Chapter 38

THIRTY-EIGHT

It took all four of them to lift the pulpit and set it aside. Sweat poured into Josie’s eyes, stinging them. Her shoulders ached as she knelt to press her fingers against the man’s carotid artery. She didn’t feel anything, but his skin wasn’t the kind of cold she would expect of a dead body—even one left in the oppressive heat of the church. His curly blond hair was matted to his head, slick with moisture. If he was perspiring, he was still alive. There wasn’t as much blood pooled around his body, though stab wounds left ugly gaping gashes along his forearms—what Josie could see of them. She adjusted her fingers, searching again for a pulse. A closer look at his face revealed that he was probably a teenager. Sixteen or seventeen, most likely.

“Anything?” asked Gretchen.

Relief surged through Josie’s veins as the faint, thready beats of the boy’s heart thumped against her fingertips. “He’s alive.”

Noah spoke into his radio, calling for EMS to come through the front door. Josie lowered her face and spoke into the boy’s ear. “Can you hear me? I’m with the Denton Police. We’re here to help you.”

No response.

Turner dropped to his knees on the other side of the boy, lowering his head toward the floor. His voice boomed through the church. “Hey, kid, wake up. We’re gonna take you to the hospital.”

Shouting only inches from the boy’s ear wasn’t the approach Josie would have taken but it worked. His eyelids fluttered. A low, deep moan escaped his parted lips.

Turner kept going. “That’s it, kid. Can you open your eyes? Talk to us?”

One of his arms shifted, his finger coming off the polaroid. Josie touched his shoulder. “Try not to move. The paramedics are on their way. Can you talk?”

An indecipherable sound came from his mouth.

“Come on, kid,” said Turner. “You can do it.”

“He—he?—”

Every syllable took tremendous effort. A bead of sweat rolled from his hairline, across his temple and over his forehead.

“He who?” Josie asked, keeping a light touch against his shoulder. “Who did this to you?”

He continued to struggle but his eyes blinked open, a startling shade of blue. Josie bent until her face was nearly parallel to his, the blood-smeared floor only an inch from her cheek. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s good. We’re here to help. Can you tell us who did this to you?”

“Don’t know…dark. He—he was covered.”

“What about the woman?” Turner asked.

The boy’s eyes went glassy. Josie’s stomach plummeted. His whispered words were inaudible.

A series of bangs came from the front door. EMS trying to maneuver the gurney up the steps and inside.

“That’s my mom.” The boy blinked slowly. A single tear slid from his eye. “He killed my—my mom.”