Tess Gerritsen - Last to Die

“I know he was a criminal. I know he ran from us. That tells me he was guilty.”

“He was afraid .”

“Of what?”

“Colombia. He couldn’t go back to Colombia. They would kill him there.”

“So he chose to die here, instead?”

Maria dropped her face in her hands. “He wanted to live,” she sobbed. “He wanted to be left alone.”

“Tell the truth, Maria.”

“That is the truth.”

“Tell the truth, or …” Crowe paused at Moore’s touch on his shoulder. Though no words were exchanged between the two men, Jane saw the look that passed between them. Saw Moore’s disapproving shake of the head, answered by Crowe’s glare.

Abruptly Crowe straightened. “Think about it, Maria,” he said, and walked out of the room.

“Man,” Frost muttered beside Jane. “That’s one asshole on steroids.”

Through the one-way mirror, Jane watched as Moore sat with Maria. He offered no comforting touch, no reassuring words, as the woman continued to sob, hugging herself as though to stop her shaking.

“There’s not enough evidence here,” said Jane.

“The fingerprints on the kitchen door?” said Frost. “The fact he ran from us?”

“Give me a break. You sound like Crowe.”

“And those earrings. Who gives their housekeeper an expensive gift like that?”

“Maybe it’s true. Maybe Mrs. Ackerman was a generous woman. We can’t disprove it. And think about that house, all the things Zapata could have stolen, if this really was a robbery. Even the jewelry box was left.”

“He got spooked. Ran before he could take anything.”

“Does that sound plausible? It’s gotta bother you. It sure as hell bothers me.”

In the next room, Maria slowly rose to her feet, steadied by Moore’s hand. As he guided the housekeeper out the door, Jane said quietly: “It bothers Moore, too.”

“The trouble is, you don’t have anything else to go on. Just a bad feeling.”

That wasn’t enough, but it was also something she couldn’t ignore. A bad feeling was your subconscious telling you you’d missed something, a vital detail that could change the course of an investigation.

It could change lives.

Her phone rang. When she looked at the caller’s name, she had another bad feeling. “Frankie,” she answered with a sigh.

“I’ve called you twice and you didn’t pick up.”

“I’ve been busy.” Chasing suspects. Watching a man die .

“Yeah, well, now it’s too late. It’s all hitting the fan.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re at Mom’s, and Korsak’s just arrived.”

“ We ? You mean Dad’s there, too?”

“Yeah. They’re all yelling at each other.”

“Jesus, Frankie. You’ve gotta keep Dad and Korsak apart. And get one of them out of there.”

“I swear they’re gonna kill each other, Jane.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be right there.” She hung up.

“Remember. There’s nothing more dangerous than a domestic call,” said Frost, spectacularly unhelpful.

“I just hope I won’t have to call a lawyer.”

“For your dad?”

“For me. After I kill him.”

TWENTY

AS JANE STEPPED OUT OF HER CAR, SHE COULD ALREADY HEAR THE shouting. She hurried past three familiar vehicles parked at crazy angles in front of her mother’s house and banged on the front door. Banged again when no one answered, probably because they’d gone deaf inside from the racket.

“Finally, the police arrive,” said a cranky voice behind her.

Jane turned to see Angela’s next-door neighbor, Mrs. Kaminsky, glaring at her from the sidewalk. The woman had looked ancient twenty years ago, and the passage of decades had changed nothing, as if she’d been frozen in time, her face forever cemented in a scowl.

“This neighborhood’s gone all to pot,” said Mrs. Kaminsky. “All this running around with strange men.”

“Excuse me?” said Jane.

“Your mother used to be respectable. A good married woman.”

“My dad left her.”

“So that’s an excuse to run wild?”

“Wild? My mom?”

The front door opened. “Thank God you’re here!” said Korsak. “It’s two against one!” He grabbed Jane’s hand. “Come help me.”

“You see?” said Mrs. Kaminsky, pointing at Korsak. “ He’s what I’m talking about!”

Jane followed Korsak into the house, relieved to close the front door against the neighbor’s disapproving stare. “What do you mean, two against one?”

“I’m all on my own here. Your dad and Frankie keep hammering away, trying to get your mom to dump me.”

“What does Mom say?”

“Who knows what she’ll do? Any minute now, she’s gonna snap.”

Kicking all these guys out of her house would be a good first step, thought Jane as she followed the sound of voices toward the kitchen. Of course this battle would have to be in the kitchen, where a sharp knife was always handy.

“It’s like you’ve been taken over by pod people, and now you can’t think for yourself,” Jane’s father said.

“Ma, we don’t know you anymore,” Frankie chimed in.

“I just want my old Angela back. My wife and me together, the way we used to be.”

Angela was sitting at the table, clutching her head as though to shut out the voices assaulting her.

“Dad, Frankie,” said Jane. “Leave her alone.”

Angela looked up at her daughter with desperate eyes. “What do I do, Janie? They’re making me so confused!”

“There’s no confusion here,” said Frank. “We’re married, and that’s that.”

“Last week, you were getting divorced,” said Korsak.

“That was a misunderstanding.”

“And her name was Sandie,” muttered Angela.

“She meant nothing!”

“Not what I heard,” said Korsak.

“This has nothing to do with you,” said Jane’s brother. “Why are you still here, asshole?”

“ ’Cause I love this woman, okay? After your dad walked out, I was the one who stood by her. I was the one who made her laugh again.” Korsak placed a possessive hand on Angela’s shoulder. “Now your dad needs to move on.”

“Don’t touch my wife.” Frank slapped Korsak’s hand away from Angela.

Korsak bristled. “Did you just hit me?”

“What, you mean that little tap?” Frank gave Korsak’s arm a hard shove. “Or did you mean that ?”

“Dad, don’t,” said Jane.

Korsak’s face flushed a dangerous red. With both hands he shoved Frank Rizzoli backward against the kitchen counter. “ That was assaulting a police officer.”

Jane’s brother shoved himself between the two older men. “Hey. Hey .”

“You ain’t a police officer now!” Frank Senior yelled. “And no wonder! Fat ass with a bad ticker!”

“Dad,” Jane pleaded as she swept the nearby wood block of kitchen knives out of his reach. “Stop it. Both of you!”

Korsak gave his shirt collar a tug. “I’ll overlook what just happened here, for Angela’s sake. But don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

“Get outta my house, asshole,” said Frank Senior.

“Your house? You walked out on her,” pointed out Korsak. “That makes this her house.”

“Which I’ve been paying the mortgage on for the past twenty years. Now you think you can just horn in on my property?”

“Property?” Angela suddenly snapped straight, as if that word had driven a spear down her spine. “ Property? Is that what I am to you, Frank?”

“Ma,” said Frankie. “Dad didn’t mean it that way.”