Murder, Interrupted by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2018-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 2

“GOOD GOD, HOW much do you think she weighs?” Detective Brian Slater asks.“Gotta be three fifty, easy.”

“Still counts as one victim,” his new partner, Detective Emily Draper, says.

They’re staring down at Dee Dee Blancharde’s body while a CSI team moves through the house behind them. Slater counts four distinct stab wounds. He pulls at the cuff of one of his latex gloves and lets go, like snapping a rubber band against his wrist.

“Any sign of the knife?” he asks a passing crime tech.

“Nothing yet, boss,” the man says.

“All right,” Slater tells Draper. “Let’s take a little tour.”

They start with the pill bottles and syringes on the dining room table. Draper reads the labels out loud: “Eteplirsen, Mexitil, Prednisone, Sprycel, Clafen, Zolpidem, Klonopin …”

“All for the daughter?” Slater asks.

“Looks that way.”

“You’d think the meds alone would kill her,” Slater says. “Let’s get the names of her docs.”

Draper takes out her phone, starts snapping pictures of the bottles. Slater turns his attention to the wheelchairs. There’s a column of folded manuals stacked five high. There’s a forest-green motorized recliner with a joystick for steering, a bright-red scooter with a wire basket in front that makes Slater think of The Wizard of Oz.

“That’s a hell of a collection,” he says. “I can’t see how a person would need more than one.”

“Girls like to accessorize,” Draper says.

“Those are some pricey accessories.”

“Depends who paid for them. Maybe they had some kind of mega insurance.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Slater says.

They move on to Dee Dee’s room. Slater begins rifling through the dresser drawers, hoping to turn up a diary. Draper digs through the closet, beginning with the jam-packed clothes rack. Among the colorful striped shirts, smocks, and overalls, she finds a stash of costumes: a purple fleece bathrobe with a Star Trek delta shield sewn onto the left breast pocket; a pair of moss-green fairy wings dangling from a wooden hanger; a plus-size silver jumpsuit with a thick black belt and what looks like a computer screen painted across the chest.

“A little old for trick or treating,” Draper says under her breath.

She kneels, pushes aside a heap of shoes and boots, finds a knee-high safe with an electronic lock. The door is wide open.

“Hey, Brian,” she calls. “I’ve got something here.”

Slater crouches behind her, whistles.

“Nice find for a rookie,” he says.

“Or do you mean for a woman?”

“Do me a favor,” Slater grins. “Wait till I say something offensive before you get offended.”

Draper reaches into the safe, pulls out a small spiral pad, flips through the pages.

“It’s a ledger,” she says.

Slater reads over her shoulder. The most recent page lists, in bright red block letters, payments from a half-dozen charitable foundations, among them the Springfield Leukemia Society, the Knights of Columbus, and the First Methodist Church of Springfield. The total comes to just over $4,000.

Draper runs her hand across the floor of the safe, comes away with a single rubber band.

“This is what’s left of the money,” she says.

Slater stands, smooths out a crease in his pants.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he says.

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