Triptych

The windows had been blacked out with paint.

A car drove by, and Angie followed it with her eyes, making sure it didn’t slow, before heading to the front door. She rang the bell and waited, relishing the thought of Michael’s surprise when he opened the front door and saw her standing here. She was going to tell him that John had been arrested, then she was going to ask Michael how he knew John Shelley, why he had told her and the girls to look out for the recently released murderer.

Angie knocked, then rang the bell again.

Nothing.

She tried the door, but it was locked. Forcing herself not to look over her shoulder or do anything else that might make her look like a thief, she walked casually around the house to the backyard, keeping her pace slow, glancing at the windows as if she was a friend who had just dropped by for a visit. She wished she had her cell phone as a prop, but she’d left it at home to charge.

A dog door was cut into the back door. The door looked old and she figured it had come with the house. Michael hated dogs. She remembered this from their first bust together. One of the girls had a mutt that wouldn’t stop barking and Michael had pulled his gun when the animal lunged at him. The prostitute had laughed, and so had Angie. Come to think of it, this same prostitute was the girl who had told Angie that Michael was getting freebies.

Angie got on her knees and twisted her shoulders so she could get through the door. Her breeder’s hips caught-thank you, Mother-but she managed to pull herself through. She crawled inside and stood in place, straining her ears, making sure no one was home. For the first time since she had left her own house, she wondered what the hell she was doing. Why would she break into Michael’s house? What did she expect to find?

Maybe Will was right. Michael was certainly a jerk, and he beat his wife, and he had probably raped Angie that night she had been too drunk to know better, but that didn’t mean he was mixed up in all of this. So why was she here?

“Shit,” she hissed, turning around to crawl back out the way she’d come. She stopped mid-crouch as she heard a noise. A whimper? Was that what she had heard? Did Michael have a dog now?

Angie froze, listening. The sound didn’t repeat itself, and she wondered for a half second if she was losing her mind. The fact that she had broken into a man’s house did bring her sanity into question.

Still, Angie stood up. She might as well finish what she started. She left her shoes by the door. She hated being barefooted, but she didn’t want the flip-flop sound to follow her through the house.

She stopped midway through the kitchen, hearing a car drive by. Angie listened, her ears straining. A door opened and slammed shut, but it was across the street. She heard somebody call a hello, a conversation start up, and she unclenched her ass. Christ, all she needed was for Michael to come home and find her snooping around his house.

The living room was what she would expect: an overstuffed couch and a big-screen television. She glanced down the hallway, but Angie didn’t want to go into the bedrooms. She didn’t want to see where Michael screwed his wife, know that this was the place where he probably beat Gina.

Had he beaten Angie? She didn’t know. Her arms were bruised the next day, her privates on fire with pain. She had passed out in the car and he had done whatever he wanted to do. The stupid fucker. Couldn’t he tell by looking at her that she could do pretty much anything? It wasn’t like he had to wait for her to pass out.

There was a door at the back of the living room. A hasp lock bolted it shut. She tried to orient herself, figuring the garage was on the other side of the door. Why would he have such a serious lock on the garage door when anybody could come in through the dog door? And why would the windows be blacked out?

Angie walked over to the door, put her ear to the cool metal. The hinge on the lock squeaked as she pried it open. She put her hand on the knob and opened the door. The room was pitch-black, and she groped along the wall for the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs flickered on and off several times, and in the strobe she saw a workbench, a lawn mower, a pool table.

The lights stayed on. A naked young girl was tied to the pool table. Her mouth was gagged, her face bloody. Her eyes opened wide at the sight of Angie, the whites showing in a complete circle around her irises. Except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she wasn’t moving.

Angie’s breath caught. She felt a sharp, searing pain at the back of her skull, then saw a blinding explosion as she crumpled to the floor. She heard the girl sobbing, a man laughing, and then nothing at all.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Will leaned back in his chair, looking out at the dismal view his office afforded. He picked up his phone and tried Angie’s cell again, waiting until it went over into voice mail before disco

She had been right about one tiling at least. John Shelley hadn’t said a word from the moment Will had put him in the car.

Leo Do

“Thank you.”

“Claims she’s a friend of his sister’s.”

Will stood up, slipped on his jacket. “You don’t believe her?”

Leo handed Will a business card, saying, “She’s a real estate lawyer.” He lowered his voice. “Hot-looking dyke.”

Will didn’t know what he was expected to say. He stared at the card for an appropriate amount of time before tucking it into his vest pocket.

Leo walked beside Will up the hallway. “I gotta tell you, she’s a big loss for our side. Know what I mean?”

Will didn’t want to have this conversation, so he asked, “Have you ever heard Michael mention John Shelley?”

“The perp?” Leo pursed his lips, thought about it. “Nope.”

“There’s a woman who works in Vice-Angie Polaski.”

Leo’s mouth shot up in a knowing grin. “Yeah, I know her.”

Will opened the doorway to the stairs. Leo didn’t look pleased that they weren’t taking the elevator down the two flights to the interrogation rooms, but the man should be glad Will wasn’t punching that grin off his face.

He told Leo, “Detective Polaski said that a couple of months ago, Michael warned her and some of the girls to look out for a con named John Shelley.”

Leo’s smile faltered as they reached the landing. “Mike knew about this guy before?”

“Seems like it.”

Leo continued down the stairs, his fingers trailing the handrail. He stopped on the landing and Will turned around.

“Listen,” Leo said. He glanced over the railing, lowered his voice. “This Polaski chick… Mike threw her a bone a while back. He’s a married guy, you know, really loves his wife but it’s not like he’s go

“What happened?”

“Polaski didn’t understand the rules. She was looking for something a little more permanent. Mike tried to let her down easy, but she’s had a real hard-on for him ever since.”

Will almost laughed at the thought of someone thinking Angie wanted to be in a serious relationship. He continued down the stairs, asking, “You think she’s making it up?”

“I think hell hath no fury, you know?”

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “But why would she make up something like that?”