Page 30 of Her Last Warning
He waited a moment, cocking his head slightly to listen for anything out of the ordinary inside.He then looked to Rachel, who nodded at him.Slowly, he pushed the door open another few inches, the hinges protesting with a low whine that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet neighborhood.
"Hello?"His voice carried the practiced tone of law enforcement—authoritative but carefully neutral.
Rachel's hand moved to her holstered Glock, fingers brushing the familiar grip.The weapon's presence was reassuring, though she hoped she wouldn't need it.They stepped into the foyer, their shoes squeaking slightly against the polished hardwood floor.A short hallway stretched before them, branching off in both directions.To their left stood a bare wall, while the right opened into what appeared to be a den.
"Hello?Mrs.Dyson?"Rachel projected her voice, letting her FBI credentials ring in her tone."This is the FBI!Are you home?"
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the soft patter of rain against windows and roof.Rachel was about to suggest that one of them maintain position at the entrance while the other investigated further when a sound filtered from the rear of the house—a shuffling noise that might have been footsteps, but could have been something else entirely.
"FBI!We're coming inside!"Rachel called out again, her fingers still resting lightly on her weapon.
A man's voice responded, the words floating back to them like tired ghosts."Who, now?"The voice was raspy, as if its owner had just woken from a long nap.It also sounded a bit frightened.
Rachel exchanged a look with Novak, a slight nod conveying her wariness."Who's there?"she asked.
"Harvey Dyson," the voice called back, louder this time and tinged with irritation.The shuffling grew more distinct as the speaker approached."This is my house, so I'd like to know why the FBI just decided to come in!"
The man who appeared in the den's doorway was tall despite his advanced years, which Rachel estimated to be somewhere in his seventies.What remained of his hair was wispy and snow-white, clinging to the sides of his head like cotton candy while the top gleamed bare under the overhead lights.He wore khakis hiked high on his waist and a plaid button-down shirt with a coffee stain near the pocket.His face was a roadmap of wrinkles, but his pale blue eyes were sharp and alert, studying them with undisguised suspicion.
Rachel released her grip on the Glock and retrieved her badge instead, Novak following suit.The leather cases snapped open in near-perfect synchronization.
"Sorry, sir," Novak said, his tone apologetic."I knocked on the door and it just sort of drifted open.We were worried about what might have happened."
Harvey's expression softened slightly, though annoyance still lurked around the edges of his mouth.He released a long-suffering sigh."I need to get someone to come in and fix that damn door.The frame swells when it gets cold and if the door ain't locked, it won't stay shut."He gestured vaguely toward the back of the house."I must have been out on the back porch when you knocked.Feeding the cat."His eyes narrowed slightly."Now...why are you here anyway?"
Rachel stepped forward, adopting what she hoped was a non-threatening stance."We need to speak with Claire Dyson.We have reason to believe she may be in danger."She studied Harvey's face carefully as she spoke."I assume that's your wife?"
"Yeah, that’s me.But…Claire?In danger?"Harvey's weathered features creased with concern, though something else flickered in his expression—something that might have been dark amusement.
“Perhaps,” Novak said.
"Well, she's not here.Been in the hospital these past three days."He shook his head, a rueful smile playing at his lips."Got swimmy-headed in the shower, slipped and broke her leg.Other than her being clumsy, why would she be in danger?"
Novak took point on the explanation, laying out the basics of their investigation—the pattern of victims who had experienced miraculous recoveries from terminal diagnoses, the subsequent murders.As he spoke, Harvey's expression grew increasingly incredulous.At first, he looked like a little boy hearing a particularly good bedtime story.But by the time Novak was done, Harvey Dyson looked spooked.
"Well, that sure would explain Claire to a tee," he said, chuckling without much humor."Damn sure thought I'd lost her, but she's a fighter, I tell you."He shuffled a few steps into the room, lowering himself into a worn leather recliner."Course, ever since she came home after that good news, she's banged her head on the kitchen cabinets twice, twisted her ankle on the back porch, and broke her leg in the shower.So..."He gave a shrug that seemed to encompass the absurdity of fate itself.
Rachel couldn't help but notice how he related these incidents—like someone telling darkly comic stories at a wake, where laughter and grief become strange bedfellows.There was love in his voice, certainly, but also a thread of something else, something that made her detective instincts prick up.
"But if she's in the hospital, she should be safe, right?"Harvey's question hung in the air, weighted with genuine concern despite his earlier cavalier tone.
Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but her phone chose that moment to buzz in her pocket.She held up a finger in a "one moment" gesture and stepped back into the foyer, fishing out her phone and breaking away from this odd encounter.She did not recognize the number of the ID, but for a federal agent, that rarely meant anything.
"This is Gift," she answered, keeping her voice low.
"Agent Gift, this is Officer Nelson with Richmond PD," a male voice responded crisply."I'm with the unit monitoring the David Shook residence.We've got what might be suspicious activity here...thought you might want to check it out if you can."
Rachel's pulse quickened as she glanced back toward the den, where Novak was still speaking with Harvey.The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of timing.They had a potential victim under surveillance, and now possible suspicious activity.Meanwhile, they were standing in the home of another potential victim, albeit one currently protected by hospital security.
She returned her attention to the phone call, her mind already calculating drive times and priorities."What kind of suspicious activity are we talking about, Officer Nelson?"
As she listened to the officer's report, Rachel again felt that sense of racing against time.His case had been one of wild guesses and speculations, never presenting them with a solid thread to follow.The killer could be ten steps ahead of them or barely a single one.And here she stood in a house with a broken door frame, listening to an elderly man relate his wife's misfortunes with a strained sense of gallows humor.
David Shook might be in immediate danger, and they needed to move.Rachel ended the call and stepped back into the den, where Harvey was in the middle of relating yet another story about Claire's post-recovery mishaps, his pale blue eyes twinkling with what might have been mischief, or might have been something far more complicated.
"Novak," she interrupted, her tone making it clear this was official business."We need to go.Mr.Dyson," she turned to the elderly man, who was watching her with those unnervingly sharp eyes, "we'll station an officer outside the hospital as a precaution.Please call us immediately if you notice anything unusual or if anyone shows unusual interest in your wife's condition."
He still seemed slightly scared, but nodded enthusiastically."Of course, of course.Though I have to say, after everything that's happened since her recovery—all the silly injuries and mishaps, I'm starting to wonder if maybe fate's got other plans for Claire."He gave another of those ambiguous chuckles."Sometimes I think Death doesn't like being cheated."
