Page 106 of M for Murder

Tentatively he knocked on the front door.

There was no answer.

Service revolver raised, he gave it a sharp kick, sending the door flying back on its hinges. With a nod to Bakerman to follow, he stepped inside. The light was on and the room they found themselves in was open-plan, serving as both a living room and a dining room, with the kitchen sectioned off to the rear.

The walls were painted in a bright lemon and the place was filled with colour, with several prints, and vases of blue and orange flowers sitting on the glass coffee table and the breakfast bar.

Max noticed that the room smelt fresh: a mixture of furniture polish and floral air freshener. There was no scent of death lingering in the air. Hoping that was a good omen, he crossed the room to the two doors on the far wall. Choosing the one on the left he waited for Bakerman to join him before slowly pushing down on the handle and easing the door open.

At the sight on the bed before him, Max dropped his revolver. He let out a low groan and closed his eyes.

‘What the fuck?’

Daring to open them again he took in the scene before him. Karen Harris had disappeared beneath the sheets, giggling girlishly, and he could just see a few of her red curls poking out onto the pillow. Boaz sat beside her wearing no more than a blush, his hands clutched defensively between his legs as he eyeballed Max.

Max shook his head, not sure if this was better or worse than he had expected.

‘Buddy,’ he said with a deep sigh. ‘You have got a lot of explaining to do.’

Joel spent five minutes on the phone to Max before he left the precinct, learning about Boaz’s sexual exploits and warning his partner about the clothes he had found in Lawrence Parker’s house.

He had already tried to call Angell on her car phone, only to find the line engaged, and had immediately made arrangements to charter a plane from one of the local airfields. Hanging up from his partner, he tried Angell again, found her still engaged, grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

43

T ania Isaac lived in a leafy suburban neighbourhood at the end of a wide street that was lined by cedar trees and Victorian style street lamps. Her house was large and appeared to be well designed but, like all of the others in the street, it was a nondescript, grey brick, two-story box. The front door, like the framework of the windows, was painted white and set back into an open porch flanked by pillars, and two brass lanterns hung overhead emitting a warm welcoming glow across the front path.

Rebecca left her Jeep parked on the street and stepped up to the wrought-iron gate for a closer inspection, rubbing at a tender spot on the back of her neck. She was tired from the drive and longed for nothing more than a relaxing soak in a tub full of bubbles.

During her first hour on the road she had received four phone calls from her mother. The first had been just to check that she was okay after her mother hadn’t been able to reach her at home.

Rebecca had told her she was fine and explained that she was on her way to Seattle on police business. It had been a foolish thing to say because her mother had then proceeded to call her every ten minutes, worried that she might be involved in something dangerous. Despite Rebecca telling her that the only danger she was in was of crashing while she was on the phone, her mother hadn’t listened. After the fourth call Rebecca had given up arguing and switched the phone off.

She wondered now if perhaps she should have left it on. If Hickok had needed to call her, he wouldn’t have been able to get through. Not that she could imagine he would have any need to call her.

She remembered his concern before she had left, how he had told her to be careful, and thought it was sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet.

There was no need to worry about Lawrence Parker. She could see from the empty driveway that he wasn’t here. More than likely he was waiting at home for his wife. Or out screwing more of his students, she thought, remembering how he had come onto her in the interview room back at the police precinct.

Did Kylan know about his infidelities?

Pushing the question to the back of her mind, telling herself it was none of her business, Rebecca let herself in through the front gate and walked up the driveway to the front door, the crunch of her sneakers against the stones sounding loud against the quiet night.

She rang the bell, jumping back at the sonorous chime that vibrated into the house.

A moment of silence passed as she waited, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps.

They didn’t come and she rang again, certain that Kylan must be there. When they had spoken on the phone, the woman had been spooked. But had she really been spooked badly enough to run away again? Rebecca had tried Kylan’s sister’s number a couple of hours back, but the phone hadn’t been answered. At the time she hadn’t thought anything of it. Kylan could have gone out, or was maybe just ignoring the phone, knowing who it was. Thinking about it now, the house appeared empty, the only light coming from the porch. Perhaps she had packed up and moved on.

Another minute passed. Still no answer.

Rebecca stared at the door, not sure what to do. She had driven for nearly five hours to get there. She couldn’t just leave. Maybe she should go back to the Jeep and call Hickok.

She was about to walk away, when she heard a muffled sound coming from inside.

Could be a cat, or a dog, though she’d heard no barking. She contemplated ringing the bell again but, as whoever was home wasn’t answering, she decided against it. Maybe it would be better if she had a quick look around out back, just to see if there were any lights on.

The house had a generous sized plot that was filled with a variety of trees and shrubbery. She could see a pathway of paving stones leading across the lawn, through long grass that looked damp and overdue for a cut.