Page 46 of Nothing Left

The radio crackled again, and she heard the voice of the station commander.

"Agent Hart, we've got a team on the way to the farmhouse. They're waiting for you at the crossroad. But be careful, Sanchez is known to be violent. He's got a record of assault, and he's been in trouble with the law before."

Juliette nodded grimly. Whatever the risk was, it was worth it. Right now, all that mattered was catching this killer before he could hurt anyone else.

They pulled up at the crossroad in time to see the police car accelerating along from the opposite direction, lights flashing. It pulled up on the corner, and two uniformed police climbed out. Quickly, Juliette discussed their strategy.

"We need to make sure the house is surrounded. In a more rural area, there's the risk he might break and run or drive out via an alternative route. So this road here might be a problem." She pointed to the back road on the map that ran behind the farmhouse.

"Let's station the police car there, with one officer. And the other officer at the back of the farmhouse itself. Wyatt and I will approach from the front; Sierra will coordinate from inside the car."

With their plan in place, they climbed back into their vehicles and sped toward the suspect's house.

Juliette promised herself that this takedown was going to go successfully. And the fingerprints would lead them to the killer. It would hopefully be cut and dried from here on, with everything now moving in their favor. They had the correct suspect, a clear address, backup to help, and an end in sight.

It was probably just because this case had gone so badly for so long, Juliette thought, that she couldn't help having a flicker of doubt that something might go wrong again. But she couldn’t allow herself to think that way.

Speed was their friend now, Juliette knew, as the car pulled up outside the farmhouse. It was set in rolling hills in a rural inland area. The hills were dotted with green olive trees, and small vineyards crisscrossed the view beyond. This small, ocher-painted house was the only one in sight in this remote area.

"Sit tight," she told Sierra before she and Wyatt jumped out of the car and rushed to the front door. Behind the house, she saw the police car in place on the sand road a few hundred yards away.

Adrenaline surged inside her as she hammered on the door.

"FBI! Open up!"

There was no answer. She tried the handle, but it was locked.

Fingerprints on a murder weapon gave them cause to get inside by whatever means it took.

Wyatt motioned to her, and she stepped back as he readied himself. He rushed to the door, flinging his weight against it. The latch cracked and then gave, and the door burst open.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Inside the house, standing in the hallway and looking astonished, Juliette saw a man who matched up, more or less, to the description that the assistant at the second-hand jewelry store had given them. He is average height, in his thirties, with short, dark hair.

He was furious, she saw.

"What are you doing breaking into my home?" he yelled, the sound waves battering her and Wyatt as the man bunched his fists threateningly. He was speaking in English, with only a trace of a Spanish accent.

"Dominic Sanchez?" Juliette felt tense, prepared for anything as she stood face to face with their suspect.

"That's me," he said. "But why are the police breaking into my home? Who is going to pay for this broken door? You have no right to do this!" His voice was rising to a shout, and he looked furious.

Juliette knew that anger was a trait they could expect and that it might make him highly unpredictable. But all the same, the reason for his anger was surprising her. It was as if he perceived himself as totally innocent. As if he wasn't even acknowledging his prints on that knife.

"We need to ask you questions urgently," she said. "Starting with your whereabouts earlier today, in the late morning."

With the latest victim having been stabbed just hours ago, it was now critical to work out what Sanchez's movements had been and establish whether he had an alibi.

"Earlier today?" He stared at her incredulously. "I went out. I went for a run in the woods. I came back. I showered."

"Where are the clothes you were wearing?" Those might be a source of trace evidence. He was wearing a pair of old jeans now and a scuffed T-shirt. Had he changed? She heard a washing machine in the background.

"What the hell does that matter to you? You shouldn't even be in here! Get out of my private place! Out!" Fury twisted his features into an ugly mask as he advanced toward them. He raised his fists.

Wyatt wasn't going to give this man even the smallest opportunity to fight - or else to run.

He stepped forward, and in one giant stride, he reached Sanchez and grabbed his arms, even as he began his lunge toward Wyatt. Sanchez stared down at Wyatt's hands on his arms as if astonished by the speed of his reactions.

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