Murder in the River City(20)

Shauna cried out, then sat heavily on the bed. “Did you forget how to count in L.A.?”

“It’s better if it’s a surprise. No chance to tense up.” Sam gently massaged her muscles while looking for other injuries.

John said, “I take it that wasn’t your first dislocated shoulder.”

“I think it was number five. No, six. And I could have fixed it myself if I hadn’t been tied up.”

Shauna was clutching her stomach a bit too much. Sam made a move to look at what caused her pain, and she turned away. “I’m fine,” she said as she winced from the sudden move.

“Call an ambulance,” Sam told John.

“I said no,” Shauna said.

“What did he do to you?”

“I’ll be fine. You call an ambulance and I’ll never speak to you again.” She stared at Sam, but her eyes weren’t quite in focus.

Sam put his hands on her head and felt around for bumps. She yelped when he touched a big lump on the back of her head, sticky with blood.

“Sam, I promise you, I’ll be fine. I’m more angry than hurt.”

“I’m taking you to Mike.”

“No!”

“Ambulance or your brother. You choose.”

She glared at him, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Fine. Have Mike meet us at Dooley’s.”

“Riley, go talk to the manager, find out if there’re any security tapes, then start interviewing the neighbors.”

“On it,” Riley said and left the apartment.

John turned to Shauna. “Tell me what happened.”

“I came here to get all Mack’s financial papers for my granddad and take out the garbage. I thought the place was a mess, but didn’t really think about it until I came into the bedroom and saw the drawers misaligned. And the papers in the desk were in no order, like they were thrown in.” She looked pointedly at John. “I called you. You didn’t pick up.”

John sighed, but didn’t respond to her comment. Sam wouldn’t have either. But Sam said, “Why didn’t you call me? Didn’t we just have this conversation? That I’m on your side?”

“I didn’t have your number in my phone.”

She stared at him and Sam realized the truth. She’d deleted it. Why was he surprised?

Shauna continued. “I decided I should call 911 and report a break in—since you didn’t answer my call—and then I heard someone pick the lock. I ran to the bedroom and hid behind the door. I sent John a text message. But the intruder must have seen or heard me because he came in, hit me with the door, and tied me up. I screamed when my shoulder popped out. End of story.”

There was more to it, Sam was certain. She was too bruised just to have been hit by the door.

“Can you describe him?”

“Not well. He was wearing a white hoodie, but he was white with a fair complexion, pale eyes—light green or blue—and had a square jaw with a dimple. Clean-shaven. Smelled like cologne. Just a little, but nothing I recognized. Jeans. Wore gloves. But I think you should still dust for prints because someone else was here. And someone came here on Saturday night after Mack got off work, brought him beer. The receipt is in the refrigerator, tucked in the cardboard carrier. Mack doesn’t peel off his beer labels, but his guest did.”

“Slow down,” John said.

“This is important!”

“I can’t write as fast as you talk,” he said.

Sam didn’t know if he was joking or not.

John asked, “Do you know what, if anything, was taken?”

“His TV and computer are here, but the desk had been gone through.”

John looked around the bedroom. “Where’s the computer?”

“In the living room. On the desk.”

“It’s not,” John said.

“It was on the desk when I got here.”

Shauna stood up, but was unsteady on her feet. Sam caught her before she fell.

“I need to see the living room. I’ll tell you exactly what he took.”

Sam put his arm around Shauna’s waist and supported her as she walked to the living room. That she let him was a testament to how shitty she felt.

She looked around. “He was in here no more than two minutes, but it looks like he went through the desk. I had closed the drawers after looking for Mack’s financial papers, and the top two are open. He took the computer. And he took the beer bottles. They were right there on the table.”

John went over to the refrigerator. “There’s no beer in here.”

“I’m not lying!”

Sam tried to console her. “No one thinks you’re lying.”

“Why are you talking in that tone?”