to lift it. ‘See? The window is closed and locked. Locked up
really
tight. Want to try?’
Bean shook her head. Tuff again tried to lift the sash. As expected, it didn’t budge. She tapped twice on the intact glass. ‘We’re on the second floor. How would anyone get in here?’
Bean shrugged.
Tuff crossed the room, sat on the edge of her bed. She looked into her sister’s clear blue eyes. Their life before their father died suddenly seemed like a million years ago.
‘You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, don’t you?’
Bean looked away, at the closet, shrugged again. Tuff put a hand under her sister’s chin, gently turned her head back. ‘Don’t you?’
This time Bean nodded. ‘I know.’
‘Good.’
Tuff pulled back the covers. Bean got into bed. Tuff then bunched the sheets under her sister’s chin. She picked up Bean’s three favorite bears and aligned them against the wall, a little stuffed army to protect against all invaders: foreign, domestic and imaginary.
‘We’ve got to get to sleep,’ Tuff said. ‘Mom’s gonna brain us.’ She picked up a book from the nightstand. It was
Goodnight, Moon
by Margaret Wise Brown, one of Bean’s favorites. ‘Want a story first?’
Bean shook her head. Tuff put the book back on the nightstand. She knew what she had to do. If she didn’t, this would go on all night.
‘You want me to check the closet?’ she asked.
Bean nodded.
Tuff smiled. ‘You are the biggest scaredy-cat in the world, you know that?’
Bean curled her fingers. ‘Yes.’
Tuff brushed her sister’s fine blond hair from her forehead, gave her a kiss on the cheek, stood up and crossed the room.
‘Ready?’
Bean covered her eyes. ‘No.’
‘Gonna do it anyway.’
With a dramatic flourish Tuff opened the door to the closet, just to show her little sister that the only things inside were their clothes and their toys. Just like always.
But this time it wasn’t true.
This time there
was
a man inside the closet.
A tall man in ragged clothes.
9
On the way to the crime lab Jessica and Byrne stopped first at the Roundhouse to have the photographs they’d found in Robert Freitag’s attic processed for fingerprints. They also signed the cash into evidence, and locked it down.
The Forensic Lab was a state-of-the-art, heavily fortified building at 8th and Poplar streets. In the basement was the Firearms Identification Unit; on the first floor was the Crime Scene Unit, Document Examination Unit, the Chem lab – mostly used for the identification of drugs – as well as Criminalistics, which handled the processing of hair and fiber. The first floor was also home to the DNA lab.
Firearms, Documents and CSU personnel were all sworn law enforcement officers. Everyone else was a civilian.
Of all the section directors, no one was more flamboyant, or dedicated, than Sergeant Helmut Rohmer. Standing around six-five, he had recently shaved his head, and presented himself as a soft-spoken, lab-dwelling version of Shrek. He was also known for his black T-shirt collection, a wardrobe accessory rumored to be in the hundreds. Today he wore a shirt with the slogan: P ART OF THE P ROBLEM .
He insisted you called him Hell.
When Jessica and Byrne walked into the room, Hell Rohmer had on large, over-the-ear headphones, eyes closed, feet up on his desk.
Jessica stepped closer, gently tapped Hell on the foot.
The big man nearly levitated.
Red-faced, Hell Rohmer scrambled to his feet, knocking over his chair. He turned off his MP3 player, took off his headphones, put them away.
‘Uh, hey, detectives. I didn’t see you come in.’ He righted his chair.
‘Didn’t mean to scare you,’ Jessica said. This wasn’t entirely true. ‘How is Doni?’
Donatella Rohmer was Hell’s daughter from his first marriage. If Jessica recalled correctly, she was about twelve or thirteen now.
Composing himself, Hell straightened a few things on the desk. ‘Well, Doni thinks I’m a
really
tight. Want to try?’
Bean shook her head. Tuff again tried to lift the sash. As expected, it didn’t budge. She tapped twice on the intact glass. ‘We’re on the second floor. How would anyone get in here?’
Bean shrugged.
Tuff crossed the room, sat on the edge of her bed. She looked into her sister’s clear blue eyes. Their life before their father died suddenly seemed like a million years ago.
‘You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, don’t you?’
Bean looked away, at the closet, shrugged again. Tuff put a hand under her sister’s chin, gently turned her head back. ‘Don’t you?’
This time Bean nodded. ‘I know.’
‘Good.’
Tuff pulled back the covers. Bean got into bed. Tuff then bunched the sheets under her sister’s chin. She picked up Bean’s three favorite bears and aligned them against the wall, a little stuffed army to protect against all invaders: foreign, domestic and imaginary.
‘We’ve got to get to sleep,’ Tuff said. ‘Mom’s gonna brain us.’ She picked up a book from the nightstand. It was
Goodnight, Moon
by Margaret Wise Brown, one of Bean’s favorites. ‘Want a story first?’
Bean shook her head. Tuff put the book back on the nightstand. She knew what she had to do. If she didn’t, this would go on all night.
‘You want me to check the closet?’ she asked.
Bean nodded.
Tuff smiled. ‘You are the biggest scaredy-cat in the world, you know that?’
Bean curled her fingers. ‘Yes.’
Tuff brushed her sister’s fine blond hair from her forehead, gave her a kiss on the cheek, stood up and crossed the room.
‘Ready?’
Bean covered her eyes. ‘No.’
‘Gonna do it anyway.’
With a dramatic flourish Tuff opened the door to the closet, just to show her little sister that the only things inside were their clothes and their toys. Just like always.
But this time it wasn’t true.
This time there
was
a man inside the closet.
A tall man in ragged clothes.
9
On the way to the crime lab Jessica and Byrne stopped first at the Roundhouse to have the photographs they’d found in Robert Freitag’s attic processed for fingerprints. They also signed the cash into evidence, and locked it down.
The Forensic Lab was a state-of-the-art, heavily fortified building at 8th and Poplar streets. In the basement was the Firearms Identification Unit; on the first floor was the Crime Scene Unit, Document Examination Unit, the Chem lab – mostly used for the identification of drugs – as well as Criminalistics, which handled the processing of hair and fiber. The first floor was also home to the DNA lab.
Firearms, Documents and CSU personnel were all sworn law enforcement officers. Everyone else was a civilian.
Of all the section directors, no one was more flamboyant, or dedicated, than Sergeant Helmut Rohmer. Standing around six-five, he had recently shaved his head, and presented himself as a soft-spoken, lab-dwelling version of Shrek. He was also known for his black T-shirt collection, a wardrobe accessory rumored to be in the hundreds. Today he wore a shirt with the slogan: P ART OF THE P ROBLEM .
He insisted you called him Hell.
When Jessica and Byrne walked into the room, Hell Rohmer had on large, over-the-ear headphones, eyes closed, feet up on his desk.
Jessica stepped closer, gently tapped Hell on the foot.
The big man nearly levitated.
Red-faced, Hell Rohmer scrambled to his feet, knocking over his chair. He turned off his MP3 player, took off his headphones, put them away.
‘Uh, hey, detectives. I didn’t see you come in.’ He righted his chair.
‘Didn’t mean to scare you,’ Jessica said. This wasn’t entirely true. ‘How is Doni?’
Donatella Rohmer was Hell’s daughter from his first marriage. If Jessica recalled correctly, she was about twelve or thirteen now.
Composing himself, Hell straightened a few things on the desk. ‘Well, Doni thinks I’m a
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