Read Online You belong to me by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
Tags: Fiction, General, thriller, Suspense, Psychological, adventure, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Crime & mystery, Fiction - Psychological Suspense, New York (N.Y.), Serial Murderers, Women, Crime thriller, Cruise Ships, Women - Crimes against, Television talk shows, Talk shows
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about give you the space to write two lines."
It was also the perfect size for making a quick sketch to help Hilda anchor her memory of the thug who had grabbed that poor woman's manila envelope and then pushed her. With painfully stiff fingers, Hilda slowly began to draw. A face started to emerge-not a profile, but more like he was facing three-quarters of the way toward her. Yes, his hair had grown like this, she reminded herself. She drew his ear, well-shaped, close to his head. His eyes had been far apart, and they narrowed as he focused on Wells, his lashes, long, his chin, determined.
When Hilda put the pen down, she was satisfied. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all. She glanced at the clock; it was five of eleven. She turned on the television, then went into the kitchen to fill the kettle.
She had just lit the gas beneath it when the buzzer sounded from downstairs. Who in the name of God at this hour? she wondered as she went into the tiny foyer and picked up the receiver of the intercom.
"Who is it?" She did not attempt to conceal her irritation.
"Miss Johnson, I'm so sorry to disturb you." The man's voice was low and pleasant. "I'm Detective Anders. We have a suspect in custody who may be the person you saw push Mrs. Wells today. I need to show you his picture. If you recognize him, we can hold him. Otherwise we'll have to let him go."
"I thought no one believed me when I said someone pushed her," Hilda snapped.
"We didn't want it to leak that we were on the tail of a suspect. May I come up for just a minute?"
"I guess so."
Hilda pushed the buzzer that unlocked the lobby door. Then with a feeling of self-satisfaction, she went back to the desk and looked at her sketch. Wait till Detective Anders sees this, she thought.
She heard the old elevator when it lumbered to a stop on her floor; after that she made out the faint sound of footsteps.
She waited until Detective Anders rang the bell before she opened the door. Must be getting cold, she thought-his coat collar was turned up, and he wore a slouch hat pulled down low on his forehead. Plus he was wearing gloves.
"This will only take a minute, Miss Johnson," he said. "I'm sorry to disturb you."
Hilda cut short his apology. "Come in," she said briskly. "I've got something to show you too." As she led the way to the desk, she did not hear the soft click of the closing door.
"I did a sketch of the guy I saw," she said triumphantly. "Let's compare it with the picture you have."
"Of course." But instead of a sketch, the visitor laid down a driver's license with a photo ID.
Hilda gasped. "Look! It's the same face! That's the man I saw push that woman and grab the envelope."
For the first time, she looked directly up at Detective Anders. He had removed his hat, and his coat collar was no longer turned up around his neck.
Hilda's eyes widened in shock Her mouth opened, but the only sound that came from it was a feint murmur: "Oh, no!" She tried to step back, but she bumped into the desk behind her. Her face went ghastly pale as she realized that she was trapped.
Beseechingly she raised her hands. Then in futile protest she turned her palms outward to shield herself from the knife her visitor was about to plunge into her chest.
He jumped back to avoid the spurting blood, then watched as her body sagged and crumbled to the threadbare carpet. A fixed, staring look began to settle in Hilda's eyes, but she managed to murmur, "God- won't- let you- get- away-"
As he reached over her to take his driver's license and her sketch, her body shuddered violently, and her hand fell on his shoe.
Shaking the hand off, he walked calmly to the door, opened it, checked the hallway, and in four paces was at the fire exit staircase. When he reached the lobby, he opened that door a crack, saw no one coming, and an instant later was on the street, heading home.
The realization of how narrow had been his escape washed over him. If the cops had believed that old bag and gone to
It was also the perfect size for making a quick sketch to help Hilda anchor her memory of the thug who had grabbed that poor woman's manila envelope and then pushed her. With painfully stiff fingers, Hilda slowly began to draw. A face started to emerge-not a profile, but more like he was facing three-quarters of the way toward her. Yes, his hair had grown like this, she reminded herself. She drew his ear, well-shaped, close to his head. His eyes had been far apart, and they narrowed as he focused on Wells, his lashes, long, his chin, determined.
When Hilda put the pen down, she was satisfied. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all. She glanced at the clock; it was five of eleven. She turned on the television, then went into the kitchen to fill the kettle.
She had just lit the gas beneath it when the buzzer sounded from downstairs. Who in the name of God at this hour? she wondered as she went into the tiny foyer and picked up the receiver of the intercom.
"Who is it?" She did not attempt to conceal her irritation.
"Miss Johnson, I'm so sorry to disturb you." The man's voice was low and pleasant. "I'm Detective Anders. We have a suspect in custody who may be the person you saw push Mrs. Wells today. I need to show you his picture. If you recognize him, we can hold him. Otherwise we'll have to let him go."
"I thought no one believed me when I said someone pushed her," Hilda snapped.
"We didn't want it to leak that we were on the tail of a suspect. May I come up for just a minute?"
"I guess so."
Hilda pushed the buzzer that unlocked the lobby door. Then with a feeling of self-satisfaction, she went back to the desk and looked at her sketch. Wait till Detective Anders sees this, she thought.
She heard the old elevator when it lumbered to a stop on her floor; after that she made out the faint sound of footsteps.
She waited until Detective Anders rang the bell before she opened the door. Must be getting cold, she thought-his coat collar was turned up, and he wore a slouch hat pulled down low on his forehead. Plus he was wearing gloves.
"This will only take a minute, Miss Johnson," he said. "I'm sorry to disturb you."
Hilda cut short his apology. "Come in," she said briskly. "I've got something to show you too." As she led the way to the desk, she did not hear the soft click of the closing door.
"I did a sketch of the guy I saw," she said triumphantly. "Let's compare it with the picture you have."
"Of course." But instead of a sketch, the visitor laid down a driver's license with a photo ID.
Hilda gasped. "Look! It's the same face! That's the man I saw push that woman and grab the envelope."
For the first time, she looked directly up at Detective Anders. He had removed his hat, and his coat collar was no longer turned up around his neck.
Hilda's eyes widened in shock Her mouth opened, but the only sound that came from it was a feint murmur: "Oh, no!" She tried to step back, but she bumped into the desk behind her. Her face went ghastly pale as she realized that she was trapped.
Beseechingly she raised her hands. Then in futile protest she turned her palms outward to shield herself from the knife her visitor was about to plunge into her chest.
He jumped back to avoid the spurting blood, then watched as her body sagged and crumbled to the threadbare carpet. A fixed, staring look began to settle in Hilda's eyes, but she managed to murmur, "God- won't- let you- get- away-"
As he reached over her to take his driver's license and her sketch, her body shuddered violently, and her hand fell on his shoe.
Shaking the hand off, he walked calmly to the door, opened it, checked the hallway, and in four paces was at the fire exit staircase. When he reached the lobby, he opened that door a crack, saw no one coming, and an instant later was on the street, heading home.
The realization of how narrow had been his escape washed over him. If the cops had believed that old bag and gone to
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