Dead Hunt

the living room light.
The light worked. What about the electricity? The illumination revealed what Diane knew, what she had smelled—blood. The pool in the hallway ran into the dining area and the kitchen. Diane was covered in it.
‘‘Sweet Jesus,’’ said the policeman, lowering his gun. ‘‘What happened, Dr. Fallon? Where are you hurt? Don’t try to move.’’
‘‘I’m all right. It’s not my blood,’’ she said. Then whose is it?
‘‘Is there someone else here?’’ he asked. ‘‘We got an anonymous call about someone being killed. Is there a body?’’ He looked around the room, squatting on his haunches as if there might be a body hidden under the couch.
‘‘No—I don’t know. . . .’’ said Diane.
Before she finished, the patrolman began searching her apartment, trying carefully to avoid the blood— which was impossible. He tracked it into her bedroom.
Diane struggled carefully to her feet. A policeman who had been standing at the door came in to help her.
‘‘Are you hurt? You say this isn’t your blood? Do you know whose it is?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Diane. ‘‘No, I don’t.’’
He pulled out a chair from her dining room table as she carefully made her way, trying not to step in the blood. As she started to sit down, she looked at the seat cushion and stopped. She was soaked in blood. It dripped from her night shirt and robe. The policeman noticed her hesitation.
‘‘You need to sit down,’’ he said. ‘‘You have a bruise on your head. Did someone attack you?’’
Diane reached a hand up to touch her head but saw that her hands were covered in blood. She sat down on the floor.
‘‘Is there a body somewhere?’’ the patrolman asked.
‘‘What? No, not that I’ve seen.’’ That sounded stupid . ‘‘I mean, I just woke up.’’ Think, dammit.
‘‘All clear,’’ said the first policeman. He walked back to them. He was leaving bloody footprints all over the floor. ‘‘You got a bulb out in the bedroom.’’
‘‘You just woke up and found all this blood in your apartment?’’ The policeman sounded skeptical. Diane didn’t blame him.
‘‘Better call Chief Garnett,’’ said the first policeman. ‘‘You know he wants to be called about anything involving Fallon, the museum, or the crime lab.’’
‘‘We need to call the paramedics. She has a serious lump on her head,’’ said the other patrolman.
‘‘Call the crime lab. . . . ’’ She thought for a moment, remembered Jin’s home phone number, and gave it to them.
As they made their calls, Diane looked at the blood pattern—pooled in the hallway, running into the kitchen and dining area, pooling up under the table. There was so much of it. A smear of blood led from the main pool out the door. Something—someone was dragged. She looked up at the ceiling. There were three lines of cast-off blood spatter—that would be four thrusts of a knife. First one picked up the blood, the subsequent ones spattered it across the ceiling. On the wall across from the table where she sat there was a smear of blood as if someone had put their hands on it, then slid down the wall. She looked on the floor for footprints. There should have been a lot of them made by whoever was here, but she couldn’t make out the originals from the ones made by the policemen and by herself. It struck her that it all looked so ridiculous—and so horrible.
‘‘Are you hurt?’’ asked one of the patrolmen.
Diane touched her head. ‘‘Just a small bump.’’
‘‘How did you get it? Were you hit?’’ he asked.
‘‘Hit? No. I fell—slipped in the blood,’’ she said.
‘‘You didn’t hear anything?’’ he asked. She looked at his brass name tag. Officer Ellison. She looked at the other one. Officer Lange. It was Lange she knew.
‘‘No, I didn’t hear anything,’’ she said.
‘‘Are you a heavy sleeper?’’ Lange asked.
Diane shook her head. ‘‘No. I’m a light sleeper.’’ She was a light sleeper. Why didn’t she hear anything? And why did she feel so fuzzy now. Drugged? When?
She looked down at her arms, her clothes. She was soaked in blood. The smell was making her sick, the sight about to cause her to gag. She had to get away from the blood.
‘‘You don’t need to be getting up until the paramedics get here,’’ said Officer Ellison.
Diane hadn’t realized that she had tried to rise. ‘‘Sorry. I feel sick. It’s the smell.’’
‘‘The paramedics will be here soon.