A Quiet Neighbor (31 page)

“What about the girl?”

Grimacing, Reams said, “Classic case of sexual
abuse. Bruising, cuts, pain…of course she’ll need a Vitullo kit, but…you can
just tell.”

“Thank you for the briefing, Reams,” said
Malone. And then, in a much louder voice, “Tell Miss Dawes that I’d like to speak
with the daughter and boyfriend. Soon.” He spoke ostensibly to Reams, but was
looking past Reams, straight at Dawes when he said it.

Malone and Crogg waited a second. On cue, Dawes
marched toward them. She was very short, probably south of five-foot.
Doll-like, actually. She had a petite frame, soft jawline, large round eyes,
chestnut shoulder-length hair, and a faint smattering of freckles on her cheeks
that you could only see up close. She was a bit too heavy in the hips but
attractively so. She was beautiful when she smiled, but her countenance was
usually strained with downturned, pouty lips that made her seem moments away
from crying. She gave both of them a curt nod, “Lieutenant. Detective.”

“Dawes. Lookin’ pretty today, as always.” Crogg
flashed her one of his magnetic grins.

“Cut the shit, Crogg.” She never made eye
contact with him. Her taut lips relaxed into a smile ever so briefly, and then
reclaimed their downward cant.
Power
lips, not pouty lips. That’s what
they were.

She continued: “Look, the kids, Elizabeth and
Neil, have been through a traumatic experience. I still need more information
so don’t mess things up for me, got it?” Dawes drilled her eyes into Malone.
She was probably the only consultant that wasn’t afraid to confront Malone.
When it came to kids, she was mother hen all the way.

Malone peered back, unfazed, unblinking, but
also unprotesting.

To cut the tension, Crogg raised his hands in
defense. “When have I ever messed things up for you?”

Glaring askance, Dawes let out a huff and
composed herself before returning to the kids.

A moment later a wiry boy, favoring his right
hand, came into view. He was trembling, but his eyes were fixed ahead with
quiet determination. Behind him was the girl, who looked mature for her age and
very pretty. She was noticeably frightened and was shivering uncontrollably,
with a blanket draped over her shoulders.

“He—he’s up—upstairs,” the boy said. The boy’s
right hand indeed appeared broken by the visible swelling and the odd angle of
the wrist. The medics on-scene had temporarily immobilized his right arm in a
sling until he could be released to the hospital for further treatment. Dawes
touched his elbow gently and guided him back to the table.

Malone motioned for his partner to scan the
first floor, which would involve him talking to “the enigmatic Dr. Dawes.”
Crogg gave a single nod, secretly fist-pumping in his mind, and Malone moved up
the stairs.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Malone wasted
no time. The carpet on the treads was tacked down, unlike the haphazard
remnants flopped downstairs, though it was frayed and worn bald in places.
Dried blood and vomit were sprayed and caked along the punched-in walls. The
metal banister leaned at a drunkard’s cant. Several of the balusters were bent,
broken, or missing. The more Malone saw, the more the entire place looked like
the scene of one long, drawn out crime. Like the red storm on Jupiter: violent
and enduring, always shifting, always changing, but always there. Malone sensed
this house was a dark place with dark secrets enclosed. Years of abuse were
chronicled at every turn, both to the house and to those unlucky enough to set
foot inside. He wasn’t sure if it was the vic’s doing, or if it was the
place
itself that invited, craved such carnage.

Your cup runneth over
, he
thought again, and shivered.

Whatever menagerie of prints the crime scene
techs uncovered in the rest of the house would only support Malone’s
observations. And would keep them working double shifts for weeks. But it was
the room upstairs that affected the girl downstairs, the girl who couldn’t stop
shivering tonight in the sticky spring heat. It was that upstairs room, the
timid girl, and frightened boy that mattered to Malone tonight.

Scanning the room, the evidence was screaming
in his face, laid out in neat piles of incriminating information; a prosecutor’s
wet dream. If only the bastard were alive to pay for his sins. The indentation
on the bed was deep, nothing a girl about five-four and a hundred pounds could
make.

There was a musky smell in the room, a mixture
of sweat and sex, beer and blood. There were dolls scattered around the dingy
carpet and light pink flowers dancing along the yellowed wallpaper. The bed lay
in shambles. An altercation of some sort definitely happened there. The pink
sheets were rumpled and spotted with blood and other fluids.

Malone had to work extra hard to keep a
straight face, to keep his eyes masked and indifferent. Usually it didn’t
require this much self-restraint. But when cases dealt with sexually assaulted
young girls, how could anyone keep a straight face? Christ, he couldn’t help
but think about his youngest daughter, who was all grown up and college-bound
in the fall. She would be going east soon. Georgetown. He pushed the train of
thought out of his mind.

On the floor was a solid body, massive and
still. The body was still warm and rigor hadn’t set in yet. The guy hadn’t been
dead that long. There was a faint bruise stamped into the nape of his thick
neck, a minor abrasion on the upper lip, and a few scratch marks along his
forearm and cheek, but other than that, no other fresh injuries were apparent.
Reams would have to complete the autopsy to be sure, but from what he could
tell, that bruise was COD.

Crogg popped his head into the room. In hushed
tones, Crogg stated his findings. “So far we have two clear sets of prints
downstairs, most likely the vic’s and the daughter’s. Dozens of other partials
will need to be analyzed back at the lab. Blood and other fluids downstairs are
old, and from God-knows-how-many contributors. They’re typing anything that
doesn’t look ancient, but likely it’s nothing fresh that can be tied to
tonight’s case. We’ll see. Dawes isn’t opening up as usual. Says to wait for
her report in the morning.”

Malone nodded and circled the body. Kneeling,
he leaned over and sniffed. Alcohol. “Did you sweep the rest of the first floor
and make a report of your findings?”

Smug, Crogg folded his arms across his chest.
“Yup. I observed as they combed through the bathroom. Gross is what it was,
though I didn’t see anything pertinent. I’ll type up my notes tonight and give
you a thorough report tomorrow morning. I even got rid of Dawes for you. Also,
the kids are ready for us whenever you’re ready.”

Malone appeared to not even be listening. When
Crogg didn’t get the praise he was expecting for being one step ahead, he
didn’t let it faze him. He was used to it. “You should see this guy’s arsenal
in the back room. Puts ours at the Station to shame.”

“Considering a gun wasn’t used here, it isn’t
important to the case, so why would I be interested?”

Crogg opened his mouth but knew better and
closed it.

Malone tilted the dead guy’s head so Crogg
could see the deepening bruise. “What would you say if I told you that this is
what killed him?”

“I’d say we’re looking for a baseball bat or a
giant.”

They headed back downstairs, changed gloves,
and headed toward the kitchen table where the girl and boy were still seated.

Malone called across the room to one of the
rookies: “Let Reams know that the body’s ready for him to take custody.” Malone
caught Neil’s lips twitching into a defiant sneer as he said this. The boy was
proud.

Crogg raised a brow and looked at the scared
kids, and then back at Malone. “Just remember to keep your voice low and
smooth. Don’t scare them or else you won’t get anything out of them. They look
frightened enough as it is. Plus, you really don’t want Dawes coming after you.
She might seem like a gentle soul, but she’s vicious when she wants to be.”

Malone gave him a look. “And who trained who?”

“You trained me.”

“So was that advice you were trying to give me
or were you just thinking out loud.”

Crogg raised his hands in submission and moved
out of the way to let Malone begin the interrogation. He should learn never to
second guess the master.

The kids were still huddled together. The boy
was protectively jutting his body in front of the girl, acting like her shield.

“My name is Lieutenant George Malone and this
is my partner, Detective Alex Crogg. We need to ask you a few questions before
you are taken to Mercy Hospital for further observation and care. Do you
understand what I have told you?”

The boy nodded.

“What happened here, son?”

The boy strained to remain composed but his
hand was throbbing by this time and was a blistering blue. Nervously, he
flicked his eyes from Malone’s stony stare to Crogg’s sympathetic one to the
stairs and back to Malone. “My name is Neil Wilcox,” the boy said hoarsely.
“This is my girlfriend, Elizabeth Hayes and the de—dead man is her father…I
mean was…Pete Hayes.” His voice trailed to barely a whisper. Neil was restating
the facts in the same order he recited to Dr. Dawes. He knew consistency was
important, but his hand was killing him.

Crogg scribbled the names on his notepad, more
for show than anything else.

“Now that the introductions are out of the way,
how about you tell me how you came about that nasty hand injury?”

Elizabeth was suddenly aware of the broken
wrist and gasped in horror.

Making a futile attempt to cover the bluish,
angled stump inside the sling, Neil said, “Oh this isn’t that bad, really. Um,
you see, Mr. Hayes was hurting Elizabeth and I tried to stop him. I—I learned
martial arts…took a few lessons…just in case I might need to protect myself or
something, you know, in self-defense. Well, you see Victor was talking about
this pressure point thing in class and Sensei Hargrove also told us about it.
And I tried it—well, I tried it on Mr. Hayes when he didn’t stop and—and…” Neil
stared horrified at his hands, momentarily transfixed in a whirlwind of
emotions.

“Who’s Victor?”

When Neil didn’t answer, Malone motioned for
Crogg to step in. Malone could feel his ulcer coming back loud and strong.
Before he combusted and lashed out at the kids, he decided it would be best for
Crogg to coax the information out from the boy while Malone studied their expressions
and body language.

Crogg knelt down on one knee beside Neil, so he
would seem like less of a threat and even the playing field. Placing a
comforting hand on the kid’s shoulder, Crogg said, “It’s okay Neil, take your
time.”

Neil blinked and swallowed.

Elizabeth skimmed a finger gently over his
swollen wrist, rooting him back to the present. Neil was able to finish
explaining his story to Detective Crogg, who listened attentively and nodded at
all the right moments.

Malone watched the girl more closely than the
boy. Her face was bruised and void of emotion. She gripped onto Neil’s shirt as
if doing so would protect her from all harm. The boy was her protector, he
mused. She never once looked away from Neil, toward the stairs where her father
lay dead; she seemed to avoid that section of the room altogether. Using Neil’s
body as a shield, she covered herself, made herself small and nonexistent, and
barely mumbled a word or two since they entered the scene. She was the victim
and the man who’d been hurting her wasn’t the boy rehashing the details of the
traumatic event but the man lying in a lump in the middle of her room. The man
who should have been protecting her from the day she was born. The man whom she
should have trusted instead of feared. All the evidence was in this room, this
house, and her body.

Crogg stood up and Malone motioned him over to
the far end of the room by the closed window. Leaning against the powdered
sill, he crossed his arms over his chest, never lifting his eyes off the boy,
and waited for Crogg to give his two-cents.

“I think the father abused the girl. Heroic
boyfriend steps in to protect her. Father lunges at him. Boy kills father in
self-defense.”

Malone nods.

Rubbing his chin, Crogg pondered his thoughts
before continuing with his analysis. “The only issue is that it seems like
premeditated self-defense. Doesn’t seem like the boyfriend just happened to
catch the father in action or that the girl’s that great of an actress and
didn’t show signs of being abused before today. So the kid signs up for martial
arts classes after knowing his girlfriend’s getting abused, wanting to protect
her. Figured he needed to bulk up first. That didn’t work so when he hears
about this crazy voodoo-shit with the fast hands he figured he had nothing to
lose by trying it. Then he happens to visit his girlfriend, unannounced. The
door is conveniently unlocked, possibly by the girlfriend, or like the Rookie
said, the vic didn’t worry about securing the place. Hell, why should he, he’s
huge, and there’s that gun collection of his. So, the kid arrives, hears the
noises coming from the room, enters, and strikes. It seems like—”