Read Online Never Cry Mercy by L. T. Ryan - Free Book Online

off my balance. The hail thickened and pelted everything in sight. It ricocheted off my head. Each piece felt like a tiny hammer against my skull. I took cover at the side of the house, protected somewhat by the overhanging roof. The chunks of ice still hit, but with a much reduced frequency.
    Using the house to support my weight, I tested my ankle. The pain had subsided. I completed a couple test steps with a slight limp.
    At the screen door, I stopped and scanned the area. It felt almost calm amid the driving rain and hail, lightning strikes and thunder, and heavy wind.
    The screen door banged against my back as I reached for the kitchen door handle. I eased the door open and slipped inside. Water dripped off me, splattering the floor. A puddle grew at my feet. It felt like I had entered another dimension, the air was so still. The sounds of hail hitting the tin roof echoed throughout the kitchen. I waited there, gaze loosely fixed on the next room, listening for any movement.
    I grabbed a chef's knife from the block, then moved into the living room. The recliner was toppled over. The television lay flat on the floor. The coffee table had been smashed in the middle. Magazines and newspapers littered the floor. No bodies, though. And no blood.
    I climbed the stairs. Approached the first landing cautiously. Left arm ready to defend. Right prepared to attack with the knife. I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and whipped around to the next set of stairs.
    The bottom half of a leg protruded from the top floor, hanging over the first couple steps, toes pointed down. I could tell by the brown leather shoe it was Herbie. Once eye level with the floor, I saw the rest of his body, lying face-down in a pool of his own blood. I stepped over his lifeless body and continued straight down the hallway. At the end of the corridor, the door to their bedroom stood open a couple inches. A bloody handprint started about halfway up and slithered to the floor in a thick, meandering red line.
    I pushed the door open with my foot. It swung without resistance. The body I expected positioned behind it wasn't there. It didn't take long to find her, though.
    Ingrid lay stretched out on the bed, resting on a pillow. Looked like she was sleeping. A single bullet hole in her forehead told a different story. I figured the blood on the door was Herbie's. Ingrid had been there, knelt at his body. Perhaps she caught him as he fell. She tried to flee to her room as the assailant pursued, and tripped at the door.
    I lifted her body forward. The bullet had gone through, but there was no indication she'd been shot in bed. A small pool of blood had saturated the pillow, but the splatter I would expect to see did not coat the wall. She hadn't been killed in the bed. In fact, it looked as though she'd been cleaned off before being placed there. I scanned the room, found the spot where she was murdered near the window. She'd tripped and fell past the door. Bloody handprints littered the carpet. She had managed to get to her knees, then feet, and perhaps went for the window to escape or call for help. The assailant gained her attention and opened fire when she turned around.
    Or when they forced her to turn around.
    But why not leave her there on the floor where her lifeless body collapsed?
    I didn't have to think about it too long. The killer knew her. Which meant they knew Herbie, too. At least in passing. But the way the bodies had been left indicated they had a connection with Ingrid. So much so that they felt compelled to lay her to rest gently, going so far as to remove the blood and brains that had surely coated her face.
    "Ingrid," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. You tried to tell me. I heard you, but I didn't listen to what you were saying."

Chapter 16
    I searched the house for clues and anyone hiding out. Found neither. Several thoughts raced through my mind. Who did it, and why? What were the final moments like for Ingrid and Herbie? Had anyone heard? But