Page 28 of Three Girls Gone (Detective Amanda Steele #14)
TWENTY-THREE
Amanda banged on the door for a second time.
The address of Anne Harrington’s grandmother took her and Trent to a small white-sided house.
The lot was tiny too, with the front step only about ten feet from the sidewalk.
No car was parked in the driveway, but one could have been in the detached garage next to the house.
She was just about to turn around and give up when the door cracked open. An elderly woman with white hair stood there. She was hunched and regarded them with watery eyes.
“Yes?” One word, and the woman’s voice sounded stretched, like it took great effort to project that much.
A late-model silver Ford Mustang pulled into the driveway. Anne was behind the wheel. The car came to a jerking stop, and Anne catapulted from it and brushed past Amanda and Trent.
“Grandma, what are you doing up?”
The older woman retreated into the house guided by her granddaughter. Once she was tucked inside, Anne turned on them .
“I don’t know what this is about, but my grandmother needs all the rest she can get. She’s battling dementia and doesn’t need strangers turning up at the door.”
“We’re not strangers, Ms.Harrington,” Amanda said as she pulled her badge. “We’re detectives with the Prince William County PD, and we need to have a talk with you.”
“With me? Why? I haven’t done any— Did Bruce send you here? I called him. That’s all. The RO just says I’m not to come within a thousand feet of him.”
Amanda glanced at Trent.
“We’re going to need to talk with you down at Central Station,” he said.
“What? No. There’s no way I’m going to leave my grandmother.”
“You realize you already had? You just returned,” Amanda pointed out.
“I just popped to the store a block down and was gone like five minutes. You can’t bully me around. I know my rights.” Anne went to shut the door on them, but Trent stepped in front of Amanda.
“So do we, and you’re a person of interest in a murder case. It’s your choice. You come with us peacefully or we force your cooperation.”
Anne’s eyes jabbed left and right, and left again.
Amanda could call it before the woman set one foot in front of herself.
They had a runner. But she didn’t head for the front door.
Instead, she spun and headed farther into the house.
The bottom of her shoes slapped against the old wood flooring, leaving an audible trail to follow.
The challenge was navigating the mess of furniture and junk all over the house.
Grandma Harrington was a borderline hoarder.
Amanda ran after Anne to the back of the house and through a cluttered kitchen.
Dirty dishes and pots were stacked in the sink, on the counters, and on the stovetop.
Anne threw a screen door open. It screeched on its hinges and sprung back.
Amanda caught it just before it smacked into her and bolted outside.
Anne was taking a sharp left to round the house.
“She’s going for her car,” she called out to Trent, who spun around and tore back through the house to the front.
Amanda shouted to Anne to stop but no luck. She watched as she slipped behind the wheel of the Mustang. Trent reached the driveway just as Anne was tearing out. The wheels of her car were kicking up plumes of dust from the gravel driveway.
“I’ll call it in. You catch us up,” she told him.
They were just about to get into the department car when they heard a loud, sickening crunch.
“That can’t be good.” Trent’s words came out in slow motion while they both ran toward the road.
Sure enough, just a few houses down, the silver Mustang was hugging a pole, steam rolling out of the hood.
Amanda pulled her phone to call it in when the driver’s door opened, and Anne emerged. She glanced over her shoulder, and upon seeing them, she bolted.
“Here we go again.” Amanda tore after her, thankful she kept herself in relatively good shape.
Trent started behind but blew past her.
Ahead, Anne went down a side street and started shrieking for help like she was insane.
“PWCPD! Stop!” Trent yelled, and Amanda picked up speed.
Anne looked over her shoulder just as a van backed out of a driveway a few feet in front of her.
“Stop!” Amanda called out, but it was too late.
Anne turned around only to smash her face smack-dab into the side of the van. She crumpled to the ground .
Amanda caught up to Trent, and he turned to her. “Why do they always run?”
She shrugged. “They think they can get away.”
“Then they don’t know who they’re dealing with.” Trent smiled at her, and she grinned back. If Anne Harrington was the monster they were after, she deserved to feel pain.