Chapter One
Then
Her skin is milky white, like freshly fallen snow. Her thighs are exposed. Her hair partially conceals her face. A thin dress barely covers her. One strap has fallen from her left shoulder, the other is torn. Except for the bruising, she’s like a ghost, almost translucent. She is young. How young, I can’t say. One thing is for sure—she does not look peaceful. She does not look like she is sleeping. Her eyes are wide open, glassy. Transfixed. Frightened.
Her head is shadowed by a halo of matted blood in the same shade of burgundy as the curtains in my childhood home. Knocked off balance by the memory, I stumble forward, catching myself on the curb. I’m not a stranger to the sight of a corpse. I just wasn’t expecting to see one here.
Movement flashes in my peripheral vision. Glancing sideways, I see a uniformed officer taking long strides in my direction. In his left hand dangles crime scene tape.
When he reaches me, he offers a curt nod. “Can I help you?”
I realize he expects an answer, but all I can do is stare over his shoulder at the girl’s face. “Sir,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’re going to have to move along.”
“I’m—” I start to speak but can’t get the words out. I swear her mouth twitches upward. I once read about “body farms” where they study decomposition, so I know it’s possible. Bodies keep moving for up to a year after death. I’ve seen time-lapse footage. It’s really quite something. Swallowing hard, I nod toward the opposite end of the lot. “I’m trying to get to the pharmacy.”
He raises his hand to his brow as though to shield his eyes from the sun. He looks animatedly in the direction of the pharmacy and then back at me, stating the obvious with his body language. “Afraid that ain’t gonna happen anytime soon.”
Widening his stance, he partially blocks my view of the woman. When I strain and stretch upward, he follows my gaze until we’re both looking at the body sprawled out on the pavement. A man stands over her, and a woman leans over his shoulder. He’s taking photographs and the female detective appears to be directing the shoot.
“Wait a second…” the officer says. “I know you. You’re—” He takes a step back, reaching his free hand toward his jawline and then leans forward. “You’re George Dawson. Author of—”
“Yes,” I say cutting him off. The average crime scene where murder is involved takes four to ten hours to clear. I don’t have time for this.
He scratches his chin. “Author of those Croft books.”
“No. That’s Jake Patterson.”
“Ah. Well, I saw the movie and—”
“Murdered?” I ask. Nodding toward the body, his eyes follow mine. Eventually, he looks back at me with mild amusement.
“It’s an active investigation,” he tells me. “Can’t say.”
“Right.” I turn on my heel and start to go, but my feet might as well be cemented to the asphalt. I contemplate making a run for it. At my age, I don’t think I could outrun him, but maybe if I cut out in a zig-zag pattern, maybe I can outmaneuver him.
Better not.
What I don’t need is to get arrested. Or any other complications. As it is, if I don’t cut out of the meeting early, there won’t be enough time. Joni made it clear she can’t stay. If she doesn’t leave by 2:30 on the dot, she’ll be late to pick up her daughter. She warned me. It can’t happen again.
The other thing that can’t happen again is Eve going another night without her medication. It’s entirely possible one of us might not survive. “Say,” the officer smiles. He shoves a notebook at my chest. “Before you go…can I get your autograph?”
He removes a pen from his pocket. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” he says, handing over the pen. “Probably just one less junkie on the street.”
I scribble out Jake Patterson and head in the opposite direction.
Chapter Two
‘The Book Doctor’
Journal Entry
She didn’t smell bad the way they sometimes do. The way her eyes glared into mine as I fucked her…I found that pleasing, as well. Something to be said for, really. No one makes eye contact like that anymore.
Her search was endless. Whatever she was looking for— answers, a home, love, all of the above—I wanted to make sure she found it.
The lack of smell and absence of dirt under her fingernails told me she hadn’t been on the streets long. That or she wasn’t as bad off as the rest of them. Roaches—scattering in the daylight, but at night, well, it’s a different story.
When night falls they’re everywhere, which is why when I asked her where to go for a little privacy, she didn’t bat an eye. “Around the corner,” she pointed. “There’s a parking lot.”
Turns out, I should have done my goddamned homework. It wasn’t just any parking lot. It was a fucking pharmacy. And do you know what pharmacies have? Cameras.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I do it all the time.” The way she spoke made her sound younger than she looked. It made me sure she was what I was looking for: a liar.
It wasn’t until after I’d paid her and rolled the condom on that she proved herself, saying, “I don’t usually do this. It’s actually my first time.”
Obviously it wasn’t true. Obviously she was trying to add to some sort of fantasy she thought I had. It worked. It turned me on— and it enraged me. I pushed her back against the wall, running my fingers across her cheek. She wasn’t pretty, but she wasn’t horrid either. Not like some of them. She seemed like the kind of girl who, with a little effort, might have had a shot at making something out of herself. “Do you mind if I hit you?”
She shook her head. “Just don’t leave a mark.”
I flashed a knowing smile and then lightly tapped her cheek. Rule number one: a little buy-in in the beginning can save you a whole lot of trouble in the end.
“Can I ask you another question?”
A slight nod.
“How many continents are there?”
She laughed nervously. “Is this a trick question?”
“Maybe.”
“Good thing you’re not paying me to answer questions,” she said, leaning in.
Pumping into her rhythmically, at first fast and then slow, I cupped my hand over her mouth. Against her filthy ear, I whispered, “Don’t scream.”
She was an easy listener. Her eyes kept searching. Even in the salty glow of the dim streetlamp, I could see that they were blue with green flecks. The kind you could easily forget if you let yourself. I kept moving, eventually timing myself with the rhythm of her pulse.
When I wrapped my hands around her throat, she didn’t protest. Women always put up with things way longer than they should. Maybe there’s a school where they take little girls aside and teach them this, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fairy tales. Whatever the case, my hands squeezing her neck…closing her airway. I’m sure she thought this is what he’s into. This is his thing. This is it. This is the money shot.