waiting.”
Junior led the way to the kitchen, which was in a state of disarray. There were broken dishes on the floor, a silverware drawer had been pulled out of its sliders, its contents spilled onto the floor, and a chair had been knocked over. It looked like Ames had put up one hell of a fight. The blood on the floor was smeared in some places, and there was a large, partially congealed puddle in one spot that suggested Derrick had lain there a while. On the counter I saw a butcher-block knife holder with one empty slot, and a large butcher knife that matched the description the ER doctor had provided was on the floor, smeared with blood.
Jonas Kreideman stood in the doorway of a mud and laundry room built off the back of the kitchen. He was dressed in a paper body suit, booties, and protective glasses, and he held a mask and gloves in his hands. Jonas had put on a lot of weight in the past two months, compliments of the steroids the docs had put him on to help him deal with his allergies. It left him pale and puffy-looking, and with the protective glasses and the white body suit, he looked like a nerdy version of the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
At his feet was a box filled with cotton-tipped swabs that were used to collect blood, DNA, and other fluid samples, and a bag filled with small, flattened cardboard containers that could be formed into an elongated box shape with a flap closing on either end. The swabs were placed in these boxes once they were used, and then the boxes were closed and both ends were sealed with evidence tape. Each sample also had to be numbered, labeled, and logged. It was a tedious, time-consuming process, and before any of it could begin, the scene needed to be photographed as it was found.
“Hey, guys,” Jonas said, nodding at us as we entered. Then he focused his gaze on me. “This one’s a doozy, Mattie. You can start shooting pictures whenever you’re ready. It looks like we’ll be here a while.”
“I’ll do the photography,” I told him, “but then I’m going with Richmond to talk to the family. Izzy is sending Arnie here to help you with the evidence collection.”
Jonas rolled his eyes. “Why can’t you stay here?” he whined. “I’d much rather work with you.”
“What’s wrong with Arnie? He’s quick, he’s thorough, and he knows his stuff.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that all he does the whole time he’s collecting evidence is talk about how the world is filled with all these secret societies and evil conspiracies.”
“Arnie does have some crazy ideas, but they’re harmless. Some of them are even entertaining.”
Jonas sighed and shook his head. “They may be harmless, but after a while the rhetoric gets old. The last time I worked with him he was spouting some garbage about how the wingdings font is actually a secret code that was invented by the Nazis for passing along top-secret messages, and later installed on computers by Middle Eastern fanatics to use in the same way. He said he can prove it because if you type the letters NYC using the original wingdings font, the resultant symbols predict the 9/11 debacle.”
While the rest of us laughed this off, Junior took out his smartphone and started tapping keys. “Holy cow,” he said a moment later. “Arnie might be on to something. If you type NYC using wingdings, you get a skull and crossbones, the Star of David, and a thumbs-up picture. Look.”
He showed us his phone screen. On it was a table showing what wingdings symbol would result for each letter typed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Feller,” Richmond said, shaking his head.
“Hey,” Junior said with a little shrug, “just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get you.”
Though I couldn’t have known it at the time, this line would prove fortuitous and fateful for me.
Richmond started whistling the theme song from The X-Files , and I would have joined in, but my cell phone rang. I answered it without looking
Jeannette Winters
Andri Snaer Magnason
Brian McClellan
Kristin Cashore
Kathryn Lasky
Stephen Humphrey Bogart
Tressa Messenger
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Room 415
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