Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [48]
“Can we go inside? I really don’t want to wake up my neighbors.”
Roelke ground his teeth together, and followed her into the house.
She gestured to her bedroom door. “I was asleep, and a noise woke me up. I got up to listen. I was standing here in the doorway when I realized that someone was pulling the screen out of that window.” She pointed.
Roelke’s chest tightened as he looked from her bedroom to the open window. She’d only been a few feet from the intruder. “What happened next?”
“I heard the screen hit the porch. Then I flipped the light switch and yelled ‘Hey!’ The guy had one leg in the window, but he jumped backwards when I yelled. It sounded like he fell. I tried to get the front door open but it’s been humid, and it sticks. You know how old houses can be—”
“Could you please finish the story?” Roelke managed, through gritted teeth.
“So, I finally got the door open.” Chloe tucked a strand of that incredible hair behind her ear. “By then he was gone. I ran out into the yard, but I couldn’t see anyone—”
“You ran into the yard?” Roelke exploded. “Jesus! Are you incredibly brave, or just stupid?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Two days ago you went into that trailer without knowing if an intruder was inside. I told you not to do anything like that again—”
“I don’t take orders from you!”
“And now—what possessed you to open your front door, knowing an intruder was on your front porch?”
“I—I wanted to run him off, I guess. Or maybe get a look at him. I don’t know! It all happened really fast.”
Roelke began to pace. “And then you ran out into the yard! What the hell were you thinking?”
“I said I don’t know! It was just instinct! Stop bellowing!” She clasped her elbows, arms across her chest.
He paced a moment longer, struggling to rein in feelings that didn’t want to be corralled. “You could have been beaten. Or stabbed. Or raped. Or killed.”
Chloe rubbed her forehead. “Look, I’m sorry if I didn’t follow your rulebook, but I’ve never had someone break into my house before.” She walked into the living room and dropped into one of the armchairs.
Roelke followed and perched on the sofa, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “Let’s get back to what happened. You ran into the yard, but didn’t see anyone?”
“A door slammed. Then a car drove away without any lights on. I think the guy had left it parked out by the road.”
Roelke had talked to many women who’d been victims of one type of assault or another. Too many. He’d never seen a woman so calm. “Chloe.” He tasted the word, realizing it was the first time he’d called her by name. “Chloe, do you have any idea who this intruder was?”
“Of course not!”
“Is there any particular reason why a man would want to break into your house? An old boyfriend? An angry spouse?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Current boyfriend? Anyone you’re seeing socially?”
“No.”
Was that good news or bad? Roelke wasn’t sure. “How about people you work with? Any weird vibes there?”
“Weird vibes? Well …” She considered. “Hank DiCapo, the security guard—I ticked him off the first day. Byron Cooke, curator of interpretation—I ticked him off my first day too. Stanley, the maintenance guy—I ticked him off this afternoon—”
Roelke sat back. “How long have you been working there again?”
She shot him an irritated glance. “Well, you asked. And if you want a full list, I should add Ralph Petty, the director.” She spread her hands, palms up. “But … so what? None of them have any reason to break into my house.”
“Let’s go back to the moment you turned on the light. Close your eyes and tell me exactly what you saw.”
She hesitated, then obeyed. “My eyes squinched up when I turned the light on. But I have this impression of a foot in a white running shoe. White with red styling on the side. And blue jeans above it, just about to the knee. That’s all.” She opened her eyes again.
“Man’s foot? Woman’s?”
“Um … I don’t know.”
“Not a lot to go on.” He didn’t