a breath and closed his eyes. From inside the building, from Claire’s apartment, he heard a scream and then a gunshot.
Sam opened his eyes, bunched up his leg muscles and leaped. He hit the deck with a soft thud, his knees absorbing the shock. He yanked on the door handle and started to breathe again when it slid open. Easing his hand inside, he caught the edge of the heavy curtain and pulled.
He poked his head and gun through the opening. Empty. It was a mess, with clothes and shoes everywhere. He moved quickly, his shoes making no sound on the carpet. Through the door, into the interior bedroom
It smelled like Claire Fontaine. Fresh with a hint of something exotic. Everything in its place. The bed covers were thrown back, as if someone had been sleeping.
He poked his head out the door and scanned the living room. His stomach cramped up tight.
A woman, half her head blown off, lay sprawled on the couch. Blood and tissue splattered the wall behind her. She was blond and many pounds overweight—not that she was going to need to worry about that anymore. A cigarette, still smoldering, rested in a butt-filled glass dish on the end table.
Across from her, a young woman, red hair, very pale skin, wearing standard-issue green scrubs, sat on a love seat. A revolver rested in the palm of her hand. She had her eyes closed but he didn’t think she was hurt. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, in even breaths.
Where was Claire?
Sam focused on the woman in scrubs because the woman on the couch wouldn’t ever be moving again. He slipped behind her. “I’m a police officer,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Put your gun on the floor.”
She strained her neck to see him. Her eyes were open, her stare blank. She looked first at the gun he pointed at her, and then back at her own gun. Without a word, she bent over and gently placed it on the floor, next to her bare feet. Sam walked around the end of the couch, squatted, picked up the gun with his fingertips and dropped it in the pocket of his suit coat.
“Where’s Claire?” he asked.
“I’m here.”
Sam whirled around. Claire was at the far end of the apartment, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door, so pale that he wondered how she could stand. She had a hand towel up to her mouth.
“Anybody else here?” he asked, trying to stay focused. He could see streaks of tears on her cheeks.
She shook her head and made the mistake of looking at the dead woman. She swayed, her shoulder knocking into the wall.
He moved quickly to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close. Her whole body was trembling. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You’re sure?”
He got a nod. Okay. Sam pulled back a little. Claire’s eyes were puffy, her nose was red and she kept the towel up to her mouth, like she wasn’t sure she was done losing her lunch.
“Who’s that?” he asked, nodding his head toward the woman in scrubs.
“My roommate, Nadine.”
“Okay. Look, I need to call this in,” he said. “Nadine, come over here. I want the two of you to sit in the kitchen.”
He led Claire over, keeping one arm around her. He kicked a pair of green rubber clogs out of the way and used his free arm to pull two kitchen chairs away from the table. He faced them toward the kitchen counters.
He lowered Claire down and backed away when he was sure she was steady. Nadine took the other seat without a word.
He pulled the radio off his belt. “Squad, this is 4433. I’m inside at 810 Maple. Let all units know the location is secure and roll me an ambulance.”
CLAIRE FOLDED THE WRAPPER over her half-eaten cheeseburger and pushed the almost-full container of fries toward the middle of the table. “I’m done.”
“At least you ate something.” Sam Vernelli gathered up his own garbage, added it to hers and put it on a tray that he shoved to the end of the table.
“I…” She stopped, pressing two fingers hard against her lips. “I’ve just never seen anything so horrible before.”
“There are cops who’ve been on the job for ten years who haven’t seen anything like that. It would shake anybody up.”
He was being nice and kind. The same as he’d been since he’d somehow, like some superhero, jumped onto her balcony. It was one more crazy thing in a day of craziness.
For the last eleven years, Sam Vernelli’s name had been synonymous with everything evil. She didn’t want him to be nice to her. She didn’t want to owe him anything. But when he’d pulled her into the kitchen and squatted in front of her, his hand steady on her knees and his eyes even steadier, it had been hard to remember that.
And suddenly it had seemed as if there were a hundred people in her apartment. Cops who wanted to talk to her, then to Nadine, then to both of them. The paramedics from the ambulance had arrived, looked at the dead woman and left. Then some skinny guy, who everyone called The Weasel, in a black suit that looked too big for him had walked around with a camera and if he’d taken one picture, he’d taken a hundred. Of everything, from every angle.
And when it had been over and she’d been so lightheaded that she thought she might faint, she hadn’t protested when Sam had practically dragged her out of the apartment and across the street to McDonald’s. She’d been a quivering mess.
It was time to suck it up. “I need to go.”
Sam looked at his watch. “It’s not quite four yet. I’ve got a few more questions.”
“Look, Detective Vernelli, you and I both know that it’s not a good idea for you to be assigned to this case.”
“It’s a little too late for that.”
“No. I’m going to call the police department and request that another officer be assigned.”
Sam pulled a card out of his pocket. He wrote down a name and number and shoved it toward her. “This is my boss’s name and cell. Right about now, he’s walking his daughter down the aisle, so I don’t think he’d appreciate the interruption. But on Monday morning, you can call him. Make your request. I don’t really care. But for now, I’ve got a dead woman and a hell of a lot of unanswered questions. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way, but I’m not going to sacrifice this investigation just because you’ve got a problem with me.”
Claire chewed on her lip. “All right, fine. But don’t think I won’t call Monday.”
He shrugged. “I’m counting on it. Now, start at the beginning.”
She’d never wanted to do anything less, but just maybe, if she went through it again, it would start to make some sense to her, too. “I got up pretty early this morning. I was mad at myself because I’d somehow managed to lose my paycheck last night.”
Sam held up a finger and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
