Double Cross

Chapter 9

TALK ABOUT A DISORIENTING change of pace and venue, and definitely not a pleasing one, to put it mildly. We reached the Riverwalk apartment building at 10:50 that night, which made the murder scene about six hours cold. Bree had offered to drop me at home on Fifth Street, but I knew she was eager to get here. This was a headline case, that much we knew for sure.

Things were still very busy, and eerie. There were about as many reporters and news vans as I’d expected. The case already had feeding frenzy written all over it: a wealthy victim, a bestselling author, killed in a supposedly safe neighborhood, in a most horrifying way.

Bree’s ID got us as far as curbside, where the tall building’s U-shaped driveway was cordoned off. Technically, it was part of the crime scene, given that the murder victim had actually landed there after she’d been thrown from her terrace in full view of dozens of witnesses.

A team of white-suited techs was still going over the ruined van where she’d landed. It was parked near the entrance. To my eye, the technicians looked like ghosts in the bright lights. Across the street, well over a hundred people stood crowded behind a double line of police barriers. None of the faces jumped out at me, but that didn’t mean anything. This isn’t your case, I reminded myself.

Bree got out of the car and walked around to my side. “Why don’t you go sleep at my place? Please go, Alex. No one’s expecting you home, anyway, right? Maybe we can pick up later where we left off.”

“Or I could wait here and get you back ASAP,” I said, and reclined the driver’s seat for her benefit. “See? Nice and comfortable, sleeps five. I’ll be fine here in the car.”

“You sure?” I knew Bree had to be feeling guilty about to-night. I had been there before, many, many times, only maybe now I knew how my family felt.

“You’d better get going. You’ve probably got half the MPD up there, drooling all over your crime scene.”

A couple of uniformed officers stared our way as Bree leaned in and gave me a good-bye kiss. “What I said before?” she whispered. “I meant it.”

Then she wheeled around on the uniforms. “What the hell are you two doing? Get back to work. Wait! Scratch that. Somebody show me where to go. Where’s my crime scene?”

The transformation in Bree was a thing to behold. Even her posture changed as she strode toward the murder scene. She looked in charge, reminded me of myself, but she was still the sexiest woman I’d ever met.