Sarah Varland - Cold Case Witness

She hit the send button, tried to put into words what she wanted to say to him.

But she didn’t even get the chance to say “Help”—the only word she’d come up with so far. She’d only just dialed when her headache exploded.

And the black became blacker.

* * *

“Hello?”

Silence. Matt glanced down at his phone again, at the number he didn’t recognize, though it did look familiar. It had an Atlanta area code.

Wait. It was Gemma’s number. He’d called it earlier that day; that was why it looked familiar. “Hello?” he tried again, curious as to why she would be calling back at such a late hour.

No answer. He could hear background noise, although not enough to figure out where she was calling from or why. He’d expected getting hold of her would be challenging; was she really calling him back to talk about the case? Or could something be wrong?

He grabbed his keys, decided to try to find Gemma even though it was late. He’d head to her sister’s house, where he’d heard she was staying, but first he’d swing by the Hamilton Estate, in case Gemma was working late there and had gotten into some kind of trouble.

The more seconds passed the more anxious he got. It was late—surely she wasn’t calling to talk, especially since she wasn’t talking at all. It was possible she’d accidentally sat on her phone or something and hadn’t intended to call him at all, but she didn’t seem like the sort to be careless in that way. Something felt...off. And Matt didn’t know why she’d call him if she was in trouble, but that was what this felt like to him. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, pressed the gas pedal a little harder. Two miles had never taken so long to drive. Matt drummed his thumbs on the wheel as he drove. He turned into the driveway and his headlights caught...

Another car. Hadn’t he seen this one before?

Gemma’s.

Matt threw his patrol car into Park, opened the door and ran. He knew he was taking a chance of looking like an idiot if she was in there safe and sound and he was storming the place like this, but the lights were out. Why would her car be here if she didn’t have the lights on in the office, working or something? There were no good reasons that he could think of.

“Gemma?” He reached for the doorknob. Locked. He fumbled for his key ring, hands shaking. They’d given him an extra key when he’d been assigned this patrol, since the Treasure Point Historical Society wanted everything well guarded but also didn’t want the police to have to resort to damaging their building by breaking a door or a window. Matt knew because they’d told him so in a snooty way when they’d given him the key.

He shone his flashlight on the lock, shoved the key in, twisted.

He went light-headed almost instantly from the first whiff of propane. If Gemma was in here...

“Gemma!” He yelled it this time, no longer asking a question, but instead searching for her. Desperately. He reached for the light switch, but when he flipped it nothing happened. There went any hope this might have been an accident. Someone wanted her dead and Matt knew why.

You never could escape your past.

He searched for her, accidentally knocking into stacks of paper on the desk and hoping they weren’t anything too important. Not that any pile of paper could be more important than Gemma. A mental picture of her teased the edges of his mind, her dark eyes wide. Vulnerable even though she had always been one of the most independent people he’d ever met.

“Be okay, Gemma.” He dropped to his knees and felt around with his hands. The initial light-headedness he’d felt worsened. He stood, ran outside to breathe—through the door that he’d left propped open in the hopes of getting more oxygen into the room—and ran back in. “God, help.” He prayed as he ran. Where would he go if he were Gemma?

Under the desk. If she’d realized someone was after her, she’d be hiding, right?

He stumbled to the desk, knowing if he didn’t find her this time he was going to have to call dispatch and have them send the fire department, who had the equipment to do this kind of rescue.

His hand touched a shoe. Her foot. “Gemma?”

Still no answer. He removed his hand and felt along the floor about five feet. Her hand. That was what he’d been looking for. Matt moved his hands down the soft skin of her palm and felt for her wrist—and then her pulse. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Still alive. Matt gripped her upper arm with both hands, aware suddenly of how small she was, and pulled her toward him and into his arms. He inhaled and found the strength to stand. “Let him be gone, God. Whoever was here, please let him be gone.”

With no choice but to pray and hope for the best, he ran out into the darkness, unable to reach his gun if he needed it since he needed both hands to carry Gemma. And leaving her while he checked the outside for possible danger wasn’t an option—she needed fresh air if she was going to wake up...ever.

The darkness seemed thicker, more suffocating than it had when he’d arrived, even though the air was clean and fresh compared to the office. Matt took a deep breath, filling his own lungs with the outside air and then exhaling. He could only hope Gemma did the same. He laid her on the ground beside his police cruiser, deciding to give her one minute to wake up on her own before loading her in the car and driving straight to the small doctor’s office in town.

It only took a minute before she started to cough, and sleepily sat up.

“You got my phone call.”

Matt met her eyes and nodded.

Gemma nodded, too. “Thank you for coming.” She closed her eyes again.

“Gemma, Gemma, wake up.” Matt reached for her arm, helped her sit.

She did so, but she looked woozy to him, still.

“I’m taking you to the doctor.”

“No.” Gemma’s protest was weak. Not that it would have mattered. Matt had already made up his mind about what needed to be done.

He drove to the doctor’s office and at Gemma’s insistence waited in the car while she went inside to get checked out. He was unsettled, antsy, but he couldn’t very well go to the exam room with her anyway.

An hour later, she came back out. Matt got out of the car and opened the door for her, an action that was met with raised eyebrows. She’d been in the city too long. “How’d it go?” he asked as she climbed in.

Gemma shrugged. “Okay, I guess. He wanted to keep me overnight, but I told him I was fine.”

“You’re sure?”

The look she gave him before she pulled the door shut said enough.

Matt climbed in the driver’s seat and shut the door, then turned to Gemma. “You’re staying at your sister’s place, right? Where does she live?”

Gemma shook her head. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“If I go home, I’ll have to go to sleep. I’m not risking dreaming about tonight, not until I’m too tired to stand it. Is there somewhere we could go, just to talk about the case?” She looked away. “You know what, I shouldn’t ask you that. It’s okay, you can take me to Claire’s.”

“No, it’s fine. We should discuss the case anyway. And I know where we can go.”

“You’re sure?”

Matt nodded.

“Could I borrow your phone real quick, to let my sister know where I’m going?”

He handed it to her, trying not to eavesdrop on the call—an impossible goal when he was sitting two feet away from her.

“Claire, it’s me.”

Matt couldn’t make out the words on the other end of the line, but the tone sounded less than happy.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry... Yeah, I know you were worried. But I’m fine.”

More words from Claire.