Page 81 of The Liar

“How…” He broke off, groaning. “D’you find me?”

“A woman was reported missing by a coworker,” Joanna told him, maintaining pressure on the wound. “We came to her apartment, and I heard a noise outside, so I looked down and saw you.”

“I… ugh…” His face twisted with pain. “Who’s with you?”

“My husband,” she said. “Detective Sewell. Others are coming.”

He coughed, and blood flecked his chin. “Don’t trust him.”

“Who? West?”

I gritted my teeth. If Hanson thought I was behind this, there was a good chance we’d get nothing useful from him.

“No,” he rasped. “Sewell. Don’t—” He broke off coughing, but this time, the hacking grew worse, and bloody red trails spiderwebbed down his chin.

“The paramedics are here,” Sewell called from above. “They’re coming up.”

Hanson’s eyes widened, the whites stark against the darkness of the night. “Don’t.” Cough. “Leave.” Cough. “Me.” Cough. “Alone… with him.”

“We won’t,” I assured him. “We’ll keep him busy here.”

A pair of paramedics hustled up the fire escape. I was skeptical as to how they intended to get Hanson down in one piece, but then the light in the apartment beside us came on and the window opened. A uniformed police officer passed a stretcher through, and the paramedics each took an end.

“I’m setting up a table on this side so you can slide him through,” the officer said, disappearing from the window. A moment later, he was back, carrying a rectangular dining table, a sleepy middle-aged man helping him. They positioned the table on the other side of the window.

I stepped aside so the paramedics could take my place. West and I backed onto the stairs to give them room to maneuver Hanson onto the stretcher.

“Do you need help lifting him?” I asked.

“No, we’re good,” the younger paramedic said, grabbing her end of the stretcher while her partner took the other. Together, they hefted him up and slid the stretcher through the window, only stopping when Hanson was lying on the table on the other side.

The officer and the middle-aged man dragged the table back, giving the paramedics room to enter through thewindow. Seconds later, they were gone, leaving West and I alone on the fire escape.

I took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to make sure that Sewell was still in Portia’s apartment. Hanson’s warning rang in my ears. At this stage, we didn’t know whether we could trust him, but I was still going to proceed with caution where Sewell was concerned.

Fortunately, he was hovering in the apartment while a crime scene technician unloaded their gear bag on the kitchen counter. Another crime scene tech emerged from the bedroom.

“Is there much to see on the fire escape?” he asked.

“Not really,” Joanna replied. “A lot of blood—presumably from Hanson. Possibly a bullet. We don’t know whether the shot was a through-and-through or if it’s lodged inside him.”

“Right.” He headed for the window. “I’ll start there. If we can find the bullet, we can run ballistics to see if it matches anything we have on file.”

“Excellent.” Joanna turned to Sewell. “Did you order the officers to interview the neighbors?”

He nodded.

“Let them know we already spoke to the one on the left and the one across the hall.” She didn’t mention the building manager or the video footage, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was an intentional decision. Perhaps she didn’t want to put the building manager in danger.

She left the apartment, and I heard voices outside. Sewell and I stood awkwardly in silence while we waited. When she came back, she met my eyes and gave a slight nod. I wished I knew what it meant.

“So, how come Homicide are on this case?” Sewell asked. “There’s no body.”

I stilled, wondering whether to take charge, but Joanna didn’t seem bothered by the question.

“The call came directly to me through a personal connection,” she said.

His eyebrows knitted together. “A friend of yours?”

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