“Did he say anything? Call out to you? Would you be able to identify his voice?”
“No. Didn’t say a word,” she said.
“How did the attack start?”
She swallowed. “As I said, I think he was waiting in the stables until I was the farthest from the door that I’d opened for the horses. Most of the animals were already out. One of the mares, Molly, balked at being released. She was frightened and wouldn’t budge. I had to grab her halter and physically pull her. She reared…struck me…” Shannon reached for her water glass. Rossi handed it to her.
Clearing her throat Shannon explained everything she could remember, and as she did Janowitz asked more questions and took notes in her small spiral-bound pad while Rossi listened without so much as another comment.
No, Shannon hadn’t seen any vehicles that she didn’t recognize.
No, she hadn’t observed anyone on the premises who shouldn’t have been there.
Yes, sometimes she did feel that she was being followed or watched. She couldn’t really explain the sensation.
No, she had no idea who left her the burned piece of her daughter’s birth certificate, or who had called at exactly 12:07 on the thirteenth anniversary of that birth, but yes, she did think all the events, including the fire, were connected.
Shannon yawned, suddenly tired. She moved her shoulders and felt a stab of pain in her ribs. She didn’t want to think about the fire any longer, couldn’t really concentrate.
But Janowitz wasn’t quite finished. “There was a man, a stranger on the premises. The one you ran into as the fire broke out.”
“Uh-huh.” Shannon nodded, remembering the tall man who’d appeared from the shadows, the one she’d sent to release the dogs from their kennels. It had been too dark to get a good look at his face, all she had were vague images of a tall, athletically built man with sharp features. “I didn’t get his name.”
Janowitz checked her notes, flipping back a couple of pages, but Shannon guessed she really didn’t need to remind herself. If nothing else, the female detective seemed focused and, Shannon bet, had a razor-sharp memory. “Travis Settler.”
The name meant nothing to her. “Settler?”
“You don’t know him?”
She shook her head. “No. But…” She thought about catching the first glimpse of his shadowed face and the sensation that she’d seen him somewhere before. She wanted to dismiss it. Everything had been so crazy, but the detective was staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish her sentence. “Okay, when I saw him that night…I had this…this strange feeling that I’d met him or seen him somewhere before. Kind of a déjà vu thing.” Which was impossible. Where had she seen him? “But I’m not sure about that.”
“He’s from Falls Crossing.”
Shannon shrugged. “Where’s that?”
“In Oregon. Near the Washington border.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Not many people have.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Janowitz’s mouth. So the hard-nosed detective did have a sense of humor.
“And you’ve never met Travis Settler before?”
“No, I don’t know anyone by that name,” she said and turned her head to glance out the window to the leafy branches of an oak illuminated by the security lights. Was the name familiar? She didn’t think so. “Should I know him?” Shannon asked, looking at the detective again. She noticed a hint of doubt in the detective’s gaze, as if Janowitz knew something she didn’t. And the other guy—Rossi—his scowl had deepened around the small stripe of blond beard visible on his chin.
“Wait a minute,” Shannon said, her pulse escalating. “What’s going on? Who is this Settler guy?”
Janowitz ignored her question. “Do you think Travis Settler was the one who attacked you?”
“No…I…” She didn’t really know, did she? She’d thought he’d gone to free the dogs, but he could have pretended to run to the kennels, then hidden. “I don’t know, but…No, I don’t think it was him. Why would it be?”
“Who do you think it was?”
“Beats me. It was dark. I’d already been injured by the mare.”
“Tell us about it again,” Janowitz said, her steady gaze missing nothing. Suddenly Shannon felt vulnerable. Lying here in the bed, an IV dripping into the back of her right wrist, her left arm taped to her side, her face patched with bandages. These people, the police, knew a whole lot more about what had happened to her, to her property, than she did and they acted as if she was hiding something.
“I saw the fire,” she began wearily. Her strength ebbing, she nevertheless reviewed every step of that awful night: grabbing the fire extinguisher, running to the stable, meeting Settler, the mad panic as she raced through the horse barn, then backwards through the stalls to avoid being trampled, Molly’s resistance, her shoulder feeling as if it was ripping apart, the horse rearing and finally getting the crazed mare almost to safety, when she was suddenly jumped from behind.