Face of Murder

She was distracted for too long. Thinking, wondering about Zoe. She was supposed to be paying attention to him. His eyes were closing, and he was going ashy pale.

Shelley swore, kneeling down by Wardenford’s head, wincing as an errant piece of glass found its way through her trousers to nick her skin. “Don’t do this,” she begged, touching his face, shaking his shoulder gently. “Come on, James. Stay with me. The ambulance is nearly here. You just have to stay awake for a few minutes. You can do this.”

The sound of a siren in the road outside made Shelley catch her breath. But Wardenford’s eyes remained closed, and she could barely detect his breathing.

“No, come on!” she shouted, pinching the skin on his neck to give him a sharp shock and get his attention. “Come on, James. Don’t go to sleep. They’re here. They’re coming to save you. Don’t give up!”

***

Zoe reached inside her lungs for extra breath, reached inside her legs for more power to leap and run faster. It was no use. Matthias was young and fit, and he had a head start. Maybe if he stumbled, fell, got stuck behind a slow-moving pedestrian or hit by a vehicle, she could catch up. It was a long shot maybe.

Where was he going? He was not familiar enough with the neighborhood, surely, to know shortcuts and quick switches—he was moving down roads and between houses at a seemingly random rate, glancing over his shoulder when he made turns to see that she was still there behind him.

She was getting further and further away.

Almost far enough that if he took two turns in quick succession, she wouldn’t be able to figure out where he had gone.

No—it couldn’t end like this. Zoe couldn’t let him get away, out there to potentially harm someone else or to even end up disappearing forever. The kid might have had neurological problems, but underneath that he was still smart. Unfortunately, thanks to the growing need for kids at good schools to have extracurricular activities under their belt in order to compete with the other perfect grades, he was also fast.

He’d been given a perfect bill of health in his medical report, except for that TBI.

Dammit! Zoe cursed as she stumbled on a loose paving slab. This part of the city was not as well-maintained as the areas she was used to, apartment blocks with overgrown yards and weeds springing up to disrupt the pavement. The roads were wide, telegraph poles leaning at odd angles where cars had hit their bases and papered-over cracks in the tarmac, but they were also interrupted by tress planted along their edges in happier times. Cars, trees, garbage spilling out of homes, abandoned furniture—it made for a mismatched and staccato pattern that dashed the advantage her abilities gave her, in the way that only human-made chaos could.

“FBI! Stop!” Zoe shouted, then decided it was better to save her breath in the future. There was no way that he was going to stop just because she told him to, and with the way he tore from one side of the sidewalk to the other, crossing empty road, there was no chance of keeping him in her sights for long enough to fire.

Then there was the fact that she was still in a bit of trouble for shooting at an unarmed suspect in their last case, who turned out to be innocent. She couldn’t risk making that mistake again. For all she knew, this could turn out to be a comedy of errors in which a concerned neighbor stepped through and lifted a lamp that had been used to bludgeon Wardenford already.

That wasn’t it. Matthias was the killer. But Zoe knew she couldn’t dare stop running to risk getting off a shot.

There was barely anyone around at this time; those going to work had gone, those staying at home were staying in. A few elderly residents sitting on porches or out front of dilapidated single-family homes stared at her with narrowed eyes as she flew by, but Zoe couldn’t spare the time to yell to them or take them in. They couldn’t help her. With no way of knowing if he had a hidden knife or a hammer for bludgeoning, she could hardly ask a civilian to tackle him, either.

But Matthias had made a mistake. A set of cast-iron gates up ahead were closed, the only conclusion to the road they were on. He cast a wide-eyed look over his shoulder before speeding up toward them and then vaulting, one hand on the brick posts holding the gates in place as his body flew through the air above them.

Zoe cursed again, this time only in her head to save oxygen. The gates were five feet tall, easy enough for him to get over. She hadn’t tried her vaulting skills in a while. This could be a costly delay.

But, there! A footpath to the side with a gate swinging open in the breeze, only a moment’s diversion. Zoe took it, reading the sign with a glance as she sped through: it was a cemetery.

That should have sent a shiver up her spine, but instead it sent a thrill.

A cemetery was wide, open-plan. Paths were laid out but could be ignored.

A cemetery had patterns.

She had him now.