Guilty Wives (37 page)

I WAS AT MY
desk when the 911 call came in at 7:20 and was relayed to the squad room by dispatcher May Hess, our self-anointed “Queen of the Batphone.”

Hess told me, “A woman of few words called and reported two people dead at the Ellsworth Compound.

“She sounded for real,” Hess continued. “She said there were no intruders in the house and she was in no danger. Just ‘Two people are dead.’ Then she hung up. I called back, got an answering machine both times. I put out a call.”

I listened to the 911 tape. The caller had a British accent and sounded scared. In fact, the fear in her voice and whatever she
wasn’t
saying were more alarming than what she’d said.

Brady listened to the tape, then tagged me and my partner to take a run out to Pacific Heights.

“Just do the prelim,” he said. “I’ll assign a primary when you bring back a report.”

Yes, sir. Forthwith, sir.

At 7:35, Conklin braked our car in front of the Ellsworth Compound. Four cruisers had gotten there before us, and there was also a red double-decker bus parked parallel to the curb. A gang of maybe twenty tourists were taking pictures from behind barricades across the street.

I had known the Ellsworth Compound was on the historical house tour, but when Harry Chandler bought it for umpteen million dollars ten years ago, the compound went on the stargazing tour as well.

I got out of the car and approached Officer Ed Mooney, who was the first on the scene. He took out his notebook and said to me, “I got here at 7:10, spoke to the caretaker, Janet Worley, through the intercom. There’s the box, next to the gate. She said she was not in any danger and that the victims, two of them, were dead. ‘Definitely dead’ were her exact words.”

The uniformed cop continued, “Lieutenant Brady told me to cordon off a perimeter and to wait for you, Sergeant. He told me not to go into the house.”

“Has the ME been called?”

“Yes, ma’am. And CSU is on the way. I took some photos of the crowd.”

“Good job, Mooney.”

I looked at the mob, saw it was thickening. Cars were backing up on Vallejo, being detoured around Divisadero. Because of the backed-up traffic, a million tweets, and YouTube posts by tourists, the scene would be red-flagged by the press.

Death plus celebrity was a heady news combination. The media was going to train its brights on this house, and any law-enforcement errors would be documented in perpetuity.

I told Mooney to have a media liaison and a command post set up on Pierce, then I went to where Conklin was examining the front gate to the compound.

The wrought-iron gate was set into a ten-foot-high ivy-clad brick wall that gave the house total privacy from the street. The metalwork looked old enough to be original, and the lock had been recently forced. I saw fresh cuts in old iron.

“It was pried open with a metal tool, not a bolt cutter,” Conklin said.

Mooney had said there were two victims, “definitely dead.” Who were they? Was Harry Chandler involved?

Brady had assigned us to do the preliminary workup, meaning we had to determine where law enforcement and forensics could walk onto the scene without destroying evidence. We were charged with taking pictures, making sketches, and forming an opinion.

After that, we’d turn the scene over to the primary investigator on the case.

I gloved up and pushed at the gate, which swung open on well-oiled hinges. A stone walkway crossed a mossy grass lawn, led past a couple of flower beds, one on each side of the steps to the ornate front door.

The door showed no sign of forced entry. Conklin lifted the brass knocker and banged it.

I called out, “Janet Worley, this is the police.”

THE PETITE WOMAN
who opened the door was white, late forties, five-three, 110 pounds, wearing leggings under a floral-print smock. Her expression was strained, and her mascara was smudged under her eyes. Her nails were bitten to the finger pads.

She said her name was Janet Worley, and I told her mine, showed her my badge, and introduced my partner, who asked her, “How are you doing, Ms. Worley?”

“Horribly, thank you.”

“It’s okay. We’re here now.”

Conklin is good with people, especially women. In fact, he’s known for it.

I always wanted to know everything at once when I started working a case. I looked around the foyer as Conklin talked to Janet Worley and took notes. The entranceway was huge, with a twenty-foot-high ceiling and plaster moldings, a wide and winding staircase to the upper floors to my right.

Everything was tidy, not a rug fringe out of place.

Janet Worley was saying to Conklin, “My husband and I are just the caretakers, you understand. This house is thirty thousand square feet, and we have a schedule. We were cleaning the Ellsworth Place side of the house over the last three days.”

From the foyer, the house seemed gloomy, what you would expect from a relic of the Victorian age. Had we stepped into a
Masterpiece Mystery!
episode? Was Agatha Christie lurking in the wings?

Behind me, Janet Worley was still talking to Conklin and she had his attention. I wanted to hear her out, but she was going the long way around the story and I felt the pressure of passing time.

“Why did you call emergency?” Conklin asked.

Worley said, “I had better show you.”

We followed the small woman, who took us through the foyer, past a library, and into a living area with an enormous stone fireplace and large-scale leather furniture. Sunlight passed through stained glass and painted rainbows on the marble floors. We went through a restaurant-quality chef’s kitchen and at last arrived at the back door.

Worley said, “We haven’t been in this part of the house since last Friday. Yes, that’s right, three days ago. I don’t know how long these have been here.”

She opened the door, and my gaze followed Worley’s pointing finger to the brick patio fronting the backyard.

For a moment, my mind blanked. Because what I saw was frankly unbelievable.

Two severed
heads,
encircled by a loose wreath of chrysanthemum flowers, were looking up at me.

The sight was grisly and shocking, made for the cover of the
National Enquirer.
But this was no alien invasion story, and it was no Halloween prank.

Conklin turned to me, my own shock reflected in his eyes.

“These heads are real, right?” I asked him.

“Real, and as the lady said, definitely dead.”

ADRENALINE BURNED THROUGH
my bloodstream like flame. What had happened here?

What in God’s name was I looking at?

The head to the right was the most horrific because it was reasonably fresh. It had belonged to a woman in her twenties with long brown hair and a stud piercing the left side of her nose. Her eyes were too cloudy to tell their color.

There was dirt in her hair that looked like garden soil, and maggots were working on the flesh, but enough of her features remained to get a likeness and possibly an ID.

The other head was a skull, just the bare cranium, with the lower jaw attached and a full set of good teeth.

Two index cards lay face-up on the bricks in front of the heads and both had numbers written on them in ballpoint pen. The card in front of the skull read “104.” The other card, the one in front of the more recently severed head, read “613.”

What did the numbers mean?

Where had these heads come from?

Why were they placed here in plain sight?

If this was homicide, where were the bodies?

I tore my gaze away from the heads to look into Janet Worley’s face. She covered her mouth with both hands and tears sprung from her eyes.

I saw a meltdown coming. I had to question her now.

“Tell us about it, Mrs. Worley. Who do these remains belong to? Where are the bodies?”

“Me? All I know is what I just told you. I’m the one who called the police.”

“Then who did this?”

“I have no idea. None at all.”

“You understand that lying would make you an accessory to the crime.”

“My God. I know
nothing.
”

Conklin said, “We need the names of everyone who has been inside this house since last Friday.”

“Of course, but it’s only been my husband, my daughter, and myself.”

“And Mr. Chandler?”

“Heavens, no. I haven’t seen him in three months.”

“Have you handled these heads or disturbed anything on the patio?”

“No, no, no. I opened the door to air out the room at about seven this morning. I saw
this.
I called my husband. Then I called 911.”

Janet Worley went inside the house, and Conklin and I were left to consider the nature of “this.”

Was it satanism? Terrorism? Drug-related homicide? Who were these victims? What had happened to them?

I wanted to start looking around, but Conklin and I had to stay on the bricks and focus on what we could see without contaminating evidence.

Brady had told us to “do the prelim.”

That was the job: scope out the crime and tell our lieutenant whether this was a double homicide or a freak show that should be handed off to Major Crimes.

“I don’t know what the hell we’re looking at,” I said to Conklin.

Truly, I’d never seen anything like it in my life.

JAMES PATTERSON
has had more
New York Times
bestsellers than any other writer ever, according to
Guinness World Records.
Since his first novel won the Edgar Award in 1977, James Patterson’s books have sold more than 240 million copies. He is the author of the Alex Cross novels, the most popular detective series of the past twenty-five years, including
Kiss the Girls
and
Along Came a Spider.
Mr. Patterson also writes the bestselling Women’s Murder Club novels, set in San Francisco, and the top-selling New York detective series of all time, featuring Detective Michael Bennett.

James Patterson also writes books for young readers, including the award-winning Maximum Ride, Daniel X, and Witch & Wizard series. In total, these books have spent more than 220 weeks on national bestseller lists, and all three series are in Hollywood development.

His lifelong passion for books and reading led James Patterson to launch the website ReadKiddoRead.com to give adults an easy way to locate the very best books for kids. He writes full-time and lives in Florida with his family.

DAVID ELLIS
is the award-winning author of seven novels, including
Line of Vision,
for which he won the Edgar Award, and
The Hidden Man,
which earned him a 2009
Los Angeles Times
Book Prize nomination. Ellis is the chief counsel to the Speaker of the Illinois House of Representatives; he recently served as prosecutor in the trial and conviction of former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich.

Kill Alex Cross
•
Cross Fire
•
I, Alex Cross
•
Alex Cross’s
Trial (with Richard DiLallo) •
Cross Country
•
Double Cross
•
Cross
•
Mary, Mary
•
London Bridges
•
The Big Bad Wolf
•
Four Blind Mice
•
Violets Are Blue
•
Roses Are Red
•
Pop Goes the Weasel
•
Cat & Mouse
•
Jack & Jill
•
Kiss the Girls
•
Along Came a Spider

10th Anniversary
(with Maxine Paetro) •
The 9th Judgment
(with Maxine Paetro) •
The 8th Confession
(with Maxine Paetro) •
7th Heaven
(with Maxine Paetro) •
The 6th Target
(with Maxine Paetro) •
The 5th Horseman
(with Maxine Paetro) •
4th of July
(with Maxine Paetro) •
3rd Degree
(with Andrew Gross) •
2nd Chance
(with Andrew Gross) •
1st to Die

Tick Tock
(with Michael Ledwidge) •
Worst Case
(with Michael Ledwidge) •
Run for Your Life
(with Michael Ledwidge) •
Step on a Crack
(with Michael Ledwidge)

Private Games
(with Mark Sullivan) •
Private: #1 Suspect
(with Maxine Paetro) •
Private
(with Maxine Paetro)

Guilty Wives
(with David Ellis) •
The Christmas Wedding
(with Richard DiLallo) •
Kill Me If You Can
(with Marshall Karp) •
Now You See Her
(with Michael Ledwidge) •
Toys
(with Neil McMahon) •
Don’t Blink
(with Howard Roughan) •
The Postcard Killers
(with Liza Marklund) •
The Murder of King Tut
(with Martin Dugard) •
Swimsuit
(with Maxine Paetro) •
Against Medical Advice
(with Hal Friedman) •
Sail
(with Howard Roughan) •
Sundays
at Tiffany’s
(with Gabrielle Charbonnet) •
You’ve Been Warned
(with Howard Roughan) •
The Quickie
(with Michael Ledwidge) •
Judge & Jury
(with Andrew Gross) •
Beach Road
(with Peter de Jonge) •
Lifeguard
(with Andrew Gross) •
Honeymoon
(with Howard Roughan) •
Sam’s Letters to Jennifer
•
The Lake House
•
The Jester
(with Andrew Gross) •
The Beach House
(with Peter de Jonge) •
Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas
•
Cradle and All
•
When the Wind Blows
•
Miracle on the 17th Green
(with Peter de Jonge) •
Hide & Seek
•
The Midnight Club
•
Black Friday
(originally published as
Black Market
) •
See How They Run
(originally published as
The Jericho Commandment
) •
Season of the Machete
•
The Thomas Berryman Number

Maximum Ride: The Manga, Vol. 5
(with NaRae Lee) •
Witch & Wizard: The Fire
(with Jill Dembowski) •
Witch & Wizard: The Manga, Vol. 1
(with Svetlana Chmakova) •
Daniel X: Game Over
(with Ned Rust) •
Daniel X: The Manga, Vol. 2
(with SeungHui Kye) •
Middle School: The Worst Years of My Life
(with Chris Tebbetts, illustrated by Laura Park) •
Maximum Ride: The Manga, Vol. 4
(with NaRae Lee) •
ANGEL: A Maximum Ride Novel
•
Witch & Wizard: The Gift
(with Ned Rust) •
Daniel X: The Manga, Vol. 1
(with SeungHui Kye) •
Maximum Ride: The Manga, Vol. 3
(with NaRae Lee) •
Daniel X: Demons and Druids
(with Adam Sadler) •
Med Head
[
Against Medical Advice
teen edition] (with Hal Friedman) •
FANG: A Maximum Ride Novel
•
Witch & Wizard
(with Gabrielle Charbonnet) •
Maximum Ride: The Manga, Vol. 2
(with NaRae Lee) •
Daniel X: Watch the Skies
(with Ned Rust) •
MAX: A Maximum Ride Novel
•
Maximum Ride: The Manga, Vol. 1
(with NaRae Lee) •
Daniel X: Alien Hunter
(graphic novel; with Leopoldo Gout) •
The Dangerous Days of Daniel X
(with Michael Ledwidge) •
Maximum Ride: The Final Warning
•
Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports
•
Maximum Ride: School’s Out—Forever
•
Maximum Ride: The Angel
Experiment
•
santaKid

For previews and information about the author, visit
JamesPatterson.com
or find him on
Facebook
or at your app store.