Four inches behind the temple, at the back of her head, was a bloody gash. Not a hole. Claire parted Cindy’s hair and saw that the laceration looked like it had been caused by Cindy’s fall. She must have hit her head on the edge of a stone tread.
Claire put her hands on Cindy’s shoulders.
“Cindy. It’s Claire. Can you hear me?”
Cindy groaned and Claire said, “Thank you, God.”
“Claire? What happened?”
“Put your arms around my neck.”
Cindy reached up, and Claire helped her friend into a more comfortable position. She sat her on a step, and leaned her back against the edge of the wall.
“How do you feel?”
“My head hurts. And I think I twisted my ankle.”
“Aw, Cindy. I’m here. I’m here.” Claire patted her friend’s back.
Claire saw Cindy’s handbag below the steps, lying on the grass. She ran down to get it, opened the hobo bag, and poured out the contents. She pawed through the litter of purse junk until she found it.
Cindy’s cell phone. She checked the battery. The phone was charged.
Next, she dialed the radio room at the Hall and let out a breath of relief when she got the voice of dispatcher May Hess. May knew every cop in the Southern Station. And she knew everyone in the ME’s office, as well. Claire was in good hands.
“May, this is Claire Washburn and I’m reporting an emergency. I need an ambulance pronto to 420 El Camino Del Mar. We’ve got a man bleeding out from multiple gunshots. And we have another victim here with a head injury. When I say pronto, I mean it. Get everyone moving at the speed of light.”