then start again. She nodded to Cerino.
Cerino said, “Do we have your permission?”
“What do you want to search here for? I told you she left to go shopping, and she hasn’t come back.”
Catherine said, “It’s just one of a few dozen steps we have to take in a case like this. It’s part of the checklist.”
“I can’t think of one reason for you to search my house.”
“I can think of a lot of reasons. A wife who has been secretly planning to leave her husband might very well leave signs of it somewhere—correspondence from another man, brochures about some destination. A suicidal person might leave a note or a secret journal.”
Olson’s forehead was moist now, his jaw muscles working. He looked as though the room temperature had suddenly risen twenty degrees. “My wife could be less than a mile from here right now, pleading for her life.”
Catherine knew she was hearing small hints of what had really happened, his mind simply throwing out the first thing it stumbled on. The wife really was less than a mile from here. Maybe she had begged him to spare her life. Catherine said, “All you have to do is say yes, and we’ll be able to get started. Your quick cooperation might make all the difference.”
“It’s not logical,” he said. “You’re not trying to find her.”
Catherine looked at Cerino. She had found a weakness, so she increased the pressure. “Sergeant, would you mind calling in our request for a forensic team on the radio? If you go to the captain, I’ll bet we can have them here in fifteen minutes.”
Cerino wasn’t sure he understood what she really wanted. He stared at her as he slowly got to his feet, reluctant to leave her alone with Olson.
Olson said, “I just told you, I don’t want you people in here tearing up my house.”
Catherine said, “They won’t tear up your house. They don’t have to.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They can eliminate certain things quickly. They can spray luminol on a surface, and it will show if there’s ever been any blood on it. The spot glows in black light. It doesn’t matter how thoroughly it’s been washed. It will still glow.”
The more she spoke, the more his face went limp and blank, like the face of a poker player. She knew she had hit another of the vulnerabilities. Whatever had happened, it had been here. There had been blood somewhere in the house. She said, “Go ahead, Sergeant. I guess we’ll need a warrant.”
Cerino walked out the front door.
Olson’s anger was more apparent now that he was alone with Catherine. “You don’t seem to be hearing me. You can’t do this.”
“Mr. Olson,” said Catherine. “I’m sorry you haven’t decided to cooperate, but this isn’t a violation of your rights. There’s the suspicion of a crime, and my partner is requesting a search warrant. As soon as it’s granted, we’ll be—”
Olson’s lunge came so quickly that she was barely able to react. She ducked sideways and down, and his fist caught her forehead instead of her nose and mouth. She dodged off the chair to the floor before his spring brought him into it. He went over her, hitting the chair back and taking it with him to the floor. He pushed himself away from it and stood, then turned and took a step to begin his run toward the back of the house.
Catherine swept out her leg, caught the tip of his right foot, and tripped him just as he was bringing it forward for the second step, and he went down. As he sprawled on the hardwood floor, Catherine heard Cerino fling open the front door.
Catherine flopped across Olson’s legs and clung to them while he tried to kick free, and Cerino dashed to straddle Olson’s back. The three struggled in silence for a few seconds. Catherine snatched her handcuffs off her belt and handed them to Cerino, who closed one on Olson’s left wrist, then dragged the right behind his back to force it into the other cuff.
Catherine recited the Miranda warning, then said, “Do you understand these rights?” She poked his leg hard with her knuckle. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
Cerino twisted his body to look at Catherine. “You okay? Looks like you got hit in the head.”
“I’ll live. Give me your handcuffs.”
“Here,” said Cerino.
She took them and closed them on Olson’s ankles. “That ought to do it. Watch him for a minute, okay?” She got up and took a few steps away from them, and when Olson didn’t move or try to struggle, she trotted out to the police car and made the call. “This is One-Zebra-Fifteen. We need a unit to transport a prisoner and we need a forensic team. The address is 59422 Vancouver.”
She went back into the house and entered the kitchen. She didn’t touch anything at first, simply looked. The kitchen was extremely clean and tidy. Everything seemed to be in its place, freshly washed and put away. She opened the refrigerator without touching the handle. The shelves were packed with closely arranged items—jars that still had the plastic around the tops because they had not been opened, fresh fruits and vegetables. She looked through the transparent side of the meat drawer at the packages on top. There were a steak and lamb chops dated September 19. That was two days ago.
Catherine kept going. She went up the stairs to the bedrooms. There was a guest room that was neat and empty, with a well-made bed, the sheets pulled tight and tucked with hospital corners beneath the bedspread. She moved to the master bedroom. The room had been cleaned. There were two dressers, but only the tall one without the mirror—the male one—had anything on its surface. She looked into the closet. There were clothes for Olson and his wife on hangers, with an empty space between them.
She moved to the bathroom. There were items that had to belong to the missing wife, but they had all been moved to a small space at the far end of the long tile counter.
She was sure that he had wanted to get rid of his wife’s things, but doing so would have been evidence that he knew she wasn’t coming back. As soon as her body was found, he would have been able to do it. But Catherine had another intuition about Olson. He had been calm and controlled until the final moment when he had been sure he had lost the argument and she was going to order a search of the house. Then he had panicked. The reason he had decided to run was that there was something here that he knew would convict him. It was something big and obvious that a search could not miss. She had an idea of what it might be.
Catherine went downstairs and then into the garage. There were two vehicles in it, and an empty space for the Toyota Camry Myra Olson had supposedly taken to the supermarket. Catherine looked at the floor, and she could see the faint images of stains on the concrete that had been cleaned. They didn’t seem to be blood, but she could not be sure. She turned her attention to the two vehicles. One was a Lexus sedan, and the other a big Cadillac Escalade.
She walked toward the Escalade. Catherine had worked homicides for four years, and she knew exactly what she was looking for. In the back of the SUV near the tailgate, there would be a plastic tarp or a rug, and it would be rounded, probably tied. Maybe there would be a shovel. She opened the driver’s door so that the light went on, flicked the switch to unlock the rest of the doors, and looked. The back was empty, except for a neatly folded blanket on the floor of the rear cargo area. She slammed the car door.
She heard something. It was a low whining sound. It seemed far away, but it couldn’t be. She stood still and listened. Then there was a faint knocking sound.
Catherine followed it. She walked slowly, listening, her heart beating fast. The sound stopped, and she stopped too. She put her hand on the trunk of the Lexus. This time when there was a rap, she felt it from the heel of her hand and up her arm like an electric shock. “I hear you,” she shouted. “Hold on.” She patted the surface, then turned and ran into the house.
Cerino had lifted John Olson so he could sit on the couch, but his wrists and ankles were still cuffed so he couldn’t attack Cerino. Catherine said to Cerino, “Did you find any car keys on him?”
“No,” said Cerino. “There weren’t any keys. No wallet either.”
“Where are your car keys, Mr. Olson?”
“I don’t know.” His face looked angry, spiteful.
She marveled at it. He was caught, trussed up and about to be exposed, and yet he was taking some last bit of sadistic pleasure out of frustrating her. Catherine remembered the direction he had been running after he had hit
