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“That’s nothing,” Co
Instinctively, Alves patted the Glock on his hip. They headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. Everything neat and tidy. There were three bedrooms, only one of them had a bed and bureau. One of them was set up as a computer room and the other one looked like a small study, a quiet reading area with a comfortable, worn upholstered chair.
“You know, Marcy and I have been thinking of buying a ranch like this, but she’s concerned they don’t have enough storage space.”
“I haven’t had any trouble,” Co
Alves climbed the rough pine stairs carefully. Halfway up he realized he was in a pretty vulnerable position-his back to Co
Co
Was Co
The hall seemed dim after the glow of the bright bulb in the attic. The house was quiet. As he was moving instinctively into a back-to-the-wall position, he felt the sudden jerk of one arm being pi
He tried to pull away, tried not to panic. Just as suddenly the pressure eased and he was free.
Co
“You got me with that one,” Alves said.
“Chin and Chicken. My favorite wrestling hold. Won a lot of matches that way.”
“I’m sure you did.” Alves rubbed his jaw, and shook his arms, trying to get the blood flowing.
After checking out Co
“Nice setup,” Alves said. Co
“I just finished it up a few months ago. Been too busy to think about having anyone over.”
“What’s in the little safe?”
“Personal papers, my guns.”
“Anything interesting?”
Co
“I used to keep a.40 SIG Sauer upstairs in the closet. But it got stolen. That’s why I got the safe.”
“Did you file a stolen gun report?”
“I did. District detectives came out and dusted for prints. Nothing. They figured probably some neighborhood junkie.”
Alves handed the gun back to Co
Maybe he was wrong about everything. He let his imagination get the better of him. If Co
“What’s in there?” he asked.
“Personal stuff.”
Alves couldn’t help but think of his talk with Sonya Jordan. How Mitch Beaulieu had a room set up like a shrine for his dead father. Alves paused. It was worth a shot. “Kind of like the personal stuff Mitch Beaulieu kept in a locked room.”
Co
“Sorry. That didn’t come out right,”
“If I show you, I really will have to kill you,” Co
The air between them seemed clearer, colder. “Show me anyway. I’ll take the risk.”
Co
Behind him, Co
There was no mistaking what the room was. Alves took in every detail. Still he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
You could know a man for years and still never really know him.
CHAPTER 88
Mooney hung up the phone. Where the hell was Angel? He got up from his desk and walked the length of the Homicide Unit, looking in every cubicle. He knew Alves wasn’t there, but he checked anyway. Back behind his desk, he tried calling his BlackBerry again. Straight into voice-mail on the first ring. Again. He didn’t bother to leave a message.
He threw on his jacket and took the keys off the desk. The two of them were going to sit on Jamaica Pond tonight. All night if they had to. They had hoped to catch the killer on his reco
Alves had been useless all day, spending the morning at some bogus doctor’s appointment and now disappearing for half the night. Not showing up for their stakeout. Not answering his cell.
Mooney had a coach in high school who used to say, “The only excuse good enough to miss football practice is when there’s been a death in your family.” Coach would hesitate just a beat, then add, “Your own.”
Alves had better be dead and getting stuffed for his own funeral. Mooney knew that Alves going AWOL probably had something to do with his wife and kids. It was always the same story, Alves letting some family drama get in the way of being a topnotch Homicide detective.
But then, that didn’t make sense either. If there’d been some family trauma drama, Alves would have called in, left a message for him. Even if he got distracted. Alves was reliable that way. Calling in too much, if anything. As Wayne Mooney took the flight of stairs to the first floor, the slightest hint of doubt and worry began to nag at him.