Attempted Murder

Rachel pulls up to the Greco home a few minutes later. The moon's glow and the bright starry skies illuminate the breathtaking view. I'd never get tired of this. She sighs, taking it all in. Like the Maroni's, it's a beautiful refurbished two-story Victorian surrounded by acres of gorgeous lawn.

Rachel discovers the front door is crafted from the finest dark oak. Monte Crisco Ironwork covers the frosted glass. That must've cost a pretty penny. She thinks, pushing the doorbell. Even their chime is fancy, she laughs as Beethoven's Fur Elise sounds through the house. Rachel starts to push the button again when the pricey barrier flies open. She sees a flustered, Latino woman in the doorway. Her face is flushed, and her hair is a tangled mess. No wonder it took her so long to answer. Rachel chuckles, eyeing the distraught, half-naked young lady in front of her.

"May I help you?" she breathlessly asks, pulling her lacy rose-pink robe around her petite frame.

"My name is Detective Webb, and I'm with the Berryville Police. I need to ask you a few questions."

She nervously glances behind her. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Greco is retired for the evening, and his wife is out of town." She tries to shut the door.

Rachel reaches up to stop it. "I want to talk to you."

"To me." She pulls the robe around herself tighter. "No, sorry, I cannot help you, no ingles." She tries to close the door.

Rachel shoves it open. The door crashes against the wall.

The lady looks behind her again.

"I can always get an interpreter to meet us at the station." Rachel reaches for her cuffs."

"I.. Ah..I speak English just fine."

Rachel smiles. That's what I thought. "Where is Tito Greco?"

"He's gone; he and his mama left for Italy two weeks ago." The lady shifts her stance.

"Then why was he spotted in town this morning?"

"I...I don't know, I...I just work here." She peeks behind her again.

Something is going on. "Is that what Mr. Greco told you to say?"

"No... No, it's the truth. Tito is gone; he left with his mama. Now please go away before you wake my boss." With one hard shove, she pushes the door too.

Aggravated, Rachel stomps back to her car. "Something is going on in that house, and I'm going to figure out what it is." Slamming her car into gear, she pulls away from the curb.

Rachel replays the facts in her mind as she heads towards town. Tito could've left for Italy and then jetted back to the US. How could he when there's no record of him on a plane? He might have taken a private jet or used an alias. What if someone used his name to make it look like he's out of the country when he's not? If that's true, then he has to be hiding somewhere, but where? Rachel slides around a sharp curve.

The city needs to put in a few street lights back here; of course, this fog doesn't help a bit. She dims her lights, hoping it'll reduce the deflection off of the thick mist. That's better.

She notices bright lights pierce through the darkness when she looks in her rearview mirror. This sudden illumination decreases her visibility even more. "Dim your lights, buddy." She starts to flip the tab on her mirror when she realizes the truck is picking up speed. "Maybe he can't see me." She pumps her brakes, hoping her taillights will shine through the heavy cloud.

The truck speeds up, smacking the edge of her bumper.

"What the hell are you doing?" Grabbing the steering wheel with both hands, Rachel pushes the pedal down more.

The truck bumps her again, harder than before.

"Knock it off, buddy." She gives her car more gas. The truck hits her again.

Her car tailspin then flies off the cliff.

*****

Joe is packing up for the night when he realizes Rachel hasn't returned. Glancing at his watch, he discovers that it's been nearly three hours since he sent her out. She should've been back long before now. Maybe she's following another lead. He's heading towards the door when another thought stops him in his tracks. She's usually pretty good about keeping us posted. Maybe she forgot.

A few of her latest incidents suddenly come to mind. She does tend to find trouble wherever she goes. I better call, make sure she's alright. Scooping up his phone, he dials the detective's number.

Joe taps his fingers on his desk as he waits for his call to connect. "Come on, come on, answer the damn phone already." He hears a click on the line. "Hello, Rachel?" He hears a beep."Damn voice mail." There has to be a good reason. He runs his fingers through his thinning hair, trying to come up with a logical reason, but he can't think of a single thing. He glances out the window to find Jerry and Jeff at their desks. Maybe they know where she is. Jumping out of his chair, he walks towards them. "Have either of you spoken to Rachel?"

Jerry looks up from his computer. "Not since you sent her to the Greco's, why?"

Joe glances at his watch again. "I'm starting to worry."

"I'm sure she's okay, boss."

"She probably stopped somewhere on the way back," Jeff adds.

That's what we thought with the last case, and you remember what happened there." Rachel was held at gunpoint following a lead.

"True, but..." Jerry suddenly recalls all the other close encounters she's had through the years. "I'll check on her, just in case." He grabs his cell from his desk and dials her number.

"I've already tried that, and it went straight to voicemail; something that rarely happens with her." Joe shifts his weight.

"Maybe she'll answer this time." Jerry lets his call go through. Her voicemail picks up on the fifth ring. "I'll use her phone's GPS to locate her. He brings up an app on his phone. "It shows that she's immobile on HWY 7 south."

Hanging up the phone, Jeff glances up at his bosses and says, "Dispatch just called; they found Detective Webb's car at the bottom of Crystal Mountain."

"Is she alright?".

"They're trying to get to her now."