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“Good. Thanks, Natasha. Is there anything else I need to see?”
“No, but check with me tomorrow. I may have more.”
“Thanks.”
Novak searched the corners of the basement. The space was filled with old chairs, a broken stove, a claw-foot bathtub, and a marble mantel.
“Are you going to call Julia Vargas about the picture?” Natasha asked.
Novak wanted Julia to hear it from him. “Yes.”
He climbed the stairs and moved outside. He found the homeowner now leaning against a squad car, a cup of hot coffee cradled in his hand. One booted foot tapped impatiently.
Novak introduced himself. “And you are?”
“Mike Rice. They said a detective was coming and I had to wait until I talked to you before I could leave.”
Novak dug a notebook and small pen from his breast pocket. He flipped the notebook open. “Thank you for sticking around.”
“That’s all right.” He shoved out a breath.
“Have any idea how the fire started?”
“The captain asked me that several times. I have no idea. It could be anything with a run-down old house like this.”
“This has to be a first for you,” Novak said.
A calloused finger scraped at the side of the coffee cup. “The first walk-through on places like this always has a surprise or two. Usually it’s mold, rotting wood, or vagrants. This is my first dead body.”
“What do you mean by places like this?”
“The property has been vacant at least ten years, maybe more. Lots of damage happens to a house when it’s abandoned.”
Novak clicked the top of his pen a couple of times. “Whom did you buy the house from?”
“From the city. They took it over about two years ago when back taxes weren’t paid. I can’t tell you who they seized the property from, but the title search turned up clean.”
“I’m going to send a cadaver dog through the house. Just in case.”
Rice glanced toward the house, his frown deepening. “Holy shit, you think there are more?”
“Let’s hope not, but I’d like to check.”
“Sure. I’ll be ripping out walls as soon as you let me back inside. Be nice to know there are no more unwelcome surprises.”
“Right.”
“How soon can I get into the house?”
“It will be at least a week. But right now, until we complete a full search of the property, I can’t make any promises.”
The guy ran thick fingers through thinning hair. “That’s not so bad.”
“That’s assuming we don’t find other bodies or evidence.”
The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damn it.”
“Right.”
Novak gave him his card, then reached for his cell. He dialed Julia’s number, knowing he was waking her up with unwelcome news. As he stared at the houses lining the street, he also knew tomorrow would have him knocking on each door. Someone always sees something.
CHAPTER TWO
Sunday, October 29, 11:30 p.m.
The dream always begins with bloodred apples.
A collection of six bright Red Delicious arranged in a white bowl centered on her mother’s kitchen table. Ripe. Delicious. Ready to burst. Julia runs into the kitchen to greet her father but the ground under her feet turns slick, and the beige tiles melt into crimson puddles. She skids. Slips. Her gaze settles onto her father’s body slumped over the kitchen table. One of his hands stretches toward the apples, and the other dangles toward the floor where his service weapon rests in a puddle of blood. His glassy eyes are wide open, mirroring joyless surprise, and his slack jaw presses into the table. Her mouth opens to scream, but it’s her mother’s anguished cry she hears behind her.
The shrill of a phone pulled Agent Julia Vargas toward consciousness. Heart racing, she sat up. She groped the nightstand beside her, fingers skimming over an opened pack of cigarettes before she found her phone.
Making no effort to clear the sleep from her voice, she glanced at the clock’s red digital numbers. It was well after eleven. “Yeah.”
“Julia?”
She blinked and cleared her throat. “Yes, who’s this?”
“Tobias.” His rough, gravelly tone chased away the fog of sleep.
“Novak?” Phone pressed to her ear, she looked toward the pillow to her right. A faint impression still remained, evidence he’d been there. “I didn’t hear you leave.”
“You were sleeping soundly. I didn’t want to wake you.”
She had been sleeping unusually well until the dream. “Where are you?”
“I’m at a homicide in Church Hill. You’ll want to come and see it.”
She pressed the bridge of her nose. “Novak, if this is your idea of pillow talk, it’s not working for me.”
“Julia.” Warning hummed under the word.
“Can you give me more details at least?”
“I’ll text you the address.”
She cleared her throat aga
in and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Earlier today, she’d worked a homicide with Agent Dakota Sharp. After nineteen hours nonstop, they’d traced the killer via a series of violent texts made to the victim, his ex-girlfriend. The accused was in cuffs by 7:00 p.m., and by 9:00 p.m. she was in bed, swearing she’d not move before dawn. But she’d been too wired to sleep. So she’d texted Novak.
“Why me?” she asked. “I’m technically off duty. And I’m surprised you’d be reaching out to Virginia State Police.” Though she worked for Division One, which covered the Richmond metro area, the city had sufficient resources and usually didn’t call in the state police.
“Trust me on this one.”
She picked up the pack of cigarettes and tapped it against her thigh. Novak was no nonsense. No drama. A call from him meant the case could be big. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Detective.”
“Victim is female. Young. Blunt force trauma to the back of her skull.”
Rising, she paced, hoping to clear her head. “Seriously, why me?”
“It appears the victim knew you.”
She flipped back a lock of dark hair. “Stop dropping bread crumbs for me to follow, Novak. I’ve crossed paths with a lot of people.”
“Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “This is a topic I’d rather not get into with you on the phone. But I strongly suggest you look at the crime scene.”
She looked back at her still-warm bed. “You can’t give me a clue?”
“No.”
When he didn’t offer anything else, she checked the clock on her nightstand. It read 11:40 p.m. Damn it. She had court at ten and a meeting near Quantico in the early afternoon.
Resigned, she crossed to the long window and peeked through the blinds. The streets were quiet. She lived in Richmond near the Shockoe Bottom district in an apartment over a bar called Billy’s. The bar was outside the financial district, but not quite in the historic section. A not-so-charming no-man’s-land.
If it all went perfectly, she could dress quickly, check out Novak’s scene, and be home to catch at least another few hours of sleep. Perfect. She’d yet to have a murder scene unfold neatly in front of her.
