“They’ve got a place in the mountains. They’re on their way home.” Powell turned away, leading him through the foyer and around the stairs. Then she added in a lower voice, “Given the unusual circumstances, I think it’s good that you’re here.”
There were those words again.
Teddy looked at the floor and noted the drop cloths. When they reached the living room, fifteen people turned from their seats. They looked at him a moment, then lowered their eyes to the floor as if deep in thought or even prayer. Teddy knew the three people waiting on the couch were from the medical examiner’s office because of their jackets. The men in suits looked like detectives or city officials and had taken the chairs. The rest appeared to be crime scene techs, sitting on long cases that had been unlatched but remained closed. No one was talking, but Teddy could hear voices from the next room.
He followed Powell further into the living room and saw a man in the doorway straddling a dining room chair backwards and balancing his weight on the rear two legs.
“It’s gonna work,” the man was saying to someone. “The conditions are perfect. You’ll see.”
Teddy guessed the man was Dennis Vega, the lead detective. In spite of the cool air, Vega was sweating. And from the tone of his voice, he appeared more than anxious.
Teddy moved closer, then flinched as he spotted the body stretched out on the dining room table. It was underneath a milky layer of plastic that had been formed into a tent enclosing the entire table. Teddy couldn’t exactly see the girl’s body, just its hazy form. A man wearing a gas mask was at the head of the table, lifting the plastic open. It looked as if a lamp had been rigged inside the tent, the light bulb fitted with an aluminum dish. Teddy watched the man squeeze something from a small tube into the hot dish, eye the body, then repeat the process. Several discarded tubes were laid out on a sheet of newspaper on the floor. Reading the labels, Teddy realized Powell hadn’t been kidding. The man was shooting super glue into the dish and watching it vaporize from the heat of the light bulb. The plastic was actually clear, the young girl’s body entombed in a dense cloud of noxious fumes.
The man gave the body another look. Then he lowered the plastic, sealing it to the table with a pair of spring clips.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice muffled by the gas mask.
The man dropped the empty tube onto the newspaper and opened a new one. As he straightened the drop clothes with his feet, Teddy noticed the blood pool on the floor underneath. He looked up and saw more blood sprayed all over the walls. Whatever happened to Darlene Lewis had been brutal. He took a step back, suddenly feeling nauseous.
“Are you okay?” Powell asked.
“It’s the fumes,” he said, lying. “I think I’ll have a look around.”
Teddy backed out of the living room, passing through the foyer into the kitchen. He’d been hoping for a glass of water, but someone had torn the sink apart, removing the pipes and garbage disposal. When he spotted the pantry, he swung the door open and found a canister of bottled water. The dispenser was an industrial model with hot and cold taps and a paper cup holder. Teddy poured a cup and guzzled it down. Then he poured another and moved to the open window, sucking fresh air into his lungs between small sips of more cold water. He could see the district attorney on the rear terrace, pacing back and forth with a cigarette burning and his cell phone pressed to his ear. Against the far wall, he noticed a beer keg packed in the snow. A squirrel was sitting on the keg, taking a shit and eating nuts as it kept its nervous eyes on Andrews.
Teddy turned away, his gaze resting on the disassembled garbage disposal. The delay in clearing the house had to do with the girl’s body and whatever they were doing with those tubes of super glue. That much was obvious. But tearing apart the sink seemed odd as well.
Tossing the paper cup in the trash, he returned to the foyer keeping in mind the house as he’d seen it from the street and trying to get a feel for the layout. The living room and dining room were on the other side of the stairs to his left. Behind a double set of doors to his right he found a study and stepped inside. Scanning the room quickly, it looked as though the Lewis family used it as an informal sitting room. The chairs were overstuffed and centered about a luxurious oriental carpet before the fireplace. Most of the furniture were antiques, and the room had a feeling of warmth and comfort. He noticed a painting above the mantel and crossed the room for a closer look. It was an N.C. Wyeth. Not a copy, but an original. Teddy knew the painting was worth a fortune. He turned, taking the room in with his back to the fireplace. On the opposite wall he noticed three more paintings which he recognized. Seurat, Gauguin, and Cezanne. He looked at the chairs again and realized one had been turned to face these magnificent works of art. No doubt the owner of these paintings spent a lot of time sitting in that chair staring at them. Clearly, robbery wasn’t the motive in Darlene Lewis’s horrible death.
It was beginning to get dark outside. Teddy checked the doors in the room, expecting a powder room but finding closets instead. To the left of the fireplace was an entryway to a library-a long, narrow room with books lining all four walls from floor to ceiling. Beyond the library was another sitting room, smaller than the first with a desk and computer, then a laundry room, a breakfast room and back to the kitchen.
Teddy returned to the foyer, eyeing it closely. A door was cracked open in the wall beneath the stairs he’d missed the first time around. Swinging it out of the way, he found just what he expected. The toilet had been lifted from the floor. When he opened the cabinets beneath the sink, the pipes were missing here as well.
He backed out into the hall, glancing at the living room as he climbed the stairs. No one was sitting around any longer, the waiting over. The crime scene techs had opened their cases and were rigging fluorescent light fixtures on stands and carrying them into the dining room. A man with a video camera was opening a fresh tape.
Teddy continued up the stairs and down the hall, passing the master bedroom until he found a common bath. He hurried inside, switching the lights on. The plumbing had been ripped apart here as well. The detectives had combed through the house for most of the day. The job had been thorough because they thought Oscar Holmes, the friendly neighborhood mailman, wanted to get rid of something. It seemed obvious that whatever that something was had everything to do with making the circumstances
Teddy stepped into the hall, looking for the girl’s bedroom. It was the third door down, and he stopped to take it in before entering. It was a teenager’s room. A room in transition furnished with hopes and dreams and the lingering mementoes of a childhood about to be left behind. The sadness was overwhelming because the evolution from girl to young woman had been destroyed.
His eyes came to rest on an old oak chest against the wall by the window. Spotting a series of photographs, he flipped the light switch and crossed the room. The pictures had been dusted for fingerprints, along with the brass handles on the drawers. One photo stood out, and Teddy picked the frame up by its edges, trying to avoid the dark gray powder that ADA Powell had warned him about. It was a family shot, taken while on vacation and probably recent. It could have been Rome, but Teddy suspected it was Paris. He looked at the faces, the smiles, guessing the eldest daughter had to be Darlene. She was pretty, even beautiful. By the way her father was holding onto her, Teddy could tell he thought so, too. Teddy’s eyes moved back to Darlene in the picture and he studied her face. She was more worldly than he expected, almost too sophisticated to live in this room.
He set down the picture and looked around. He noticed her clothes on the chair, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then he crossed the room to the closet, reviewing her clothing. He spotted a pair of panties rolled into a ball on the floor and picked them up. As he opened them and examined them in the light, someone tapped on the bedroom door.
It was ADA Carolyn Powell, staring at him with a lazy smile and those blue gray eyes of hers.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.
Teddy froze, embarrassed. “She was sexually active,” he said.
“How do you know that?”
“There’s a discharge. She had sex with someone, then put these back on.”
Powell’s eyes went to the panties, then flipped back to his face. “She was eighteen, living in a modern world. We could discuss it more thoroughly if you’d like, but I think they’re ready downstairs.”
Teddy nodded and tossed the panties into the closet. Giving the room a last look, he switched the lights off and followed Powell out the door.
