by Jenna Kernan
“I’m in the car.” Nadine hardly recognized her own voice.
“Where is the car located, ma’am?”
“My driveway beside my house.”
“Please tell me the make and model of your vehicle.”
The dispatcher asked Nadine more questions. Exact location of her house. What made her believe there was a break-in? Were there any pets inside the home? Was Nadine employed? And then Nadine realized the woman was keeping her talking and breathing until help arrived. She was grateful.
Sirens screamed, growing louder.
“I hear them!”
“That’s great. I’ll just hold on here until you see an officer. I informed them that you were in the car. Wait for them there. Do not go out to meet them.”
Two units rolled up. In a matter of minutes, they had her out and away from her Lexus and in the street, out of sight of her cottage. Both of the first responders waited with her until a third unit arrived, followed by a familiar undercover police vehicle. She recognized the driver.
Detective Clint Demko stepped into the street. Of course he would have heard the dispatch call and officers responding to her address. Apprehension tingled, blending with relief at his appearance. He adjusted his belt, which shared his service weapon and prominently displayed shield. Then, spotting her, he headed in her direction.
Demko took hold of Nadine’s arm and led her back to his vehicle. There, he faced her, gripping her by both arms, perhaps because he noted that she was unsteady on her feet.
He spoke over her to the officers. “Go check the house.”
They approached her front door with guns drawn. She watched from the street as they entered. It was a fearsome sight. She waited as the minutes ticked past and her heart raced. Who could have done this?
“You’re all right,” said Demko, still holding her forearms, supporting her.
She was so grateful for his presence. But Nadine’s teeth were chattering, and she couldn’t even tell him so.
One of her neighbors pulled out of her driveway and drew parallel to them. She rolled down her window.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Break-in,” said Demko, stepping to Nadine’s right side, firmly holding on to her upper arm now with a steady grip.
“Oh, my God, that’s awful! They take anything?”
“Ma’am. Move your vehicle. This is an active crime scene.”
Crime scene. My home?
Nadine’s neighbor blanched and rolled on, craning her neck for one last look. Nadine narrowed her eyes. She’d been through this before. Gawkers. Friends who pretended concern so they could get all those titillating details. It wouldn’t take long for the neighborhood watch to be buzzing, walking in pairs, shining their flashlights into the backyard and her business. She blew out a breath, fuming now.
She glared at the cottage as if it were suddenly the enemy.
The property sat on an alley of a road surrounded by so much vegetation that she couldn’t see the neighbors on either side. The fence that ran from the driveway to the backyard was only three feet tall, making it charming, decorative, but oh-so-accessible.
At the front entrance, a narrow wooden deck ran the length of the cottage and faced the drive of crushed shells. There were steps at each end. On the street side property, a gravel path navigated the three-foot gap to the unlockable gate. The backyard was small, with dense foliage and a view of the neighbor’s project, a vintage airstream trailer. Someone in that trailer would have an excellent view of her place. The fence had a rear gate, unlocked, that led from the road right to her backyard.
She looked at her rental with new eyes. Yes, the exterior was still an appealing tropical blue and the front door was a funky yellow, with a vintage porthole window. But the window looked into her dining and living rooms and didn’t have a curtain.
What had she been thinking renting this cottage?
She was torn between leaving her place forever and staying, precisely because someone wanted to frighten her away.
Unless the message was something else, something darker. But that was just her weird instincts again.
The officers exited her home and circled the property in opposite directions. Demko waited until they reappeared. She noticed then that he had his free hand on the grip of his service weapon.
“Clear,” said the taller of the officers.
Demko drew her toward the house, stopping beside his vehicle.
“What happened?” Demko asked.
And she was babbling again, telling him about the dining room chairs, jabbering about the coffee table on the couch arm, that she never left the TV on and…
“… it was on, and the volume was turned up, and the kitchen cabinet doors were all open, and…” She could hear herself talking, but it sounded as if she stood some distance away. Her fingertips tingled and her cheeks burned.
Demko opened the back door to his vehicle and pressed her to the seat.
“Okay. Sounds like there was someone in there. It also seems like they’re trying to scare you.”
“Well, they’re succeeding.” She cradled her head in her hands, wiping hot beads of moisture from her forehead. Her skin was slick with sweat and fear. She could taste it, metallic and salty.
The officers returned. Demko stepped to the front of his car to meet them. She watched the four of them converse. He glanced back in her direction as one of the men motioned toward the house.
Detective Demko returned to explain the situation.
“Someone has been in your home. Moved things. The back slider is off the track. You don’t have an additional lock on the sliders?”
She shook her head.
“An alarm system?”
“It’s a rental. I have whatever was already in there.”
“Listen, Nadine, I’m calling in the crime techs.”
She knew crime techs processed major crime scenes. Not home invasions. There was neither time nor money for that.
“Why?”
“Might be connected to our current investigation. The public knows you are our profiler. If we get lucky, we get physical evidence.”
“I understand,” she said.
“I want to walk you through your place and then we need you out while they are processing. Would you like me to call someone to be with you? Is there somewhere you’d like to go?”
“How long will this take?”
“That depends. A few hours, minimum, and they’re going to leave a mess. Black powder from fingerprinting, for starters. I have the name of a cleaning service. They do a good job afterward.”
“Do they work on Saturdays?”
“They work anytime there’s a crime scene.”
Demko leveled her with his gaze. “I need to warn you…”
That was never good coming from a detective.
“What?” Nadine’s mind went to various terrifying possibilities. A corpse in there? A noose hanging from her shower curtain? They’d thrown an injured animal into her tub. She wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked forward and back. Nadine’s imagination was more terrible than reality.
Twelve
The cat out of the bag
“The intruder placed an object on your bed,” said Detective Demko.
Nadine found herself too afraid to ask the obvious question as he guided her into the cottage, where they toured the kitchen. Every cabinet drawer and cupboard was wide open.
“Take a look inside but don’t touch anything. Check if anything is missing,” he said.
She did as he asked.
“Hard to tell. Nothing seems missing.”
She wasn’t certain.
In the living room, Nadine pointed out the obvious, dinette chairs stacked, and coffee table perched on the couch’s arm.
They crossed the living room past the sliding door, still off its track. Nadine glanced into her bedroom. The dresser drawers were open. The contents looked untouched, but someone had been here in her personal space, standing where she stood, lo
oking at her intimate clothing. The sense of fear and violation struck like a slap.
Nadine shivered. Was the air-conditioning especially aggressive, or was this a stress reaction? She extended her hand, glancing down. Yes, her hands were still trembling, and her fingers were still icy.
“Ready?” he asked.
The door blocked her view of the bed. This, of course, was worse than showing her the disturbing thing because her mind immediately leapt to dead bodies, dismembered bodies, and body parts. Nadine entered first.
Something large and dark lay on the coverlet. They stopped at the foot of the bed.
“Any idea what to make of this?” asked Demko.
She stared at the black trash bag, carefully tied, and resting against her pillow. She didn’t realize she was retreating until she collided with the dresser, sending the objects on it toppling.
“Nadine? What is it?”
Nadine pressed her hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what it was.
He took hold of her shoulders and gave a little shake.
“What’s in there?” he asked.
She kept her eyes closed and head lowered. “I don’t know.”
That was true. She didn’t know, but she did know what used to be in those black half-filled garbage bags. The bloody clothing belonging to Arleen and her victims. The bait she thought would rouse her daughter’s killer instinct.
Nadine began to sob.
“Okay.” He took her out of the room, stopping in the kitchen. “Settle down.”
She tried. The effort to rein in her tears took several minutes. He handed her a paper towel to mop her eyes.
“What do you think might be in there?”
She shook her head. “Something terrible.”
He glanced back the way they had come.
“All right,” said Demko, “There’s one more thing.”
Nadine didn’t think she could take one more thing.
“Ready?”
She wasn’t.
He offered his hand and led her through the house to her bathroom. There, scrawled on her mirror in red lipstick, was Legacy.
She gasped. “What is that?”
“Does it mean anything to you?”
The only legacy she had was with murderers. She tore her eyes from the smeared writing, turning to Demko. “Get me out of here.”
“Sure. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I need to get your statement. You all right to drive?”
If she said no, she wouldn’t have her car, and that vehicle was her last safe space.
“I’m fine.”
They drove in separate cars to the station, less than a mile from her house. A few minutes later, he sat with her as a detective from Home Invasions filled in the blanks in her statement. She told him truthfully that she didn’t know what the writing on her mirror might mean, because suspicions were not fact. The report took over an hour and it was closing in on eight at night when they finally finished.
She didn’t come up with many more details. Demko used his notes to remind her of several things that she had already forgotten. Honestly, it would be better if she could forget the entire thing.
With business done, Demko asked if she’d like to swing by his house.
“I need to let Molly out. She’s been inside since my dog sitter left her at two.”
She had no family to turn to, except her aunt, and she wasn’t dumping this in Donna’s lap. The closest thing she had to a friend was Juliette Hartfield. The thought of landing on Juliette’s doorstep, after the way she’d treated her, did not appeal.
“Sure. I’d love to see Molly.” Of course the danger of getting into a car with a strange man rose in her mind again. “I’ll follow you.”
“We could go in my unit.”
“I’ll follow you,” she repeated.
He stared at her for several moments, trying to interpret, she assumed, what was meant by her refusal to ride with him. Finally he gave a nod and told her the address. She plugged it into her phone’s navigation app, happy to avoid returning to her rental and the crime investigation team, crime photographers and police officers securing the scene.
She didn’t want to leave her place, but it no longer felt safe. Her mind summoned an image of a black garbage bag nestled against her bed pillows. She shuddered.
Nadine reached her vehicle and followed him south to a development between Webber and Bee Ridge Road. He pulled in before a nice cinder-block ranch-style home wedged between larger residences as she parked on the street. His garage door and mailbox were both a matching cornflower-blue. The rest of his home was sand-colored. His lawn sported one small palm tree and a sprawling bougainvillea that overwhelmed the picture window with colorful pink blooms.
Nadine pulled behind him in the driveway and waited as he unlocked the front door. From inside came the near-hysterical bark of his dog.
“You own this?” she asked.
“Rental. It’s a lot like the place we had outside Miami.”
Nadine recognized that he said “the place we had.”
He swung the door open. Molly bounded out, leaping and wagging with her exuberance, to greet her master. She spotted Nadine almost immediately, rushed to her, licking and leaping, before returning to Demko to sprawl before him on the step. Molly spent several minutes darting between the two of them and then dashed off to the yard, squatting to relieve herself. Demko peeked inside the door.
“Left her a little too long. Let me clean this up.”
Nadine waited on the doorstep as he retrieved paper towels and mopped up the mess. Molly now explored the front yard, nose to the ground, wagging as she moved under the bushes and back out again. Demko returned with a pink leash and called for Molly. She was all wiggles and dancing on enormous feet as he clipped the leash to her collar.
“Okay to take a short walk?”
“I’d like that.”
Molly had some training on a leash. She started at Demko’s left side, but forgot her position often, tangling the line about them. At the end of the street, a small trail led along a drainage canal. They stepped through the fence at twilight.
To the west, the sky was orange. Demko took a knee and told Molly to sit. She did so instantly, tail thumping on the ground as he released her. He retrieved a tennis ball from his pocket and Molly howled and leapt, joy in motion.
Demko threw the ball an impressive distance down the berm beside the canal. The boxer raced off to chase her prize as Nadine strolled slowly along beside the detective. She pretended that the August heat was not overwhelming, even as her clothing grew damp. The dog seemed impervious to humidity and retrieved the ball, giving it a quick gnaw before dropping it at Demko’s feet. Fetch was another skill already mastered by Miss Molly.
By the time they returned to his home, Nadine had almost forgotten where she had been earlier that day, and the reason for her visit now. The combination of the man and the dog beguiled and distracted her in the best possible way.
She hesitated only a moment before agreeing to come into his home. Demko left Nadine in the living room as he headed for the kitchen to retrieve drinks. Molly trotted along beside him and she heard Molly drinking from a bowl. Nadine glanced around.
He had chosen brown overstuffed leather furniture. The coffee table was solid dark wood with one corner gnawed by something. She suspected this was the work of his teething boxer puppy. She fingered the splintered corner and smiled.
The wall-mounted television was enormous and flanked by a high-end speaker system. Coffee-table books indicated he liked boating, kayaking and guns. A motorcycle helmet sat on the buffet beside a paddleboard, leaning against the wall beneath the dining room window. Her mind gave her a perfect picture of the man and dog paddling on the bay.
Demko returned with two bottles of water and they sat on the sofa. Molly followed to sit beside Demko, panting heavily from her exertions. Demko told her to go find her chewy, which she did, return
ing with a large knotted length of thick rope. Then she dropped to the rug to gnaw on the knot.
“Teething,” said Demko. “The vet said that having a lot of toys would help her, but as you can see…” He lifted his pant leg and revealed a frayed sock.
Nadine asked Demko a few questions that bordered on personal but mainly were framed to pass the time. Yes, he did own a motorcycle. Yes, he did enjoy paddling with Molly, especially through the mangroves.
They finished their drinks and Demko suggested dinner. It was after nine in the evening and dark. She wondered if the techs were finished. The idea of returning to her mess of a house held no appeal.
“Sounds great.”
“One car or two?” he asked.
She did not know if it was weariness, hunger or trust, but she answered, “One.”
Twenty minutes later, she sat across from Demko at the Greek restaurant on Main an hour before closing. The place was crowded, but the weekend had arrived. Their food appeared, and Nadine ate the entire Greek salad and all of her spinach pie. Sometime between when the waitress cleared their plates and returned with the baklava, she grew melancholy as the possibility of a hotel room loomed in her future. Hotel rooms were lonely places.
Demko’s phone sent out an alert signal. He retrieved his cell and glanced at the screen. “The crime techs have finished at your place.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you can go home if you want to. Or I can call the cleaning crew. Be a real mess otherwise, but a few more hours for the crew to get that powder off the surfaces.”
“Thank you.” She wasn’t just thanking him for dinner. She was thanking him for everything.
“So, call the cleaners?”
“Yes.”
Demko pulled up the number and made the call.
The waitress returned with the bill and Demko snatched it so fast that she had no chance at retrieval.
She waited while he scribbled the tip and his signature; then they walked together toward his car and returned to his place. Molly was her excuse to linger. They took the gangly-legged pup on a shorter walk around the neighborhood.
Back at his home, he invited her in for a nightcap.
