Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [87]
"Car forty-six. See the woman at eight-nine-seven-six Alamont. Reports screaming in the apartment above her. Handle Code Three."
"Ten-four," Eric told the microphone. Harris had already sent the cruiser around a tight curve.
"That's not a family-fight house," Harris said. "Singles apartments. Probably some guy can't take no for an answer."
The cruiser pulled up in front of the apartment building. It was a large, fancy place, swimming pool and sauna. Rubber trees grew on both sides of the entrance. The girl standing behind the glass lobby doors wore a thin robe over a blue silk nightgown. She seemed scared. "It's in three-fourteen," she said. "It was horrible! She was screaming for help … "
Investigator Harris stopped just long enough to look on the mailbox for 314. "Colleen Darcy." He led the way up the stairs, his nightstick drawn.
The even-numbered apartments on the third floor faced onto an interior hallway. Eric thought he remembered seeing the building from the other side. It had little private balconies, screened from the street. Probably good places for girls to sunbathe. The hall was freshly painted, and the impression was of a nice building, a good place to live for young singles. Of course the best apartments would be on the other side, overlooking the pool.
The hall was quiet. They couldn't hear anything through the door of 314. "Now what?" Eric asked.
Harris shrugged, then knocked loudly on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. "Police," he said. "Miz Darcy?"
There was no answer. The lady who'd called them was coming up the stairs behind them. "You sure she's in there?" Eric asked.
"Yes! She was screaming."
"Where's the manager?"
"Not here. I called him, but there wasn't anyone there."
Eric and his partner exchanged glances.
"She was screaming for help!" the lady said indignantly.
"We'll probably catch hell for this," Harris muttered. He stood to one side and gestured to Eric. Then he drew his service revolver.
Eric stepped back, raised his foot and smashed it at the locked door. Once. Then again. The door burst open and Eric darted inside, moving quickly to one side the way he'd been taught.
There was only one room. There was something on the bed. Later Eric remembered thinking just that: "Something." It looked so little like a girl in her twenties …
There was blood on the bed and on the floor beside it. The room smelled of bright copper and expensive perfume.
The girl was nude. Eric saw long blonde hair, arranged carefully on the pillow. The hair was spattered with blood. One of her teats was gone. Blood oozed from punctures below the missing breast. Someone had drawn figures in the blood, tracing an arrow down to point to her dark pubic hair. There was more blood there.
Eric doubled over, struggling with himself, holding his breath. His partner came in.
Harris took one look at the bed, then looked away. He sent his eyes searching the room, saw no one, then looked for doors. There was a door across the room, and Harris moved toward it. As he did, the closet door opened behind him and a man darted out, breaking for the opening to the hallway. He was past Joe Harris, running toward the screaming lady who'd called the police.
Eric breathed deeply, got control of himself and moved to intercept the man. The man had a knife. A bloody knife. He raised it high, point toward Eric. Eric brought up his pistol and leveled it at the man's chest. His finger tightened on the trigger.
The man threw up his arms. The knife dropped from his hand. Then he fell to his knees. He still said nothing.
Eric's pistol followed the man. His finger tightened again. A half-ounce more … No! I am a police officer, not a judge and jury.
The man held his hands in supplication, almost as if in prayer. When Eric moved closer, he saw the man's eyes. They did not hold terror,