way.”
“Let’s try and get that warrant,” Jacob said without enthusiasm.
It was one of those days when bureaucracy didn’t fight back. They had the warrant within an hour, and it took only forty five minutes more to receive the dental records from Doctor Harrow. They passed them over to Annie, who compared them to the body’s teeth immediately.
The body was Kendele Byers.
Chapter Four
Something was beeping in the darkness. What did it want, this alien sound, its shrill pitch assaulting her ears in the middle of the night? Did it seek to destroy her? Drive her to madness? Was it the sound of pure, malignant evil?
No, Marissa slowly realized, it was the sound of her husband’s alarm clock. It wasn’t really the middle of the night; it was four in the morning, which was almost as bad. He had mentioned the night before that he’d be getting up very early.
“Jacob,” she mumbled, and nudged him. “Jacob.”
“Harummmmph,” he muttered into his pillow.
“Jacob, wake up.”
“No, it’s okay, there’s no need. I’ll clean it later.”
“Jacob, your alarm clock.”
“It’s not mine.”
“Jacob!” she barked impatiently.
Jacob sat up, confused, his eyes open wide.
“What? What happened?”
“Your alarm is beeping!”
“Oh. Oh! Right!” Jacob finally turned the damn thing off. “Sorry, hon, go back to sleep.”
“’kay,” she mumbled and rolled to her side. “Have a nice day.”
Her husband got up and quietly began to dress. Or, at least, dressing quietly was his intention. Jacob always thought of himself as a morning person, but Marissa knew well that in the first thirty minutes of the day her husband’s cognitive abilities were quite similar to the abilities of a toddler—and not a bright toddler, at that.
It was even worse when he woke up early. Pants were dropped, as well as socks. He managed to somehow bump his head on the closet door, though Marissa couldn’t begin to imagine how. He tried to close their bathroom door silently, and instead slammed it like an angry teenager making a point. Beyond the door she heard the cup that held their toothbrushes fall on the floor, heard her husband curse. She sighed.
Finally, he was more or less ready, but this was just the first act. Now it was time for the main event. The “Where is my stuff” show. She heard him opening drawers and cupboards. That went on for a while, then he tiptoed back to the bedroom.
“Marissa,” he whispered, as if the fact that he spoke quietly would wake her up any less.
“Hmmmmm?”
“Do you know where my car keys are?”
“On the kitchen table, hon.”
“Okay, sorry. Go back to sleep.”
A bit of silence. Then some additional drawers and cupboards opened and closed. More muttered curses from beyond the bedroom door.
The door opened again.
“Sorry, hon,” he whispered. “But I have to go and—”
“Your wallet is probably in your coat pocket. If not, it’s on the small table by the front door.”
“Okay. Thanks hon, you’re the best.”
“Go away, you oaf. I’m trying to sleep.”
Even with her eyes closed, she could almost see his grin as he left the bedroom. She smiled a small, content smile. There were some hours till morning. She rolled over to his side of the bed, took a deep breath of his pillow, where his scent still lingered, and slowly fell back to sleep.
The detectives’ careful planning fell completely apart due to unforeseen roadwork on I-93. It delayed them for forty minutes, which meant they hit heavy traffic in Boston, which in turn resulted in another delay. Mitchell nearly ground his teeth to dust in frustration as they inched ever so slowly toward Ronnie Kuperman’s address. Finally, at ten to eight in the morning, they knocked on Ronnie’s door, hoping that by some miracle he was still at home. To their surprise, he was.
His housekeeper led them through Kuperman’s large apartment and into his study. It could have been
Terry Romero Isa Moskowitz Sara Quin