âWilliamAlves was twenty-five years old,â Detective Archer Malone recites fromthe other side of a blood-soaked reclinerchair.Heflipsourvicâstatteredleatherwalletopenandreadsfromthelicense.âHeturnedtwenty-fivelast month.â
âThattracks.âIknow weâreontherecord.Everywordeachofusspeaksisdocumentedbylaw andstoredawayfor the investigationthathomicidedetectivesMaloneandFletcherconduct
Butthatâsnotmyjob.Tocatchakiller,notstrictlymygoal.Instead,asIcounteachwoundonthemanâschest,Imakeanote andpreparetoautopsyayoungfatherwhowasstabbedtodeathwhileheloungedonhisrecliner,televisiononandabeerin hishand âGrease-stainedfingers,âImurmur âCallusedpalms DoctorEmeri,âIinchtothesideandmakeroomformysecond incharge my best friend, I suppose, though the latter is not relevant on a crime scene to photographWilliamâs hands. âIâmcountingtwenty-nineentrypointsâ
âWill they be placed in care in the meantime?â Curious, Aubree glances up, her shoulder-length blonde hair and pink streaksobscuringoneeye.âWifewastheonlyadultonscene.Wifeâshandprintsareonthewall.Wifeâshandsarecoveredin blood.Wifecalleditin.â
âProjection.âIpullthethermometerfromWilliamâsbodyandmakeanoteofhistemperatureformyfiles.âRigorissetting inâ ThenIcasta lookatthe clockonthe wall and do a little math, recitingthe details for the record, âItâs Thursday, June thirtieth. The clock reads seven-forty-nine a.m., and I estimate time of death between nine to eleven hours ago. Placing it betweenthehoursof â
âNine and eleven-ish.â Archer rocks onto the backs of his heels and digs his hands in his pockets. âTwenty-nine stab wounds,ChiefMayet.NoonewashomebutthefourmembersoftheAlvesfamily,twoofwhicharefiveandsevenyearsold.â
âIdonâtwanna be that guy,â Fletchgrits his teethintrepidation, âbutbattered womenhave snapped before. Mrs. Alves
Unimpressed, Ilookto my husband, Detective Malone, and fake a cynical smile thathas his brows poppinghighonhis forehead âWhile I understand women have killed in the past, I assure you, making assumptions about this one would be detrimentaltoyourcase.IintendtobringWilliamintomyfacilitysoIcanrundiagnosticsthatwillaidinyourinvestigation, Detective Myinitialthoughtsleadtowardyourkillerbeingmuchtallerandmuchstrongerthanthewomaninthat,âIpointto thephotographFletchstillholds,âpicture.Sheâstoosmall.â
âIwouldnâtleavemyhandprintsaspaintonthewallsâIglancedowntohidemysmileasAubreechokesonherlaughter She continues to snap-snap-snap pictures of our victim, taking particular interest in his face reddened skin and broken capillariesstretchingalonghisnoseandcheeks âCanyoucalltransport,DoctorEmeri?âSchoolingmyexpression,Ibringmy gazeuponcemoreandmeetthoseofthedetectives.âIexpecttohavemyprelimreportinyourinboxbycloseofbusinessthis afternoon Untilthen âIturnmybacktothemenasthoughtodismissthem
Though of course, Detective Archer Malone wouldnât be the man I married if he was so easily discouraged. âChief Mayet?âHisvoiceishard.Deepanddemanding.Bestofall,hisdangeroustimbresendstinglesthroughoutmybodyanddown to the tips of my toes He comes closer to where I stand, though he doesnât mess with our crime scene He doesnât touch anythingheshouldnât,orsmudgethesplatterofbloodalloverthefloor.âCanIspeakwithyouforamoment?âThenheadds, deeperanddarker,âInprivateâ
âTransport,â she finishes witha smile. âIâmonit. Detective Fletcher,â she glances across to the fourthinour group of misfitsandbatsherlashes.âWouldyouliketohangoutwithme?Inprivate?â
âOhshut up,â Aubree grumbles. Now that the recorder is off, myteamfalls apart at the seams and devolves into their immatureselves âTimothyMalonedoesnothavemyheartâ
âChiefMayet?â Archer touches myelbow todraw myattention. âAmoment, please.Ihave shitto do anda crime scene coolingoff.â
âYoucouldskiptheâmake sure you eat and be carefulâspeechandgetstraighttothe finding a killer portionofyourdayâ But of course, I carefully step away from the worn and old recliner. The fabric that was once a muddy brown, now a concoctionofgrease,sweat,alcohol,nicotine,andbloodthatranblackthemomentthekillerhitthebigarteries Itakecarenot todisruptmyscene,andsteparoundwhenCSIswalkthroughtodotheirjob.
People always come out to rubberneck when police tape wraps around a home. This is something I long ago became accustomedto,andthoughthereportersannoyme,Inevergivethemthesatisfactionofseeingthataggravationonmyface
ButIknow all this already. Iknow everythingimportantthere is to know abouthim, so Ifollow himall the wayto the attachedgarage,therollerdooralreadyopenandCSIsalreadysweepingthroughtodocumenteverynookandcranny.Whenhe comestoastopinside,Islowmystepsandlookdownatmyfeetwhenheannounces,âGiveusthespace Pleaseâ
Around of yes, sirs, and yes, detectives ring throughout the concrete roomuntil every person clears out and the door closes,killingeverymorsel ofnatural lightandleavinguswithonlythefluorescenceofthebarsaboveus Butalone-nessis enoughtohaveArcherâssixfeetandthreeincheszeroinginonme.Hisdarkhair,madelighterbecauseofthefauxillumination thatmakes us bothappear a little jaundiced. He steps forward until the toes ofhis boots touchthe toes ofmine,and thenhe scoopshishandsbeneathmyelbows,pullingmecloseruntilItastehisbreathonmytongue.âYouârepale.â
With his tongue creating magic against my skin. His hands, holding me in ways only this man can do. âIdidnâtmindâIcrackasmilethatseekstosoftenthemanwhotreatsmelikeglass âInfact,Iwelcomewakingupthat way.â
âIdidnâtknow Catowouldwakeusagainatthree,âhegroans âIwouldnâthavedisturbedyouthefirsttimeifIknew my brotherwouldmakearacketinthemiddleofthedamnnightandbreakyoursleepsomuch.â
âYoucanâtcontrol the entire world.â Ipress another, gentle kiss to his jaw and steal his rebuttal before he canvoice it. âNorcanyoulockmeawayinatoweranddeprivemeoflivingmylife,allinthenameofprotectingme.â
âMyeyes are fine.â ThoughIclose themand allow us twentyseconds more. Thirty, max, before we go backto the real worldandexistwithintheconstraintsofregularsociety âIhavenâtevenmetthewoman,andIknow youwouldnâtbeavery gooddetectiveifyoujumpedsuchmassivedistancestotheconclusionyouâvedeemedforegone.â
âBigwordsâ He nips a second time and chuckles, his chestvibratingagainstmybackwhenanodd, betrayingwhimper escapesthedepthsofmylungs.âWhyareyousosurethe only other adult inthehouseisnâtguiltyofthiscrime?Isitbecause sheâsawoman,andyouâreafeminist?â
He doesnâttouchme, now thatweâre exposed again, buthe drops his hands inhis pockets and shrugs, walkingas close besidemeasproprietyallows âYouautomaticallythinksheâsinnocent?â
âWell⌠no. But I think it would be foolish to assume, just because she was on the scene. Women are sneakier than handprintsonthewallsandcallingtheirowncrimesin,Detectiveâ
He drops his gaze to his feet to hide his smile fromthe few curious reporters who would rather show us onthe news insteadofthehomicidetheycametoreporton.âYouâdknow,âhesmartsquietly.âWannamakeafriendlybet?â Istoponadimetenfeetfromthefrontdoor âExcuseme?â
Hebrings ahanduptocover his mouth.Itwouldbeill-advisedtoshow uponthesixoâclocknews withasmileonhis face âIâllrunthecase,Chief FletchandIwilldoitright,andweâllfindourkiller Ijustmeant if ourkillerjustsohappens tobethewife,thenIwin.â
Idonâtwanttoaskit Idonâtwanttoplayintohis game Andyet âWhatexactlydoyouwin,Detective? Whatdoyou wantfromme?â
âNochance,âIscoff âIhaveworktodo,Detective Abuildingtorun Youhaveabarelylegalmafiosobrotherlivingon our couchwho demands round-the-clocksupervision, or we riskhimburningthe citydown. Thereâs no waywe cantake a monthaway.â
âThree weeks,â he counters without pause. âAn island. Alcohol. Bikinis.â His eyes wrinkle, proving he hides a smile behindhishand.âYoucouldbenakedthewholetime,Idonâtmind.â
âYoucanhave a longweekendâ Istraightenmybackandstare downmynose atthe manwe bothknow is attemptingto playme.âFridaytoMondayatbest.â
He grabs myhandandshakes it cameras snap, snap, snapping, because althoughIâmaninherentlyprivate woman, the pressstillfindthemselvesinterestedinthemarriageofachiefmedicalexaminerandaformermafioso,turnedhomicidecop. âOurhoneymoonisyourprizetoo,ChiefâHekeepshisbacktothecameras,sowhenhewinks,Iâmtheonlyoneprivytothe action.âOneweek.Youcanchoosethedestinationifyouwant.Butifyouprefer,Icanorganize â
âYouplanitâ Idrop his hand and place mine onmyhips Itâs too hotfor a coatthese days Notevenmyratty, too-thin, poor-excuseforacoatIclingtodespiteitscompleteineffectualnessinthewinter.SoalthoughIâmusedtoslippingmyhands intothepocketswhenIneedsomewheretoplacethem,Iâmrobbedofthatpleasuretoday.âSevendays,Archer.Gofindyour killerâ
The womanis closer to eightythanshe is to seventy, and as she leans inmydirection, tellingher secrets, lines wrinkle aroundherlipswhereIcouldeasilyguessformedoverhalf-a-centuryormoreofsuckingonacigarette.âHewasadeadbeat,â shemutters.âTotalasshole.â
Iclamp mylips shutand school the expressiononmyface thatmightshow surprise ata little old bittyspittingoutcuss words
âHe was always makingnoise,â she continues. âUp atfive inthe morningfor work. Bangingdishes around. Shoutingat AdriannatocomefetchhimhislunchorwhateverâShesitsbackinadoily-esquedressandcrosseswrinkledlegs,oneover theother.âThatpoorgirlwastowaitonhimhandandfoot,andifshedidnâtcomewhenhewantedherto,heâdshoutthewhole streetdown.â
âPunchherintheface?âSheshakesherheadbeforehersentenceiscomplete âNo,Ineversaw that Imean,weknow it happened.Prettyregularly,too.Sinceshewasalwaysgettingaroundwithanewfacialaccessory.Buthewasneversoarrogant astoswingoutandsmackherinfrontofanyoneelseâ
Nodding, Fletchglances downat his notebook, old-school note-making, thoughwe know we have the audio to leanon whenwegetbacktothestation.âDidyouever â
âSheapologized.âStrictlerreachesintothegapbetweenhercouchcushionandtheframe,tuggingoutapacketofcrumpled cigarettes withanexhale ofvictory She takes one outandplops itbetweenher lips âAdrianna was sayingsomethingabout
losingtrackofthetime.Andshewassorry.Shebeggedhimtostopshoutingbecausethosesweetbabygirlswerecrying.She justâŚâ She flicks her lighter to life and sets the tip ofher cigarette alight. âShe wanted peace, Detectives. Idonâtthinkshe killedthatman Buthell,âshedrawsalongdragofhercigarette âIwouldâveâ
âWhoever did itwill have beendrenched inblood,â he agrees âHead to toe Our perp probablyleftDNAbehind, too Theirsweat.Nails.Hair.Something.â
âCSIsarerunningthescene,thenthelabwillhavetoworkthrougheverythingtheyfindâIdropmyhandstomyhipsand frownbeneaththefuriousheatofthesunasitheadstowardmidday.âAdriannaâsDNAisgonnabeall over thathouse.Hell, itâllbealloverWilliam Hiscouch Hiscarpet Evenhisclothesâ
âWhydidnâtshewakeup?âhesighs.Weârenottotalassholes.Andweârenotsoincompetentastoassumeshehackedher husbandupjustbecauseshehadtheopportunityandhepissedheroff.Butshit,theevidencewillpointherway.TheDAwill have a field day with this case unless we find evidence to the contrary âThe killer would have been, at the very least, breathingheavily.Panting.Grunting.âHecomestoastopoutsideforty-three-thirteenandturnstostudymewitheyeswrinkled undertheglareofthesun âWilliamhasdefensivewounds,soweknowhetriedtofightback,atleastalittleâ
âMaybe sheâs a deep sleeper?â He lifts his muscular shoulders, the leather of his gun holster stretching around the movement. âIfthe marriage is bad alreadyand heâs used to sleepinginthe recliner, thenshe isnâtlikelyto getup and come lookingforhimâ
âOnly that she needs to see Adrianna Alves, Detectiveâ Lowering her voice, she wanders down the two steps each townhouseboastsandcomestoastopinfrontofus.âShewantstosupportAdrianna.SayshowAdriannaneedsherrightnow, andhowshe thewife didnâthurtWilliam.Shewantstoknowthatthekidsarebeingcaredfor.Thingslikethat.â
âYes,DetectiveâThewomanstandingatasmallfive-foot-one,andtheoneisbeinggenerous,turnsonherheelstopresent a blue uniformdarkeninginspots fromperspiration. Butshe straightens her backlike a rod and marches up the frontsteps, passinganother uniformas weheadintoNunesâhome,movingalongadarkhall,andintoalivingroomnotall thatdifferent fromtheoneintheAlvesâhome.
These houses were all once partofa communityprogramfor low-income families. Theywere subsidized, and rentwas controlledatjustaportionofwhatitwouldcostforthesameamenitiesanywhereelseinthecity Butsomewherebackinthe seventies,theentirestreetwassoldoffprivately.Eachhome,purchasedbyindividualinvestors.
Theyârestillhomesforthosewholiveon,orbarelyabove,thepovertyline,buttheyâreowned,notrented TheAlvesâ,the Nunesâ,evenMrs.Strictler,areeachnowproudtitle-holdersofasmallsliceofCopelandCityrealestate. It might not be a mansion in the hills. And perhaps, many of these people are mortgaged up to their eyeballs. But itâs something.Andthatsomethingisalot,especiallyforyoungfamiliesliketheoneIspynow.
âUh, Idonât â Icome around the couchand slowlylower, pausingto give her enoughtime to tell me no She has the chancetoaskmetofuckoffoutofherhouse.Butshedoesnât.SoIsitontheedgeofthesofaandsoftenmyexpressionwhena littlegirl,notahellofalotbiggerthanthesweetMiaFletcher Fletchâsfour-year-olddaughter wanderscloserandpresses thetipofherfingertomyjean-cladknee Sheâsjustababy Sweetandbrave,andwhenIneitherpullmykneeaway,norfrown atorscoldher,shesmiles.
âItâs okay.â Igrinfor the little girl, before bringingmyattentionbackto the womanwho watches me warily. âIs there a reasonyouthinkMrs Alvesmayloseherchildren,Ms Nunes?â
âCassidy,â she rasps, bouncingher infantand exhalinganexhausted sigh. âAnd because youâre all sayingshe k â She censors herself,glancingateachofher children.Loweringher voice,she leans closer,âYouâre sayingshe expired William, DetectiveMalone Andifshedid,thenofcourse,shewouldloseherkids Butthatâsnottrueâ âThatâsnottrue?âIrepeatback.âShedidnâtdoit?â
âItwasnâtsuperloudoranything Andtheyâvehad worse fights in the past. She said something about taking the trash out, and he said,â he looks to his little sister, Coralâs curiositybringinghereyesaroundinanticipation âUm hemadeacommentonMrs Alvesâbody âHeclearshisthroat âIn anegativeway.Hewasmockingher,kindalike,sayinghewasnotattractedtotheoneshehas.â
âNotmuch Seemssheâshearditallbefore,yaknow?Sheâskindadesensitizedtothethingshesays Andsheneverreally hits backwithher ownuglywords, since thatmakes arguments worse. Sheâs a prettyquietwoman, so whatever she said, it wasjustmumblesbythetimeitgottomyearsâ
âAlright.âIlacemyfingerstogetherandconsiderthesmallfamilyforamoment.âSoyouheardthemexchangewordslast night Andyoumaybeheardacaroutside Butmaybenotâ
âBecausesheâdhavetoldmeaboutitfirst.AdriannaAlvesisagentlesoul,DetectiveMalone.Butshehadamouthonher too,whenshefeltsafetouseit Iknewwhatherhusbandwas Iknewwhathedidtoher Becauseshetoldmethesethingsâ Sheunlatchesherbabyfromthebreastandbringsituptoburp.âAmIsadWilliamAlveshas expired?âShepats thebabyâs back. âNo. Do I think her life will be better without him? Absolutely. And would I cover for her if she suddenly became homicidal?âShenods,smallbutcertain.âYes,Iwould.Butthisisnâtoneofthosetimes.Ifsheâdtoldmeshewasgonnakill him,Iâdhavetalkedtoheraboutdivorceinstead,sinceheronlygoalinthislifeistoraiseherbabygirlsandlivewiththemin acutelittlecottagewithagardenandpicketfence Homicidedoesnotleadtoalifeofpeaceâ
CassidyNunes is anaverage-sizedwoman.Slightlybroader inthe shoulders,comparedtoOfficer Tisdale,a little taller thanthecopwhostands bythedoor.ButCassidyshows nofear as sheleans forward,her babyshieldingus all fromseeing anythingof her uncovered chest Thenshe looks into myeyes and sneers, âWilliamAlves was deathlyallergic to peanuts, Detective.Iâmtalking,ifyouateaPB&Jforlunchyesterday,andyouhappentotalktohimtoday,histhroatisgonnastartto feeltight Thatmanhadamassiveâexpiryâbutton,justsittingthereforafed-upwifetouseatanymoment Shehadawayof dealingwiththemanwithmuchlessblood,andaneasyâoopsieâexcuseshouldsheeverfeellike snapping.Sono.âShegrins whenthesquirmingbabyreleasesabelchloudenough,ifIdidnâtknow better,Iâdassumeitcamefromafull-grownman âI donâtthinkshe expired him.Ithinkshelovesherdaughtersathousandtimesmorethanshehatedherabusivehusband.ClearlyI wasnotinsidethathomelastnight,soIcanâtsaywhatthehellhappened.Butyouâreaskingformyopinion,andIâmgivingitto you Now,â her voice breaks onemotion, âplease lether see her daughters Theyneed her, Detective And she needs them Donâtpunishthemforacrimetheynevercommitted.â
âApeanutallergy?âTalkingtoMinkaMayetonthephoneis almost asgoodasspeakingtoherface-to-face.Butsincesheâs downtown, inside her luxurious, all-glass building, filled to the brimwithbodies some dead, and some alive and IâmstillontheAlvesâstreet,preparingtospeaktoawomanwhosehusbandâsbloodstainsherskin,Ihavetosettlefor thephoneandslowmystrollasFletchandIheadinAdriannaAlvesâdirection
âIâmnot trying to pin her for anything.â Stopping in front of the Alvesâhome, still an easy thirty feet fromthe cruiser Adrianna leans against,Iglance across andstudythe woman She still wears her nightclothes Little shorts thatfitaskew A stretchedshirtwithsmallholesintheoldfabric.Herhairismessy.Herlightskin,garishinthemiddleofthedaysunlight.âIâm tryingtosolveahomicide,Chief Ihaveonevictim,wholikestobeatonhiswife AndIhavethewife,withmotive,means, andopportunity.Ifitwasher,thenIneedtoclosethecase.Andifitwasnâther,thenIneedtofigureoutwhothefuckitwas, becauserightnow,theyâvecommittedmurderandhavesuccessfullymadeitlooklikesomeoneelseisguiltyâ
âCan I confirmif he was allergic?â she questions âOr if he died of anaphylaxis? I doubt the second is your COD, consideringallthoseknifewoundswecounted.Twenty-nine,Detective. Plus defensivewounds.Thatâswhatgothim.â
Shechokesoutasmalllaugh.âIâmjusthavingagoodday.Besides,Icarrynosympathyformenwhobeattheirwivesfor fun.Maybeshedidit.Maybeshedidnât.ButIassureyou, if WilliamAlveshadadeadlypeanutallergy,andAdriannaAlves decidedtokillhimusingaknife,thenIfindmyselfdisappointedshepassedupsuchaneasyopportunityâ
âHeandI,âsheclarifies.âNotyouandI.AubreeisworkingonWilliamAlvesâbodyrightnow.Butuh,justsoyouknow,â shereleasesabreath,soinmymind,Iseehersittingatherdeskandtakingaloadoffherfeet,âwhenrunningacase,oneofthe firstthingswe,asmedicalexaminers,do,isrequestthepatientâsmedicalrecords.âShepausesforabeat,tosmile.Totaunt.âI alreadyknew ofhis allergies,Archer Iknow he broke his fibula whenhe was a child,andthree knuckles onhis righthand approximatelyseventy-twohourspriortohisdeath.Whichimplies,perhaps,hehitawallinanger?âSheletshersentencehang for a moment before adding, âAs the detective, I suggest that may be something for you to investigate. He didnât die of anaphylaxis Hediedwhenyourperpetratorâsbladeseveredhiscarotidartery Nowifthatâsall,âthesoundofafoilwrapper makesmystomachjump.âIhaveameetingtoattend.â
Shescoffs,completelyunbotheredbymyaccusation.âItâshardenoughdatingoneman,Detective.NowayIâmdoublingmy troublesandcausingmyselfmoreheadaches Butseriously,âsheadds, seriously âIhavetogo Ihavefifteenminutestoeatand meetwithDoctorCampbell,thenIhaveworktodo,sinceyoudo, actually,haveanewcasesittingonbothourdesks.â âAlright.â I love you I miss you Iâll see you in a few hours.âTalksoon,Chief.â âYepâ
âWhich only paints more domestic violence,â he murmurs, lowering his voice as we come closer to the woman who watches us âPeople are quickto tell us how muchofa dickour vic was, butitonlyadds weightto Adriannaâs motive for wantinghimdead.â
âThatâswhatIâmsayingâIdrawadeepbreathandschoolmyexpression,thenclosingthefinalfifteenfeetbetweenusand the cruiser, ImeetAdrianna Alvesâmilky-browneyes and feel thatstab ofcompassioninmybelly. Because her lefteye is surroundedbydays-oldbruisingthatwouldhavehadWilliaminacageifthiswentinanyotherdirection.Herlips,thickand sensualtoanyonewhomightbeinterested,aresplitandscabbedover.Herarms,bothofthem,ringedinfinger-shapedbruises thatcorroborateahistoryofacontrollinghusband.âMrs.Alves.âIextendmyhandandwaitforhertotakeit.Evenifsheâsa
killer, sheâs nota threatto me. Nota threatto mypartner. Or to societyas a whole. If she killed the man, she did itoutof desperation.âMynameis â
âDetective Archer Maloneâ Her voice cracks as she shakes myhand âIknow who youareâ Thenshe releases me and lookstoFletch.âAndyou.Iseeyoubothonthenewssometimes.â
âWeâre reallysorryabout your husband,â Fletchmurmurs, noddingto the uniformat her backto stand down Sheâs not gonnarun.âYouhaveourdeepestcondolences.â
âDo I?â Adrianna folds her arms and closes herself off from the world It could be a power pose Intimidation Assertiveness.ButIconsideritexhaustion.Fear.Uncertainty.âMyfaceisalreadyonthenews,Detectives.YouâresayingIâma suspect.Notabereavedwife.â
âWeâresayingnothingâIopenthecruiserdoorandnod,notbecauseIwanttoforcethewomaninanddriveheraway,but becauseIwanttooffer her somewheretosit.Torestandescapetheglaringsunatopher darkhair.âThenews oftenreports whatever the hell theywantto report, Mrs Alvesâ Ihold the door and breathe a little easier whenshe breaks her robotic stance and lowers to the edge ofthe backseat, so her feetremainonthe road, buther bodyrests inthe shade. âTheyrarely reportthetruth Andatthismomentintime,neitherDetectiveFletcher,norI,havemadeastatementâIlowerintoacrouchand look up into her terrified eyes. Her ochre-colored stare red from crying and puffy from a manâs fists. âWhat happened, Adrianna?â
âI didnât kill myhusbandâ Her voice breaks, her steelycountenance meltingawayto expose a womanterrified to her bones.âIswearIdidnât.Wehadafightlastnight,butwehavethoseallthetime.âTearsspillfromhereyesandtrackoverher cheeks âKieraâs beensleepingpoorlylately Lots ofnightterrors andanxietyaroundbedtime,soIgotthegirls down,andI wenttobedrightaftersoIcouldtrytocatchup.â
âHeâdbeendrinking,âshewhimpers,glancingupandacceptingtissueswhenthefemaleofficerassignedtoheroffersthem. âThankyouâ Sniffling, she brings the lot to her nose and hunches her back âHe wasnât always this mean, Detectives But alcoholchangespeople.Aging,âshesighs,âchangespeople.â
âButweâvebeentogether sinceeighthgrade,âshecounters shakily.âWewerejustchildren.Small town,bigplans.âShe snifflesagainandwipeshernose.âKatieâŚmyoldestdaughter,âsheglancesaround,asthoughtomakesurethegirlcanâthear, âclearlywas unplanned But it happened anyway We went ahead withthe pregnancy We were married before I was even legallyold enoughto sayIwanted it. Butour parents pushed for it. To legitimize teenage pregnancy. NextthingIknow, Iâm twenty-fourwithanotherchild Williamwastwenty-five,wishinghewasstillseventeenandlifewaseasy Soyes,âshelooks toFletch,hereyeshardeningwithdetermination.âageandalcoholchangespeople.Theychangedmyhusbandtothepointthat themanweknowtoday,âsheshakesherhead,âisnotthesameasthemanIwasforceddowntheaisletosay I do to.Neither wereideal,âsherasps âButatleasttheboy,theyoungerversionofhim,waskind Andfun Sweet,ifnotalittleentitledâ âIsthatwhyyoukilledhim?âIstudyherreactions.Everytinymovementofherbody.Hereyes.Herhands.Eventheflare ofhernostrilsashergazeswingsbackuptome âBecausehewasanalcoholic,entitled,asshole?â
âHehityou,Adrianna Hehadajob,butthatâs all hedidinaday Wenttowork Broughthomeenoughmoneytopaythe billsandbuybeer.Hedidnâthelpraisethegirls.Didnâtcontributetorunningthehousehold.Hedidnothingbutparkhisasson thecouchandexpectyoutopickuparoundhim.â
âAndthatâsexactlywhatIdid,âshegritsout âIpickedupafterhim Becausethatwas my job Istayedhome,andIgotto bethebestdamnmotherIcouldbe.AndevenifIdidnâtlikehisattitude,Istillcookedhismeals,washedhisclothes,anddid ashewantedâ
âYouwere a slave,â Fletchargues. âHe didnâttreatyouwithrespect. He abused you!And youwanna sithere withhis bloodonyourhandsandpretendyouwouldnâtwantthatabusetogoaway?âHeshakeshishead Disappointed âDonâtinsult ourintelligence,Adrianna.Bestraightwithus,andweâllgotobatforyouwiththeDA.â
âYouwannacutmeadeal?âShescoffs.Sheactuallylaughs,sothecopassignedtowatchherwidenshereyes.âYouwant me to admitto murder inthe first Withinfive minutes ofmeetingme And inexchange, we candiscuss a wayto reduce my sentencefrom,what?Twenty-fivetolife,downto,maybefifteen?â
IslideWilliamAlvesâbodybackinsidethesub-zero-temperaturefridgeandturnawayasAubreeshutsandsecuresthedoor Hunger rumbles inmystomach, and anadditional twenty-four hours withoutFactor beingadded to myblood makes me tired
Myeyesburnwithexhaustion,andmyhandsshake,thoughIhidethelatterbyslippingthemintomycoatpockets.âChief Medical Examiner, Minka Mayet,â I announce for the record. âAnd Doctor Aubree Emeri. WilliamAlvesâbody has been securedinfridge3-2-5.Itis,âIpauseasAubreeturnsawayfromthefridge,andglanceupattheclockonthewall.âEighteenoh-eight.Weâllpickthisupagaintomorrow.Shuttherecorderoff,please,Aubs.â
âSureâAubreeisyoungerthanme Springier WhereIwalkfrompointAtopointBlikeanormal,measuredhumanbeing, the loud and bubblyAubree Emeri bounces. Her smile never abates, and her enthusiasm, somehow, endless, evenwiththe workweeklimpingtowardsFriday Shesnatchesupthesmall recordingdevicewecarteverywherewego,flicksitoff,and dropsitintoherwhitelabcoatpocket.âYouwannagetburgersatthebar?â
Istrolloutofthemassivefridge itâsawholeroom,literally,offridgesinsideafridge andmovetothecheck-indesk, where anold computer perches, a sentrysecuritycenter thatruns slow and mayneed to be the nextline iteminour facility budget. Typing in my passcodes and signing Williamâs body back into his fridge, I enter my digital signature and take full responsibilityforthedeadmanwhoâllstaythenightandwaitforAubsandmetogetbacktoworkagaintomorrow
ThoughIdonâtdance throughoutmybuildingthe wayAubree does and flauntour success. Instead, Ireturnhead nods as technicianspass,andIstepintotheelevatorandturnbacktofacethefrontwhileshehitsthebuttonfortheninthfloor
âMaybe Archer does know I have a thing for his brother,â I tease, watching Aubree in my peripherals as the elevator ascends and she grabs myarmagain. âHeâs tall. Heâs muscular.â Iworkto keep mylips flatas Aubreeâs grip grows tighter aroundmine âHeâssingleandavailable AndArchercanbekindofannoyingsometimesâ
âHeâs possessive.â She grabs her phone and starts toward the elevator now that weâre ready to leave. âHe thinks itâs appropriatetokickmydatesoutofabar.â
âAndyouthinkitâsappropriatetotakeyourdatesto his barâ
âAnd youliterallyglued his remote to the television, released straycats into his home, and tried to stage a break-into cover your tracks.â Rememberingthe last,mychestbounces withmutedlaughter as Aubree huffs andslaps the elevator call buttonforthefinaltimetoday.âYourbehaviorwaschildish.â
âHeâsthemafia.â
âHeâs former mafia.âIstepinsidetheelevatorandmakemywaytotheback,soIhavesomethingtoleanagainstandless chanceofdroppingonmyassfromexhaustion âHisfatherwasmafia Heleftthatlifetobecomeanormal,functioningmember ofsociety.â
âMinka âFrustrated,shepressesherbacktothesidewall andgroans âIâmtryingtofall out oflovehere Canyounot makeitsodifficult?â
âButwhyare youdoingthat?â As soonas the doors slide open, Ipushawayfromthe backwall and stride throughthe GeorgeStanleylobby,pastoursecuritycheckpoint,andthroughlarge,revolvingglassdoors.
Swallowingthe ache inmythroat, and refillingthe oxygeninmylungs, Istartto the rightand lookatAubree as we go âWhyareyoutryingtofall outoflovewithamanwho cherishes the groundyouwalkon? Imarrieda Malone,Aubs.Ican recommendfirsthand:beingtakencareoflikethatisprettyniceâ
âIâmthis person,Minka.Loudandweirdandobnoxiousandgoofy.Idyemyhairdifferentcolors,dependingontheseason, andImatchmyshoestomyearrings,andmyunderweartomysocks IstilldancetoMTVontheweekends,andImadefriends withafilthypigeonthatfliesinandsitsonmywindowsillatleastonceaday.Ihavetheworldâsbiggestladycrushonmyboss becausesheâsthecoolestchickIhaveevermet AndIfellinlovewiththeheirofamafiafrickensyndicate Like,heâsnoteven the third, or fourthson, like Archer is. Heâs TimothyMalone, and the dude before himwas TimothyMalone, too. The other Timothywas theboss ofthefamily Andhewas anawful,awful man This Timis likeadark,darkstormycloud,andIâma rainbowCareBear.HeâsWednesdayAddams,andIâmthatotherchick.Theloudone.â
âYouâretotallysecureinwhoyouareasaperson.WhichiswhyyoucanmarrysomeonelikeArcherMalone,andyoucan be happy, and youâre bothstill exactlywho youâre supposed to be. Youâre not weakand wafflyand at riskof becominga lumberjackâsfemalecounterpart.â
âYes!ButIwouldanyway Ibecomethisweird,sniveling, pick-me girlwheneverheandIareinthesameroom Because myheartstupidlywentandfellinlove,andIjustsohappenedtofallinlovewith that guy.âShebringsustoasharpstop,my feetskiddingontheconcreteandmyeyeswheelingarounduntilIfindTimothyhimself,standingattheopenbardoor Hiseyes, greenjustlikeArcherâs,burnuswherewestand.
We still have an easy thirty feet between where he is and where we are. But his stare is like a physical thing. His commandingpresence,notsomethingtobeignored
Thirty, maybe forty years ago, this was where mob bosses came to talk business and organize crime Now, itâs where policetalkshopanddrinkawayhardwork.
Theironyisnâtlostonme
ButasIsearchthecrowdandsteermyselftowardthebackwall,IfindArcherâsexpectanteyes,hisstrong,six-feet-and-afew-inches,lazingonastool,hiselbow onthebarashewatchesme Heholdsasodainonehand,restingthebottomofthe glass onhis thick, jeaned thigh, while another, second soda waits for me;the carbonated liquid bubblingand poppingwhile condensationrunsalongthesideandtemptsmecloser.
âThankgod,âImutter,cuttingapaththroughthecrowdandrelaxingwitheachstepItake MybodycravesArcherMalone the wayalcoholics wanttheir nextdrink. Myheartbeats easier whenheâs near, the waya junkieâs anxietydissipates when theyâvesourcedtheirnexthit
I get what Aubs is saying, really. That fear of giving yourself up for someone else. She thinks Iâmtoo strong for such nonsense ToosetinmywaystonotbeexactlywhoIâvealwaysbeen Butsheâswrong BecauseIâvechanged,too ForArcher Mysoulhastransformed,andmyphysiologicalresponsesarenotthesamenowcomparedtowhoIwaspriortomeetinghim. Iusedtocravesolitude.Now,Icravehim.
âMinnnnka.âTheinstantIâmcloseenough,Archerreachesoutwithhisfreearmandhooksitaroundmyhip,draggingme closer until our chests clash and I taste Coke on my tongue. He smells of him. Of home. A woodsy scent. With a little gunpowderandnicotinethrowninforfun.HetugsmeinuntilthereâsnospacebetweenwhereIstartandheends.Butheeasily places his soda onthe bar, relieves me ofthe briefcase Icartaround everyday, thengrabs mychinbetweenhis finger and thumbanddragsmeinuntil our lipsclash.âImissedtheshitoutofyou.âHebitesmybottomlipandgrinsbecauseIshiver. âYouârestarvingâ
âYouarrestedher?âRecharged,Ishoveupfromhislapandswingaroundtoplopmyassonthesingle,unusedstoolbeside his Isetmyelbowsonthebarandburnmyhusbandwithaglare âYouarrestedthatpoorwoman?Forwhat?â
âWhichis good informationto have,â he taps myhand and grins, âbutweâre notinvestigatingWilliamfor beinga shitty husbandandfather.Heâsourvic,andhedidnâtstabhimselftodeath.Whichmeansweneedtoinvestigatethosearoundhim.â
âMaternal grandmother flew inthis afternoon.â Heâs too relaxed. Too casual aboutsomethingso world-shatteringto the womanwho broils ina jail cell rightnow âGrandma has arrived And she broughta lawyer withher Adriannaâs claiming innocence.â
âButyoudonâtbelieveherâ
âIdonât not believeher.âHegrabsmyhand,holdingmecaptivewhenmyentirebodyjoltsfromhisrevelation.âShesaid sheâs innocent, and Iâminclined to err onthe side ofbelievingher Butthe evidence says somethingelse, and Iâmthe idiot whoseasswillbeinaslingifIlethergohometonightandshefleesthecountrybeforethesuncomesup.Herdaughtersare safe withGrandma,childservices are watchingclosely,andwordonthe streetis thattheyhope momis proveninnocentso those babies cango home Excludingher husbandâs murder, Adrianna has always and onlyever acted protectivelywhenit comestoherchildren.Hell,ifshemurderedhim,anditwasindefenseofherbabies,thenIcanworkwiththattoo.Butright now, sheâs claiminginnocence, whichdirectlyopposes the fact her home was closed and locked all night Onlyone set of footprints leads awayfromthatbloodied recliner, and theybelongto Adrianna. Onlyone setofhandprints marks the walls. Theybelongto â
âSo what have you found, then?â Angling closer, I study his eyes. Playful, despite our morbid topic of conversation. âYouâvecanvassedtheneighbors?â
âYes, Chief.âHelinksourfingerstogetherandbringsmyhandcloser.Icouldpullaway.Icouldbreakourconnectionand forcehimtofocus.Buthepressesakisstomywristandstealsanothersliceofmyheart.âNeighboracoupledoorsupsaysshe heard themarguinglast night. She agrees, had he beenher husband, sheâd have killed him, too. Additionally, she believes whoever did this, did Adrianna a favor. Spoke to the Nunesâ, too.â Another kiss. Aslide ofhis tongue alongthe blue veins marringmyskin âKalvinNunesheardWilliamandAdriannaarguinglastnight,too EveryoneissosetonpaintingAdriannaas thesweet,innocent,batteredwife.AndnoonehaswastedanopportunitytoconvincemeWilliamisanabusivepieceofshit. But there is no one else, Minnnkaâ He nips at my skin and glances across as a shadow falls over the side of my face âDetectiveFletcher,âhemurmursingreeting.Thenbacktome,headds,âIâmlookingforakiller.Iâmnottossingherawayand losingthekey.Buthell,thislooksbadwhicheverwayyouplayit.â
He pours another beer and slides italongthe bar to a waitingcustomer. âSomethingaboutwantinga minute to herself.â Finally,hestopswhatheâsdoing,leansonhiselbows,andmovescloseruntilournosesareameresixinchesapart âSwearto god,Mayet.Ifsheâsmeetingadudeoutthereandthinksshecanbringhimin â
âWhoaâ Fletch chokes on his drink, sets the glass down, and sweeps his child fromArcherâs lap âAre we not even pretendingtocensorourselvesanymore?Wehaveachildtoprotect,Delicious!â
âIsaid words!â Ilaugh, thoughIbreathe a little easier whenIcatchAubree comingthroughthe door sans date âYou impliedinnuendo.Four-year-oldchildrendonâtunderstandsubtextunlessprudishadultspointitout.âIreachacrossandtapthe endofMiaâssweetbuttonnose.Becausesheâsbeautiful andsmartandsoverypure,whentherestofusdeal withtheworst societyoffersonadailybasis.âYourdaddyissilly,Moo.â
âIâllgoboxitupnow.âTimisgoodatreadingaroom,too.Heseesme.Theshadowsundermyeyes,andthepallorofmy skin Mostofall,heseeshisbrotherâshandwrappedaroundmyhipandthebulgeofhisarmthatsaysheâscarryingmyhundred and thirty-five pounds. âIâll be two minutes.â But before he leaves, he glances right over the top of my head, his eyes darkening.âWantadrink,Emeri?â
âNothinghappened! Myboss is attemptingto be funny The problemis, she has a social disabilityand no clue how to deliverapunchlineappropriately.â
âThatâs twiceâ Iscowl as Timsets Aubreeâs soda downand stalks awayto getour dinner âWhatâs up withthe social disabilitything,huh?NewYorkTimeswordoftheday?â
He continues to wipe Circular Thorough But his lips curl up subtly to the side âMmhm Word is he went after Christabelle,andFelixdecidedheâshadenough.â
âGoodnight,baby.âHekeepsatightholdonmyhip,steeringustowardthedoor,buthewinksforMiaandsmilesaswe exitthe hotbar, onlyto emerge onto the stiflingcitystreetonce more âIheard itâs gonna be the hottestsummer onrecordâ Already tired of it, he leads me to the right just a few feet, before we step through the next doorway and re-enter airconditionedcoolandstartuptheconcretestairs âWeâregonnamelttothetarroads,âhegroans âNotme.âIglancearoundinsearchofmyolderlandlord,Steve,butmaybetheheathashimstickingtohisapartmenttoo, becausethemanwhousuallyhauntsthehallsandkeepswatchofallhislittlelambsisnowheretobeseen âIâllbeinsidemy building,âItease.âRunningthecityâselectricbilluptostaycool.â
âLiar.YouâllbeonthestreetsasmuchasIwillbecauseyouâreasuckerforthevicswhoenduponaslabeverydamnday. Youcould stayinsidetheGeorgeStanley,âheamends,âaschief,youneverhavetoleave ButasMinkaMayet â âIâmgonna go to the scene.â I watch my feet as we climb. But my lips curl up. âWhat do you reckon happened with Pastore?â
âYouârehome!âCatoboundstothefourthfloorlandingthewayachildmightjumpoutwhileplayingagameofpeekaboo Liketheother four Malonebrothers,hehasdarkhair,longlimbs,broadshoulders,andasmilethatbeckonsawomantoher death Thesemencomefrommurderousstock,buttheirsecretweaponisthecharismatheyooze Itâsdiabolical,really,howutterlycharmingtheyallare.Evenwhentheyârenottryingtobe.
âOkay?â Catolaughs,settinghis hands onthe doorframe andgrinninglike a giddyfool.âDoc,she helpedhim!Youheal people, so I guess thatâs kinda special too But Lix chose a chick who is the exact right amount of insane to keep him entertained. Imagine that,â heâs younger thanme bya decade, but easilytall enoughto lookover myshoulder and meet his brotherâsgaze,âfallinginlovewithakiller.â
âSeemstheMaloneshaveatype.âAndsinceitappearsweâreatapointinourmarriagethatmyless-law-abiding activities canbe joked about, I follow himall the wayto the couchand plop downwhenhe presses his hands to myshoulders and pushes âIwonderwhatkindofwomanMicahwillfallinlovewith?âIsitbackwhenArcherreleasesmeandclosemyeyes ThoughIstillseehiminmymind,crossingourtinyapartmentandtuggingthefridgeopeninsearchofmymeds.
âChristabelle,â he chuckles, audiblyreachingup to the container we keep ontop ofthe fridge. Thatâs where Istore my tourniquet. Myalcohol wipes. Syringes. âHer name is Christabelle, notDebbie. And Micahisnâtlikelyto fall inlove with anyone.â
âRight.ButthatâsnotwhatIasked.âIlookdownatmydinnerandfindmyburgeralreadyslicedinhalf.Mybrother-in-law isperhapsthesecond-mostconsideratemanIâveevermetinmylife Ileavemyrighthandtorestonthecouchcushions,the creaseofmyelbowexposedandwaitingasArcherslidesthetourniquetupandtightensitaroundmybicep.Usingmylefthand, I pick up the first half of my meal and take a small bite âThe evidence says one thing But as an investigator, as a man experiencedinhomicide,doyouthinkAdriannakilledherhusband?â
âSlide itin?â Itake another bite ofmyburger and shake myhead. âMyhands are dirty. Iâmtoo tired. And youforgotto alcoholswabmyelbow.â
âShit.â He sets the needle backonthe packagingitcame fromand tears opena small wipe. âIâll cleanyour hands,â he bargains.âYoudonâthavetogetup.â
âSure,andyouandIknowexactlywhatahealthymarriageshouldlooklike,right?Yourdadwasacapo,andmymomhad anaffair withamanwhowasnotmyfather.âIreacharoundandcupthebackofhishand,guidinghimforward,knowinghe will never willinglyslidetheneedleintomyskinonhisown âYoustill donâtevenknow theidentityofyour mother,though weâre reasonablycertainshe was murderedandburiedina shallow grave somewhere onyour New Yorkproperty.Andmy fatherstayedmarriedtoawomanwhocheatedonhim Worse,âIfirmmyholdasthetipoftheneedlehoversjustamillimeter frommyflesh. Archer rejects the thoughtofslidingitin. His hand shakes. His knuckles turnwhite. And his jaw hardens to stoneinmyperipherals.âWorse,âIforcehishandforward,piercingmyskinandguidinghimtherestofthewayorriskhim pullingaway,âheknewshewassleepingwithsomeoneelse.Andhestayedanyway.â
âFuckkkkkâŚâ Archer watches myarmlike he thinks Imighttugitawayand scream. He controls everybreathhe takes. Everytime he blinks Weâve administeredmymeds together dozens oftimes now,buthe has never beenthe one holdingthe needle.âMinkaâŚâ
âHolditsteady DonâtjerkitaroundâIgritmyteethandfakeasmilewhenhedrags his eyes up Becausehis quivering handmeanstheneedlemovesinmyvein,andhell,thatstingslikeabitch.ButIdonâttell himthat.âTapeitdown,âIcoach. âThenbegintheinfusion.â
âForfuckâssakeâHetearsalengthoftapefromtheroll andplacesitonmyarm,thenheunclipsthetourniquetuntil the stretchyfabricdroops.Finally,hepicksupthesyringeandslowlybeginspushingFactorintomyveins.âIdidnâtlikethat.â âIdonâtmuchlikeiteitherâ But itâs done now, and Iâm ready for sleep anyway âIwasinsertingmyownneedleswhenI wasasmallchild.âLeaningforward,Itakemyplateandbringitbacktosettleonmylap.BecauseifIdonâteatnow,Iâllwake upstarvingintheearlyhoursoftomorrow âTalktomeaboutAdriannaAlvesâ
âI donât see how itâs possibleâ His eyes are all for my arm For the point where steel pierces my skin and his hand controlshow quickly,how painfully,medicationentersmybody.âForensicsarerunningitdown.Butshit,babe,whoevergot himmadeadamnmess.Andtheonlyfootprintsleavingthescenebelongtoher.â
âWell Williamâs blood would have soaked your killer Adrianna had his blood onher, sure, butnotâsheâs the killerâ enoughblood.Whichmeansshewouldhavehadtocleanupsomewhere.Herclotheswouldhavebeentossed.â
âWomen typically use poisonâ My eyes drift close But I donât have a headache, and thatâs a pleasant development, consideringIâve suffered one after almosteverysingle infusionprior to meetingthis man. âThis particular vic had a deadly allergy she could have easily capitalized on. The brute strength used to stab Williamtwenty-nine times says, âangry male energyâtomeâ
Hepeelsthetapefrommyarm,thetugofmyskinjuststingingenoughtoregisterinmymind.Thenhepullstheneedlefrom my vein. But Iâmpracticed enough to lock my hiss of pain down and say nothing to the man still working on his medical confidence.
I choke out a drowsy, sillylaughIâmaware makes me lookdumb. But whenArcher scoops me up fromthe couchand straightenshisback,Irestmycheekonhischestandlistentohisheart âIâlllaythere Youdotheworkâ
âSoonas Icanâ He presses a kiss to mycheekand lingers for a beatlongenoughto make myheartache inall the best ways.Heâssosweet.Socaring.Soperfect.âAlso,whileyouâreawake,Ijustwantedtoletyouknowweownahouse.â âHmm?âSleep.Restful,rejuvenating,wonderfulsleep.âWhat?â
âLeaveherâIsmackmylipsanddropintosleep,dreamingofwhitefuranddemon-spawncatswhoplotmydemise She wasArcherâsbeforeshewasours.Andnowsheâlleatmycorpsethemomentshegetsthechance.âSheâsfluffyandnice.â âAlright.âHechuckles.âYougotit,babe.Night.â
However, on the evenings of an infusion, itâs like the world hits pause for us. Work waits. Our friends back off. My brothers become a little less dangerouslyspontaneous, whichmeans theyneed less intervention Everythingslows so Minka cangethermeds,andIcanwatchoverher.
