From behind, the sameness of the condos only intensified. Each one hid behind a smooth façade of brown wooden fencing flanked by uniform fleets of gray trash barrels and bright blue recycling bins. Only the perfectly symmetrical white numbers painted beside each gate distinguished one unit from another.
Sam replayed the number of the Templeton residence over and over in his head as he poked through the contents of the two trash receptacles beside the gate. Nothing looked like it could be useful in a drug case. No surprises there. Something about Lyndsey had always felt very clean to Sam, especially compared to the real lowlifes, such as that guy who knifed Ronald Pinkham. He couldn’t see whatever minute clue his partner insisted on seeing in the man.
A movement down the alley caught Sam’s attention. A man burst out behind one of the condos and applied his shoulder to the gate. In his hands he carried a hammer and a heavy craft knife. Sam streaked down the alley, fumbling for his gun and shouting to him to “cease and desist.”
“Que?” the man called as the gate gave way.
“I’m telling you to stop,” Sam said, his gun sliding into his hand.
“There’s no time,” the man informed him. He threw down the knife and hammer. He snatched up a heavy pot and heaved it at the glass patio door. The door shattered inward. “There is a woman here being attacked.” He stepped through the doorway. “I heard her call for help.”
Sam scurried up to the man, joining him as he crept into the living room. The two forged their way across a mass of broken glass and furniture, clearly the remains of a bigger battle.
“Hello?” Sam called.
“In here,” a woman croaked.
Sam and the rescuer followed the voice to the kitchen. They found the woman backed into a corner clutching a cast-iron pan. At her feet lay an unconscious man, a knife still clutched in his hand. The rescuer touched the man with his toe and then applied a kick to the man’s ribs.
“You filthy dog,” the rescuer growled. He spat on the man’s head.
“Now, now,” Sam said, tucking his gun away. “It’s all over. The lady is safe.” He pulled out the handcuffs. “I’ll need your statement, miss. And yours too, sir. Please step back from the suspect.”
Sam set about applying the cuffs, muttering a fast Miranda warning. The suspect’s hand opened, releasing the knife. The rescuer kicked it aside.
“Thank you,” the woman said. “You saved my life. He had that knife. He said he’s killed before with it.”
Sam lifted the knife in his fingertips.
“Such a strange knife,” the woman continued. “I’ve never seen such a thing. I was only paying a friendly visit to Monsieur Daniels to discuss association dues. He became suddenly violent.”
“Come along, Oscar,” Sam said. He tugged on the suspect’s arm until he sat up.
