Читать книгу Her Colton Lawman - Carla Cassidy - Страница 11

Chapter 2

Terrified, sobbing gasps escaped Nina, and she cried out in relief as headlights appeared from a car coming from the opposite direction on the road. Maybe the presence of another car, of other people, would stop the man and save her.

Her engine finally started. For a single instant her gaze caught the killer’s, his cold and glittering with unsuppressed rage.

She threw her car into gear and spun out, nearly losing control of it in an effort to escape the scene. She sped down the residential road, passing Grace’s house as she continued to play and replay in her mind what had just happened, what she had just seen.

She needed to get to the police station. Maybe the woman on the ground wasn’t really dead, but had just been strangled to unconsciousness. If Nina got help soon enough, maybe she could still be saved.

Surely the man had run from the scene when he’d seen the other car coming and knew that if he stuck around, there would be more witnesses to what he had done.

A glance in her rearview mirror showed no car pursuing her. She hadn’t even seen a vehicle near the corner where the man might have come from, but she’d been riveted to the struggle, not looking for nearby cars.

It took her only minutes to pull onto Main Street and squeal to a halt in front of the police station. She jumped out of the car and raced inside, still crying with shock and fear.

She flew past Glenda McDonald, who worked the night shift at the front desk. “Hey, wait,” Glenda yelled in protest as Nina burst through the door that led into the inner sanctum of the station.

Flint appeared seemingly from nowhere and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Nina, what’s wrong?” he asked urgently.

“I...I think I just saw a murder.” She was once again overwhelmed by sobs as she tried to choke out what had happened. She was vaguely aware of Officer Mike Harriman moving closer to where they stood with Flint still firmly grasping her.

She feared that if he released his hold on her, she’d fall to the floor as her legs shook so badly beneath her, and she couldn’t halt the violent trembling of her entire body.

“Where did this happen?” Flint asked, his handsome features tense, and his green eyes piercing as he stared at her intently.

“At the corner of Cherry and Oak Street. I was on my way to Grace Willard’s house when I saw them struggling near the streetlight. I think he killed her, Flint. I think she was dead when I drove off.”

Flint gave a nod to Mike, who immediately left, taking with him Officer Sam Blair. Flint guided Nina to a chair and gently pushed her to sit. He knelt down to one knee, his calm demeanor a counter to the terror that still screamed silently inside her.

He didn’t speak for several moments, and she finally stopped crying and felt his calm slowly sweeping through her. Even the scent of his woodsy cologne smelled of safety.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded and released a deep sigh. “A little better.”

“Good. I need you to be as clearheaded as possible and answer some questions for me.” He stood and grabbed a chair from a nearby desk and pulled it in front of her. He sat close, his knees almost touching hers. “What did the man look like?”

Nina frowned, trying to fight the fear that leaped back into her throat as she thought about the man she’d seen. “He was dressed all in black, and he had dark hair and evil, glittering eyes.”

“What color eyes?”

“I’m not sure. I think they were dark, but the lighting was bad.”

“Was he young or old?”

“Maybe late twenties or early thirties,” she replied.

“What kind of build? Tall...short...skinny?” Flint’s gaze never left hers. She hadn’t noticed before that his green eyes held a faint touch of gold right in the center, along with a sharp focus that made it appear he was looking not just at her, but rather into her very soul.

She finally broke their gaze, looking down at her trembling hands in her lap. “He was tall and had a muscular build.” A sob welled up, and she swallowed hard against it as she remembered the sight of his arm muscles bulging, his taut neck muscles as he pulled the rope so tight against the woman’s throat.

“Sounds like Bittard. Was it Hank?”

Nina shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know...maybe. It was dark and everything happened so fast. I didn’t get a solid look at him. Plus, I’ve only seen Hank a couple of times and that was before he murdered Donny Gilmore at the gas station. Hank never came into the diner so I only saw him from a distance. That, plus his mug shot.”

The conversation was interrupted by the ring of Flint’s cell phone in his pocket. He grabbed the phone and stood, walking away from where Nina sat as he answered.

Nina tracked him with her eyes, afraid that if she didn’t look at him she’d fall back into the utter terror that had momentarily gripped her and still simmered just beneath the surface.

Flint was on the phone only a minute or two and then he came back to her and sat once again, his face a study in both weariness and a simmering anger.

“It had to have been Bittard. The woman is Jolene Tate, and she is dead.”

Nina gasped, and tears rose to her eyes once again. “Why would he kill her?”

“She was Hank’s off-and-on girlfriend and was at the Dead River Gas Station the night Hank killed Donny. She was a key eyewitness to the murder and intended to testify against Hank.”

He slammed a fist against his thigh. “Dammit, I should have insisted she go into protective custody when Hank escaped, but she wanted nothing to do with it and refused to even talk about it.” He rubbed the center of his forehead, as if attempting to ease a headache. “Did he see you? Did the man you saw strangle Jolene get a good look at you?”

Nina raised a hand to her throat, a new fear searing through her. “I...I don’t know. I mean, I can’t be sure how well he saw me. He was more in the light than I was, but I’m not sure if he recognized me or not. I’m not sure even if he got a good look at me that he would know who I was.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I should have done something more. I should have done something to help her.”

“You did the right thing in getting out of there and coming right here,” Flint said. “We shouldn’t take any chances and assume that he didn’t recognize you. You need to be in protective custody.”

“Protective custody?” She repeated the words mindlessly.

He stood once again and for just a moment his eyes were a haunting deep green that she was sure held deep, dark secrets. “You can stay with me at my place.”

“But surely that isn’t necessary,” she protested.

“Jolene Tate was just murdered, and you’re an eyewitness. I don’t have the manpower right now to keep you covered twenty-four-seven. With two fugitives on the loose, we’re just stretched too thin.”

“I’m not even sure how much of a look he got of me. I was across the street from him, and we didn’t have any real interaction before he looked up. It’s very possible he couldn’t pick me out of a lineup.”

She stood, surprised to find herself still a bit shaky. His offer to stay in his house had stunned her. The idea was both a little bit thrilling and a little bit scary. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, but I would appreciate it if you’d drive me home. I have to confess, I feel a little too shook up to drive myself.”

He frowned. “Nina, I still think it would be best if you didn’t go home, if you aren’t alone until I get this creep back into custody.”

“Flint, I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to hole up somewhere on the off chance that he actually got a good look at me. It’s a dark night, and I only saw him because of the streetlight, but I wasn’t in the light.” The last place she wanted to be was confined to Flint’s home and living in his space.

She had a business to run, a life to live, and it didn’t include being in his protective custody. Besides, the more she thought about it, the more she was fairly certain that the man probably hadn’t seen her well enough to identify her. The entire incident had only taken mere seconds, although it had felt like an eternity when it was happening.

“Please, if you’ll just take me home, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I can have one of the waitresses take me to work in the morning and then somebody can bring me by here tomorrow evening to pick up my car.” She raised her chin in a show of strength. “Besides, with everything that’s going on around here you have more than enough on your plate without worrying about me.”

Flint raked a hand through his hair, as if to show a frustration he didn’t want to verbalize. “It’s my job to worry about you, but if you insist, I’ll drive you home,” he finally relented. “However, if you feel threatened in any way by anything, you have to promise me that you’ll call me immediately, day or night.”

“I promise. In any case I have a security system at my house, so I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” She frowned as she remembered the reason she’d turned down that particular road in the first place. “Could you do me one favor on the way? I was taking Grace and her son, Billy, some food. It’s in my car, and if you could stop by her house and run it into them, I’d really appreciate it.”

He stared at her as if she were an alien creature. “You just witnessed a murder and yet you’re worried about Grace and her son having dinner?”

“Grace is sick. I promised to bring by a meal tonight. No matter what just happened, she and Billy are still expecting supper from me.”

He pulled his car keys from his pocket and grabbed his hat off a nearby desk. “Okay, let’s get moving.”

Within minutes they were in his car, the bag of food on Nina’s lap. “If you think of anything else that might be helpful to me finding Bittard, you call me immediately,” he said as they pulled away from the police station.

She nodded, surprised to find a bit of comfort in the fact that the car smelled of his pleasant cologne. She was also grateful that he took another route to Grace’s house, avoiding the place where the murder had occurred.

When they pulled into Grace’s driveway, Flint turned to her. “You sit tight in the car, lock the doors when I get out and I’ll deliver the food to the door.” His voice brooked no argument, not that she was of a mind to. He took the bag from her, opened the car door and got out.

She locked the doors and watched him walk up to the front door, wondering if she’d made a mistake in insisting he take her home. She felt calm enough now that she could have just driven herself.

She frowned and rubbed the center of her forehead as a headache attempted to take hold. Had the man seen her well enough to know who she was? Did he know her name? Where she lived? Would he now come after her in an attempt to kill another witness?

She wished she had family in town. She wished she had somebody who could take her in for a few weeks, but if there was danger she certainly didn’t want to bring it close to any of her friends. At least she had the security system that would alert her to anyone attempting to enter her house.

She knew Flint and his team of deputies would be more determined than ever to catch Bittard with this new murder. Surely she’d be fine until they got the killer back in custody.

She watched as the door opened and light spilled out. Grace waved and then took the bag from Flint. As he started back to the car, Nina unlocked the doors.

“She said to tell you she was feeling a little better,” he said when he was behind the steering wheel once again.

“Thank goodness. She went home yesterday with a headache and a cough. I was afraid she might have caught...” She allowed her voice to trail off. She didn’t even want to speak her fear aloud. “By the way, how is your grandmother doing?” She knew that Dottie Colton had come down with the virus and had been in the hospital for the past couple of weeks.

“According to Dr. Rand, she’s stable, but she’s still unconscious.” He cast her a sideways glance. “Is it easier to talk about the virus than the fact that you just witnessed a murder?”

A chill invaded her despite the warmth inside the car. “I don’t want to think about that poor woman. I just wish I could have done something to stop it from happening. I wish I could have done something to force him to leave and run away before she died.” She clenched her fists in despair.

“Then I might be investigating two murders, Jolene’s and yours. You did the right thing by driving away, by not engaging with the man, especially if it was Bittard. He’s a cold-blooded killer and we now think he might possibly be armed again. There’s been some robberies in the past couple of days and among the things stolen have been a knife and a gun and rope.”

“Rope that he used to strangle Jolene,” she said flatly, fighting against another chill that tried to shiver down her spine.

“Forensics will tell us if the rope used to strangle Jolene is the same kind that was stolen. We’ll know more in the next couple of days after a full investigation is completed.”

In the glow from the dashboard, his handsome features looked slightly haggard, as if he hadn’t slept well for weeks. “You’ll catch him, Flint. You’ll catch him and that little creep, Jimmy, too. The doctors will find a cure for the virus and before you know it, Dead River will be back to normal.”

He slid her a wry look. “From your lips...” The rest of the sentence wasn’t spoken as he turned onto her street.

Nina looked out the front window of the car and gasped in surprise. The street was alive with the swirl of red lights from patrol cars and fire trucks that serviced the small city.

Firefighters in full gear ran with hoses toward the blaze that lit up the entire street and licked upward to the sky. Black smoke rolled up, creating a dark cloud in the otherwise clear night.

What was happening? What on earth was burning so fiercely?

Nina stared at it all in stunned disbelief. It was her house. Her house was on fire. A choking sob welled up inside her and released, followed by another...and another.

Flint pulled to the curb behind one of the fire trucks. “Stay here,” he commanded sternly. “Lock the doors and do not get out of this car under any circumstances for anyone but me.”

She couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it as she watched the window of her living room explode outward. She’d bought the house just a little under a year ago and had spent the past months making it into the home she’d always dreamed of, and now she watched as everything she’d worked so hard for went up in flames.

She’d hand-picked each and every item from the bright yellow throw pillows on the sofa to the little water fountain that sat on one of her coffee tables. Gone...they were gone.

She saw Flint talking to a man she recognized as Stan Burrell, the fire chief. She watched the two men for only a moment and then turned her attention back to the house in time to see the roof collapse.

Numb. She was completely numb as she realized she’d lost everything. The flowered pink lamp in her bedroom, the cheerful daisy arrangement that had greeted her each morning on her kitchen table...everything was destroyed.

Had there been a wiring problem? Had she accidentally left on an appliance that morning that had shorted out and started the fire? How on earth had this happened?

Her neighbors stood on the sidewalk. Thank God there was no wind tonight, nothing to aid a spark from finding its way to their homes. In any case, it appeared that the firefighters had given up attempting to save her place and instead worked to make sure the fire remained contained to her home alone.

It was probably easy to contain a fire that had already consumed everything inside, she thought in despair and watched an outside wall fall inward. She wasn’t even aware she was crying until she reached a hand up to her cheek and found it wet.

How had this happened? Her life was suddenly a scene from some crazy movie she didn’t want to watch. Her mind worked desperately to find the positives. Thank God she hadn’t been home and she didn’t have any pets.

Thank God she had good insurance. She could use the cot in the diner and live in the back storage room until she rebuilt. Thank God it was just things that had been destroyed and things could always be replaced.

Still, no matter how many positives she tried to make of the situation, she continued to cry silently. She’d thought she’d left all the bad things behind her when she left home. She’d believed that had been the worst time in her life, but tonight was right up there on the list of terrible things she had endured in her lifetime.

Flint returned to the car, a tense pulse in his jaw working overtime. “I’ll have a full report sometime tomorrow, but there’s no question in Stan’s mind that this was arson. The ignition points appear to be all four corners of the house, and he believes gasoline was used as an accelerant. Somebody intentionally set the fire, either as a warning to you or hoping you would be inside. If I were a betting man, I’d wager that the man you saw kill Jolene tonight definitely recognized you.”

She stared at him, the fear so great inside her she couldn’t find words to speak. He started the car. “You’re coming home with me,” he continued. “You’ll be staying at my place until I find Bittard and get him behind bars.” He said the words not as a suggestion but rather as a statement of fact.

She simply nodded, knowing that even though the last place she wanted to stay was Flint’s house, it appeared she was out of options. She couldn’t deny the fact that her life was in danger.

* * *

Flint stood at his kitchen window, watching the first streaks of dawn beginning to light the sky. He was already working on his second cup of coffee, knowing that with the lack of sleep the night before, he’d need a good caffeine buzz to get him through what promised to be a long day ahead.

Nina had said very little on the drive to his place the night before. She’d also been silent as he’d led her through the house to his spare bedroom. He’d provided her with one of his T-shirts to wear to bed, and she’d immediately closed her bedroom door and hadn’t come out for the rest of the night.

He was sure she had to have been suffering from some kind of shock. It was bad enough that she had witnessed a violent murder, but to know that the murderer had then burned her house to the ground had to be terrifying.

At some point during today he’d need to take her to the discount store to pick up some clothing and toiletries. From the scene at her house the night before, he was pretty sure that nothing would be salvageable. Not only did he need to take her shopping, but he also had a new murder to investigate and a new witness to protect.

Even though his officers would have a report for him first thing this morning concerning Jolene’s death, he wanted to go to the scene and check things out himself. The murder had occurred on the corner just two houses from where Jolene had been staying since Hank’s initial arrest, and even though he trusted his officers, Flint wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw the scene for himself.

This attention to detail, checking and rechecking, was what had made him such a successful cop in Cheyenne, at least until the end of his work there.

He frowned and turned away from the window. He didn’t want to think about the case that had been his swan song in Cheyenne. Besides, he’d already screwed up here by not placing some sort of protection on Jolene the minute Hank Bittard had escaped custody.

Even with Molly being stood up by her creep of a fiancé, even with the quarantine shaking everyone up and with his grandmother catching the virus, there was no excuse for failing in his duty of protecting Jolene. Just like Cheyenne, a little voice whispered in the back of his head.

He sat at the table and instead of getting caught up in his past and the agony of thoughts that brought, he began to mentally prepare himself for a houseguest that may or may not be so temporary.

It all depended on how long it took him to get the murderer back into custody. So far Bittard had managed to be successfully and frustratingly elusive in a quarantined town.

He thought of the fire at Nina’s house. There was no question in his mind that it had been set by Jolene’s murderer.

He’d need to check out the gas station to find out if a gas can and gasoline might have been stolen. Hank could have stolen a can of gas from anywhere, but the more details Flint could find out about the man’s movements, the better his odds of finally getting him back in jail and letting Nina get back to her normal life.

The object of his thoughts suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the day before, a long-sleeved white blouse and a pair of black slacks, and by the paleness of her face, she hadn’t yet finished processing everything that had happened to her in the past twelve hours or so.

“Help yourself to the coffee,” he said as he pulled the blinds closed at the windows. The last thing he wanted was for anyone outside to see her movements inside the house. “Cups are in the cabinet over the coffeemaker.”

She nodded and moved to get a cup. After pouring her coffee, she carried her cup to the table and sat down across from him.

She took a drink of her coffee and then set the cup back on the table. “I feel like I’m living somebody else’s life right now.”

“I wish I could tell you that this was all just a bad dream,” he replied. Despite the paleness of her features, she looked pretty with the artificial light over the kitchen table dancing in the strands of her hair and highlighting her delicate features.

“This is such a nightmare,” she replied with a tremulous sigh. “And I still haven’t quite realized that I’m not going to wake up and find out that everything is fine.” She took another drink and then looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes. “If you think I’m going to hole up here and not go into the diner today, then you’re sadly mistaken.”

“I was just thinking about the logistics of this protective-custody position that you find yourself in,” he replied. “And trust me, I figured there was no way I could keep you from your work. Besides being here in my house with me, the diner is probably the only other place I think you’ll be safe. Bittard wouldn’t kill you in the diner when he’d be leaving behind dozens of more witnesses.”

He couldn’t imagine that her face could have grown more pale, but it did, and he mentally cursed himself for his bluntness. But it was important she understand the severity of her situation.

She wrapped her fingers around her cup and stared down into the warm liquid. “Do you cook?” she asked and looked back up at him.

He sat back in his chair with surprise. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, her words weren’t even close to being on the short list. “Frozen pizza, microwave meals. Cooking has never been a big priority of mine. Why?”

“Then it’s not all gloom and doom. If I’m going to stay here then you can expect a home-cooked meal every night. I’ll either whip up something here or bring home-cooked meals from the diner. It’s the least I can do.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” he replied with a smile. He was pleased to see some of the color coming back into her cheeks. “But if you cook all day long, why on earth would you want to cook for me when you’re off duty?”

She shrugged. “Cooking is what I do, it’s what I love. It makes me happy to cook for other people.”

“Then we probably need to work in a stop at the grocery store before the day is done. My refrigerator and pantry aren’t stocked with much of anything but canned soups and bologna and cheese.”

She took another sip of her coffee and eyed him over the rim of the cup. “This is going to be weird. I’m sure you aren’t used to sharing your space with anyone, and I’m definitely not used to sharing mine. I’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “I want you to feel at home here for as long as you need to be here.”

She lowered her cup and flashed him a smile. “I’m sure it will only be a day or two and you’ll get Bittard in custody, and we can both go back to our own lives.”

With the warmth of her smile swirling around in the pit of his stomach, Flint almost hoped he didn’t find Bittard so soon. But it was a wayward, foolish thought. His first priority was keeping Nina safe. His second was to get the murderer back behind bars where he belonged, and so far Bittard had remained effective at remaining on the loose.

She got up to pour herself another cup of coffee and when she returned to the table, they lined up the schedule for the day. He would take her to work and then he’d go to work. He’d pick her up sometime early evening, and they’d stop to get her some clothes and things she’d need and stock up on some groceries before landing back here.

They left his house at just after seven, and he dropped her off at the diner, comforted that she assured him there were at least three people already there ahead of her and two of them were male cooks who came in at six each morning to prep for the day.

They had exchanged cell phone numbers earlier, and he told her he’d call her before picking her up that evening. From the diner he headed straight to the place where Jolene Tate had been murdered.

Officer Patrick Carter’s patrol car was parked next to the corner where bright yellow crime-scene tape marked off the area where Jolene’s body had been found.

Patrick got out of his car to greet Flint. “I’ve been sitting on the scene all night, and Officer McGlowen is at the house that Jolene has rented for the past month as it appears the confrontation between her and Hank started there.”

Flint nodded as he focused on the body form displayed on the ground and the markers that noted potential evidence that had already been collected. Jolene hadn’t had a stellar reputation in town, but nobody deserved to die the way she had. He gave himself a moment to grieve the dead and then looked around once again.

His team had done a good job, as he’d trusted them to do while he’d dealt with Nina the night before. “The coroner report should be on your desk sometime this morning, but the cause of death was definitely strangulation by rope,” Patrick said.

“That’s exactly what Nina described. I’m going to check out the house. I’ll be right back,” he said to Patrick. Flint headed up Cherry Street where two houses from the corner Jolene Tate had lived alone for the past month in a small bungalow.

Officer Dana McGlowen sat on the front porch and stood at his approach, her brown eyes looking like a puppy dog eager to please. She was a relatively new hire but had already shown herself to be highly motivated to do a good job. She had quickly become a valued member of the team.

“Have you been here all night?” Flint asked.

“Yes, sir,” Dana replied. “The crime scene boys were here last night and collected some things but intend to be back here this morning. They didn’t want to do too much before you had a chance to check things out.”

She stepped aside so he could enter the small living room. “It looks like a fight started in the kitchen, and then Jolene managed to run out of the front door in an attempt to get away. The front door was standing wide-open when we arrived last night to check it out.”

Normally, Flint would have been at both scenes immediately, overseeing the evidence gathering and leading his team, but Nina’s arrival at the station had forced him to allow his men to do their jobs without him. He could have assigned another officer to sit on Nina, and he had to admit that his desire not to had been strictly emotionally-driven. He’d simply felt he was the best man to stay with her.

He followed Dana into the kitchen, where it was obvious some sort of brawl had taken place. A kitchen chair lay on its back near the table, and broken glass littered the floor. A half-empty bottle of cheap wine sat in the center of the table, with a single glass. Flint suspected the other glass was what crunched beneath his feet.

“Any sign of forced entry?” he asked.

“None.”

“Then she must have invited him in,” Flint said thoughtfully. “If it was Bittard, then why in the hell would she let him inside? Why wouldn’t she call for help?”

“They were lovers before he got arrested. Women do stupid things when they’re in love,” Dana said as if she’d had personal experience in the matter. “He was probably trying to talk her out of testifying against him, making promises to her that she wanted to believe. Maybe he was trying to talk her into going on the run with him, and as soon as the quarantine was lifted, they could get out of town and be together with a fresh start.”

Flint shook his head. “She saw Hank kill Donny Gilmore in cold blood. What could Hank possibly say that would make her change her mind about testifying? Make her even think about hiding out or going on the run with him?”

“Apparently, from the looks of the way things went down, he didn’t get her to change her mind. Something went wrong. Jolene tried to escape, but he caught up with her and made sure she wouldn’t be a threat to him.”

“This is just what we need with everything else that’s going on in town,” Flint replied in frustration. “Is somebody relieving you here?”

“Mike Harriman should be here within the next hour or so,” she replied.

“When he gets here, go home and get some sleep. I have a feeling we’re all going to be putting in plenty of long hours until we get Bittard under arrest again.”

Flint left the house, his head swirling with everything that needed to be done as far as this particular case. He needed to start at the beginning, reinterview all of Bittard’s low-life friends and check out the old haunts where he used to hang.

He had to be getting help from somebody to stay hidden in a town with no exit, and Flint was determined to arrest anyone who was aiding and abetting him.

Approaching his car, his gaze fell on the place where Jolene Tate had breathed her last breath. For just a moment, his mind cast him back in time and instead of Jolene Tate, he saw an older woman with blond hair sprawled on the ground after having been shot in the head.

Madelaine Vasso had witnessed a gang shooting, and unlike so many, she had been determined to put some of the thugs away. It had been Flint’s job to keep her safe until she got to the courthouse to testify. They had been walking up the courthouse steps and had nearly reached the front door when a single bullet had pierced her head and instantly killed her.

His utter failure to protect her and the depth of his grief and guilt had eventually made him leave the Cheyenne Police Department and return home, back here to Dead River.

He shook his head to dislodge the memory of Madelaine and instead was punished by a vision of another woman’s body lying on the ground, her wavy auburn hair like a lush blanket beneath her head.

Nina.

His heart crashed, and he drew a deep breath, knowing he needed to keep it together. He would not have another failure like Madelaine. He refused for Nina to suffer the same fate as Jolene Tate.

Somehow, someway, he had to find Bittard and neutralize him before he got to Nina and before the quarantine was lifted and a killer ran free.