Dead Lies (3 page)

Anna paused, sizing him up even in the heat of the moment. With a shadow of a late-afternoon beard and a nose that had obviously been broken at one time, he wasn’t exactly good-looking. He had more of a rough-and-sexy appeal. She liked that type, in part because he was the exact opposite physical type as her ex-husband. Anna guessed a smile from the man might bump him into the handsome category, but he was glaring at her angrily, so for now she could only wonder.

His female companion, a woman with dark brown hair and matching brown eyes, rushed over, with Paul in tow. “We’re the ones who called you,” she screamed in desperation.

The woman was clearly telling the truth. Neither of the two was wearing a coat, which suggested they had rushed over here. That also meant there was no place for either of them to hide a gun.

But there was an even better reason to believe them. They were both wearing dress shoes. No criminal she’d ever run across had worn shoes like that to a robbery.

“Please,” the man pleaded. “You have
got
to get in there.”

Anna ignored him. “Does your sister own a gun?” she demanded.

The man shot his sister a look. Neither answered.

“Does she have a gun?” Anna repeated more forcefully. It was a question she was used to asking witnesses since it seemed like every criminal in the city had one.

“I think Bill does,” the man spat. “He’s a defense lawyer in New York City…”

“Bill’s your sister’s husband?” she interrupted.

“Yes. He’s a lawyer now, but was a cop.” His eyes darted toward the house. He looked furious now, like the kind of man who wasn’t used to getting knocked to the ground or following commands by others. He was the kind of guy used to giving them. “Officer,
please,
” he growled.

Anna nodded and drew her gun. She looked at Paul and said quickly, “Go around the other side and meet me in back.” Then she told the pair, “You two stay here. And don’t move.”

The man looked like he wanted to argue, but a glance at the lower half of his still-prostrate figure told her he wouldn’t. There was a jagged protrusion where his left shin should have been. Anna suddenly realized why he hadn’t tried to get up after his fall. The man had a prosthetic leg, and it must have snapped loose when she took him down. No wonder he couldn’t stand.

Anna felt a mild flash of shame for further disabling a crippled man. But of course she hadn’t known. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have done anything differently. She was doing her job.

She turned away.

Carefully starting up the driveway, she searched for any movement in the windows or in the shadows of the yard. There was nothing. The smell of wood-smoke wafted over from a nearby house, and she found it hard to reconcile the pleasant scent with the surreal nature of the situation. Fires signified happy families gathered around the hearth eating home-baked cookies and drinking hot chocolate, not scared loved ones making 9-1-1 calls. She gripped her gun tighter and moved silently forward on her rubber-soled shoes.

Reaching the front corner of the house, she peered into the first window on her right. It was dark inside, but she could just make out the outline of a table and chairs and a large cabinet behind it. She moved further on, staying close to the house, and passed two sets of windows which revealed the kitchen. She guessed there’d be a door around back.

Rounding the house, Anna stepped onto the grass and walked toward the small stone patio jutting into the yard. She didn’t like what she saw. A stream of light was leaking out between the door and its jamb, revealing bits of wooden splinters and glass scattered on the step in front of it. Forced open. Just like that break-in this fall.

She had always wanted to be a cop and knew that she had the guts to take action in the face of danger. But she was not some superhero. Ever since that botched heroin bust last year, her confidence had been rattled.

Anna wondered if she should wait for Frank and Sanjay to arrive. But that was probably what they expected a female cop to do. How would that make her look later?

She felt another flash of shame. If someone inside needed help, it was her job to get to them as fast as she safely could. Someone could be hurt.

Her adrenaline surged telling her it was time to move, now.

When Paul appeared on the other side of the house, Anna gestured to him to come closer. She turned down the volume of the radio at her belt so it wouldn’t squawk and reveal her presence. She motioned for Paul to do the same and pointed to the door with a tilt of her head. She raised her Glock to the ready position, nodding as Paul followed suit. Her heart pounding, she gingerly pushed open the door with the tip of her boot and stepped inside the kitchen.

CHAPTER 3

T
HE SMELL OF CORDITE HIT HER FIRST, A NANOSECOND BEFORE ANNA
spotted the dead woman on the floor. Pieces of wood from a smashed chair were scattered around the body, and her feet crunched over glass as she made her way over to it. She bent down and pressed her fingers to the woman’s throat to check for a pulse. Nothing. She pulled her hand away.

The woman had been beautiful in life. That was clear. Her eyes were open, so Anna could see the same vivid green irises as her brother’s. She also had similar blond hair.

“Oh, no,” she heard Paul say behind her. Then he stumbled back outside and retched onto the grass.

Anna kept her eyes on the crime scene while she fumbled for her radio. A murdered body was always a hideous sight, but this one—in this neat, homey kitchen, on this tidy, quiet street—seemed so at odds with the manicured perfection of suburbia Anna had come to know. Somehow that made the crime all the more gruesome.

Her heart was hammering against her chest as she copied Brenda. She spoke quietly. “I’ve got an aided down,” she said, using police shorthand for an injured person, even though it was obvious the woman was dead. “Send a bus.” She paused and corrected herself, remembering she was a suburban cop now. “An ambulance.” She added, “Put a rush on it,” which would tell the other arriving officers they were walking into a potentially dangerous situation.

She pushed the thought of danger from her mind. She needed to focus. It was time to search the house.

Raising her gun again in a two-handed grip, she stepped past the island toward the dining room. Who was she looking for? Was this a robbery attempt, and the burglars were still here? Or was the shooter the husband? Most murders are carried out by someone the victim knows well. Plus, he had a gun.”

There was a squeak behind her, and Anna whirled around. She released her breath when she saw Frank Fazio, whose shoes had made the noise. Sanjay stood behind Frank, his mouth open, his eyes wide with shock. Behind him was Paul, who looked pale and shaky but had apparently stopped puking long enough to return.

She watched Frank make a quick visual sweep of the room, and in that instant she decided she’d been wrong to be suspicious of him. He may not have rolled out the departmental red carpet for her, but instinct told her he was a Good Cop.

In Anna’s experience, there were two kinds of police officers—Good Cops and Bad Cops. Good Cops had the backs of their fellow officers at all times, even at risk of their own safety. Bad Cops looked out for number one only, and their selfishness could cost you your life. In order to survive you had to know which kind you were working with.

Frank’s cool appraisal of the room told Anna he definitely had her back.

He turned to Paul and spoke quietly and firmly. “Make sure no one enters or exits, including the family. Sanjay, you come with me.”

As a captain, Frank was the senior officer on the scene, but a silent nod told Anna he was letting her take the lead. She acknowledged this with a brief nod and turned to Sanjay, motioning she wanted him to take the swinging door to their left. They watched Sanjay gently push open the door with his foot and disappear. They listened for a moment but heard nothing, so Anna and Frank headed for the dining room.

One of the things Anna had always loved about police work was how cops could communicate without ever saying a word. To civilians, it might look like they were using some kind of bat-like radar to keep track of each others’ positions, but they were simply following the rules of search: Move as quickly as possible through the entire area while covering each others’ backs. And never leave any door unopened or hiding place un-scoped.

In the dining room, Anna looked carefully around, ducking her head to take a quick glance under the table. The room was clear, so she kept moving, exiting through an arched doorway that led into the center hall. Anna motioned to Frank that she planned to continue on ahead through a second arched passageway into the living room on the other side of the hall. Frank nodded, and she waited as he walked to the front door to check if it was locked. It was, and he turned to Anna and indicated with a palm-down gesture that he’d stay put in the center hall to cover the staircase and all points of entry.

Anna moved silently into the living room and decided no threat awaited her there.

Spotting a small door that led toward the back of the house, she opened it carefully and found herself in a den facing the backyard. Sanjay appeared silently in front of her, having entered from another door to her left. Anna peeked under the large oak desk in the middle of the room while Sanjay stood guard. Then he checked the closet. There was no one there.

They rejoined Frank. Only a minute had passed since they’d parted.

Anna looked at the staircase, which rose for about ten steps then swung left for another five, creating an open effect in the hall where they were standing. She motioned to the men to go up. They nodded. Forefingers hovering just outside their trigger guards, the three of them began their ascent. Halfway up, Anna could see a bunch of closed doors on the landing above. That made her uneasy. They provided cover for someone who could pop out at any minute. She gave silent thanks for the way the plush cream-colored rug covered any squeaking floorboards underneath and stifled their footsteps.

Reaching the top of the stairs, they stood in place, listening. It was quiet. There were three doors on this side of the landing. Anna chose the door to her far right, gesturing that she’d go in while the other two guarded the hall. Inside, she found a small home office containing a desk cluttered with the usual computer, printer, and phone. The light on the telephone cradle was off, indicating there weren’t any messages. She checked the closet, found nothing, and came back into the hallway. Then she waited while Sanjay and Frank cleared their rooms as well.

Beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead, and she could feel her heart working overtime, pumping as hard as it did when she was out on a run. But every cell was primed and alert.

There were two doors left to go. Both were on the other end of the hall.

She opened one door and Frank stepped in behind her, leaving Sanjay to guard the hall. It was a bedroom, obviously unused because it was at least ten degrees colder than the rest of the house. Frank checked the closet while she looked around. The cheerful yellow walls suggested it would be perfect for a nursery. Recalling that the brother and sister hadn’t mentioned any kids, she wondered fleetingly if the couple had been planning to start a family.

Leaving that thought at the door, she fixed her gaze at the final door down the hall. It had to be the master bedroom. Taking slow steps forward, she felt her pulse quicken. It was certainly possible they’d find the husband hiding in a closet somewhere behind that door, with his gun, ready to rush them when they entered.

The door, a few inches ajar, beckoned them to enter. Light from the room spilled into the hallway, and Anna could hear the faint strains of classical music from inside.
The Nutcracker Suite,
she recalled with an involuntary shiver. The lilting waltz had an eerie effect in the home of a dead woman.

She stopped short and pointed at a shadow on the door. A footprint created a depression in the carpet. It was large enough to be a man’s. She continued on, gripping her Glock tighter. Sweaty palms were making her hands slippery.

With Anna still in the lead, the officers rushed the room, guns drawn, and quickly fanned out. Anna took the left side, Frank and Sanjay headed right, away from the bed. The air was still and quiet, but Anna detected a faint hint of cordite again. Stepping left along the end of the king-sized bed, she lowered her gaze.

It was there she found the second body.

Lying prone in front of her was a man—probably the husband—with a single bullet wound at the back of his head. Blood spatter decorated the wall above him, and fragments of hairy scalp from the wound created a soupy mess that was seeping into the rug. The victim was dressed in khaki pants and a dark brown sweater, and as she bent down to look closer for signs of life, Anna could see a red turtleneck peeking out beneath the collar. His nod to Christmas. She saw that the dead man’s right hand was stretched toward the night stand and assumed he’d been reaching for the phone.

“Jesus…” said Frank, coming up behind her. It was the first time any of them had spoken since the kitchen. Looking grave, he reached for the radio at his belt. “Brenda, do you copy? We’ve got two aided cases now.” He added, “both likely,” by which he meant dead. “And call the Chief at home. He’s going to have to bring in the Counties.”

The Bergen County Sheriff’s office would be called because the Avondale Police Department didn’t have a homicide unit. The Sheriff’s Office, located in Hackensack, was staffed with a dozen detectives.

“The last murder in Avondale was—what, Frank, ten or eleven years ago?” squeaked Sanjay, his voice a higher pitch than usual. “Remember? The wife confessed.” He turned to Anna. “She killed her husband, rolled up his body in a rug, and stashed it in the basement. The cleaning lady found the body a few days later when she went downstairs to do laundry.” He tapped his nose. “It had started to smell.” He gave a nervous laugh and shook his head. “And all the wife got was a couple of years in a psychiatric hospital. Unbelievable.”

“Sanjay, go check the closet,” said Frank impatiently, obviously giving Sanjay something to do in order to help him focus. “And remember, don’t touch anything.”

Anna and Frank looked at each other, but neither of them said anything.

“Frank, over here,” Sanjay called out a moment later. “You need to take a look at this.”

Anna followed Frank to the closet. It was extremely neat. Shirts, jackets and dresses hung on satin hangers, and rows of sweaters were crisply folded on perfectly aligned shelves that looked like they, too, had been custom-built. Handbags wrapped in cloth pouches were lined up on the top shelf, while rows of men’s and women’s shoes occupied the lowest shelves, standing at attention as if waiting for inspection. The closet looked like it had been staged for an Elle magazine shoot.

Anna had never before searched a house as beautifully maintained as this. Most of the crime scenes she’d come across during her three years as a city cop were total pits, places that animals shouldn’t live in, let alone people. They reflected the apathy—and despair—of their occupants. She’d never really understood the level of poverty in New York City until she’d earned her badge and started seeing what was behind the walls of the worst neighborhoods.

By far the most disgusting apartment she’d searched was a dingy basement flat inhabited by a lowly Mob enforcer nicknamed Tommy Two-by-Four—so-called because he had once beaten a hooker nearly to death using a piece of wood outfitted with a rusty nail. Anna and her team were raiding his apartment because Tony was the prime suspect in a drug shoot out that had left three people dead, and she could still vividly recall the sight that greeted her when they busted down his door. The apartment was dark and cramped, and every inch of it was filled with piles of junk, everything from stacks of old newspapers and greasy pizza boxes to empty beer bottles and piles of rodent droppings. The smell of rotting food and urine was overwhelming.

Doing their best to ignore the foul odor and scurry of little critters scurrying for cover among the rubbish, she and her fellow officers had made a thorough search of the place. They worked their way through the living room then moved to the kitchen and bathroom and finally the bedroom. They’d had to work in the dark because the electricity wasn’t on. Clearly Tommy Two-by-Four hadn’t been paying his bills. Anna was given the task of checking the bedroom—the last place they needed to clear—and when she opened the closet door she became aware of movement in back. She’d almost discharged her weapon, but just as she was about to fire, she realized it wasn’t a figure hiding in the shadows. Rather, the entire back wall seemed to be moving, like a dark, shiny curtain shimmering in the breeze. She could hear a faint rustling noise, something that sounded a little like a body being dragged across the floor, then jumped back in horror when she realized what she was looking at. The wall was
covered with cockroaches.

She’d turned away and vomited on the floor.

Although the incident had occurred almost three years ago, Anna remembered it like it was yesterday. She still found it hard to believe that people—even murdering low-lifes like Tommy Two-by-Four—lived that way.

She turned her attention back to Sanjay, who was pointing at a drawer in the wall unit. It contained a velvet-lined jewelry tray. An empty one. Except for a single gold hoop earring stuck in the corner.

The couple had been robbed.

“Hard to believe that someone killed two people for that,” Frank said skeptically.

Anna agreed. Burglars usually didn’t kill the homeowners; they broke in when nobody was home. She opened her mouth to comment but was stopped by the sudden sounds of banging and yelling coming from downstairs.