Faye Kellerman - Double homicide

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2004 by Jonathan Kellerman and Faye Kellerman

All rights reserved.

Warner Books

Hachette Book Group

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at HachetteBookGroupUSA.com

First eBook Edition: October 2004

ISBN: 978-0-7595-1262-7

BOOKS BY JONATHAN KELLERMAN

FICTION

Therapy

The Conspiracy Club

A Cold Heart

The Murder Book

Flesh and Blood

Dr. Death

Monster

Billy Straight

Survival of the Fittest

The Clinic

The Web

Self-defense

Bad Love

Devils Waltz

Private Eyes

Time Bomb

Silent Partner

The Butchers Theater

Over the Edge

Blood Test

When the Bough Breaks

NONFICTION

Savage Spawn: Reflections on Violent Children

Helping the Fearful Child

Psychological Aspects of Childhood Cancer

FOR CHILDREN, WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED

Jonathan KellermansABCof Weird Creatures

Daddy, Daddy, Can You Touch the Sky?

BOOKS BY FAYE KELLERMAN

The Ritual Bath

Sacred and Profane

The Quality of Mercy

Milk and Honey

Day of Atonement

False Prophet

Grievous Sin

Sanctuary

Justice

Prayers for the Dead

Serpents Tooth

Moon Music

Jupiters Bones

Stalker

The Forgotten

Stone Kiss

Street Dreams

To our parents

Sylvia Kellerman

Anne Marder

David Kellermanalav hashalom

Oscar Marderalav hashalom

Special thanks to Jesse Kellerman,

photographer extraordinaire.

I t wasnt that Dorothy was nosy. She was going through the backpack because it stank. Five days worth of rotted food leaked from brown lunch bagsa microbes dream. After carefully extracting the olfactory offense with her fingertips, she saw something at the bottom, partially buried beneath crumpled papers and textbooks. Just the merest wink of metal, but it spoke to her with malevolence.

Her heart slammed against her chest.

Gingerly, she pushed away the junk on top until the object was completely exposeda Smith & Wesson revolver, an old one. Taking it out of the knapsack, she examined the weapon. Nicked, scarred, rust around the muzzle. Poorly maintained. Six blank chambers, but that was meager comfort.

Her face registered shock, then the rage set in.

Spencer! Her normally deep voice had turned shrill. Spencer, get your sorry ass in here right now!

Her screaming was futile. Spencer was down the block, shooting b-balls in the Y with the gang: Rashid, Armando, Cory, Juwoine, and Richie. The fifteen-year-old had no idea that his mother was home, let alone that she (a) was in his room, (b) was going through his personal belongings, and (c) had discovered a gun in his book bag. She heard the stairs creak under heavy footsteps. It was her elder son, Marcus. He stood at the doorway to the room like a sentryhands across his chest, legs spread apart.

Whats going on, Ma?

Dorothy whirled around and shoved the empty gun in his face. What do you know about this?

Marcus grimaced and took a step backward. What are you doing?

I found this in your brothers backpack!

Why are you going through Spencers backpack?

That is not the point! Dorothy spit out furiously. I am his mother and I am your mother and I dont need a reason to go through your backpack or his!

Yes, you do, Marcus countered. Our backpacks are personal. There are privacy issues

Well, right now, I dont give a good goddamn about privacy! Dorothy screamed. What do you know about this?

Nothing! Marcus screamed back. Nothing at all, okay?

No, its not okay! I find a revolver in your brothers backpack and thats not okay, okay?

Okay.

Damn right okay. Dorothys chest was sore and tight, and she gasped for each intake of breath. It was hot and sticky and smelly. The heating in the building was erratic and unreliable, the temperature vacillating between Saharan scorcher and arctic freeze. Unceremoniously, she plunked herself down on Spencers bed and tried to regain composure. The mattress sagged under her weight. She had a too thick layer of fat, to be sure, but it did cover a body of strong, steely muscle.

The tiny room was closing in on her: twin beds pressed so close together a nightstand couldnt fit between them. The closet was open and overflowing with T-shirts, sweatpants, shorts, socks, shoes, books, CDs, videos, and sports equipment. The blinds hadnt been dusted in a month. The boys had a hamper, but dirty clothing was strewn over what little floor space existed. The area was littered with papers, candy wrappers, empty bags and boxes. Why couldnt the boys keep the place at least minimally clean?

Marcus sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. Are you all right?

No, I am not all right! She knew she was snapping at the wrong person. She was overworked, worn-out, and disillusioned. She dragged her hands over her face. Rubbed her eyes. Forced herself to soften her voice. You dont know anything about this?

No.

Good Lord, Dorothy said. What next?

Marcus looked away. Hes going through a rough period

This is more than a rough period! She clutched the firearm. This is illegal and potentially lethal!

I know, Ma. It isnt good. The twenty-one-year-old regarded his mothers face. But if youre going to handle it, you cant be hysterical.

Im not hysterical, goddammit. Im... Im maternal! With maternal concerns! Again, she snapped, Whered he get this?

I have no idea.

I suppose I could run it through the system.

Thats a little extreme, dont you think?

Dorothy was silent.

Why dont you talk to him first? Marcus looked at his mother. Talk, Ma. Not scream. Talk. A pause. Or even better, Ill talk

You are not his mother! This is not your job!

Marcus threw up his hands. Fine. Have it your way. You always do.

Dorothy bolted up, crossing her arms over her chest. Just what does that mean?

Its self-explanatory. Marcus kicked his backpack over, then brought it up to his arms by hooking a shoe under a strap and flipping it upward. He rummaged through the contents and took out a book. In case you didnt already know, Ive got a game tonight plus two hundred pages left in European History. Not to mention Im doing the morning shift at the library after five-thirty a.m. practice tomorrow. Do you mind?

Dont you sass me.

Im not sassing anyone, Im trying to get my work done. Jesus, youre not the only one with obligations. Marcus got to his feet, then plopped down onto his own bed, nearly breaking the sagging springs. Close the door on the way out.

It was time for Dorothy to reevaluate. She remembered to keep her voice down. So what do you think I should do? Just let it go? Im not going to just let it go, Marcus.

He put down his book. No, I dont think you should let it go. But a little objectivity might help. Pretend hes one of your suspects, Ma. You always brag that you got the soft touch in the department. Use it.