Page 139 of Fifty-Fifty

‘Don’t park outside the house. Drive by. Park in the next street,’ said Bloch.

They drove past the house where Frank Avellino had been so brutally slain. It was in darkness. Cold as the night. Harry did as she asked, and parked a block

away.

‘I swear to God it’s warmer outside,’ said Harry as he stepped onto the sidewalk. Bloch unfolded herself from the little green sports car. She stretched her back, and looked down at the car with disapproval.

‘It’s a classic,’ said Harry.

‘It’s a shitbox,’ said Bloch, retrieving a bag from the front seat.

They made their way in the light snowfall to the house. There were few people on the street, and no one in Franklin Street save for the occasional passing car. Harry took a beanie hat from his coat pocket and put it on his head, pulling it down over his ears as far as it would go. Bloch didn’t seem to mind the cold, and if she did, it didn’t show.

She put on a pair of green leather gloves and opened her bag as she approached the front door of the house. She took something from the bag and climbed the three steps leading to the door. She stood there, making it look as though she was fumbling for the keys to the lock with cold hands. Harry stood

behind, blocking the view of any passing cars as best he could while he listened to the whirr and buzz from what sounded like a small drill.

They were at the door for thirty seconds, no more, when he heard the lock engage and the door swung inward.

No words passed between them as they stepped inside and Bloch closed the door behind Harry.

She gave him a small flashlight, no bigger than a pen, and said, ‘Keep the light away from the window.’

‘Don’t you think Dreyer would’ve let you and Kate come back here to inspect the place after you filed your appeal?’ asked Harry.

‘And how long would that take?’ she asked.

It wasn’t a question so much as an end to the matter. Technically, this was breaking and entering. Not the first time he’s been on the wrong side of the law.

It was surprisingly difficult being friends with Eddie Flynn and staying on the straight and narrow. Sooner or later Eddie led everyone astray – for the right reasons, of course.

At least the house was warm. The heating was on a timer, to keep the pipes from bursting in the cold. He followed Bloch into the kitchen. It was different to the last time he’d been here but at first Harry couldn’t quite figure out why.

Bloch opened the fridge, slowly, just an inch or two. She didn’t want to flood the place with light. She dipped her head toward the open fridge door, and Harry came over to take a look. Inside it was empty. They’d even taken the shelves. It was then that he realized what had changed. The last time he was here some of

the cupboards had glass panes, displaying crystal wine glasses, high-balls, and whiskey glasses. Now, there was nothing behind those decorative panes. Harry opened a drawer. No cutlery.

A quick sweep of the kitchen revealed every mug, cup, glass, bowl, plate, pan, knife and fork had been removed for testing. Everything that could’ve been used to eat, drink, or cook was gone. They had even ripped the dishwasher out and taken that with them, too.

‘And not a trace of Haloperidol on any of it,’ muttered Harry.

Bloch said nothing. Instead she moved upstairs. She was taking the same path that Harper had taken in the video. Looking at the same things, trying to see what she had seen.

Sighing, Harry followed her to the top floor. To Frank Avellino’s bedroom.

The double doors leading to the bedroom lay open. Bloch stood on the threshold, her flashlight angled into the room. Her eyes followed the beam as it slowly swept, first the floor, and then every corner. She took a step forward, and then another, all the while the torch moved slowly, her focus absolute.

‘See anything?’ said Harry.

Bloch didn’t reply. He wasn’t even sure she had heard him. Harry moved into the room, keeping a respectful distance behind Bloch, not wanting to fall beneath her flashlight beam. The floors were solid. Not a single creak no matter where you stepped. Harry kept his flashlight on the floor, and as Bloch came to the bed, and zeroed her attention on the bloodstained mattress, Harry moved toward the

en suite bathroom. Most of the blood had soaked into the bed, there was little on the floor. It was rich, thick pale carpet. The stains stood out. Spatter only. No pools of blood. Both women had heavy bloodstains on their clothes, which they

said came from holding their father to see if he was still alive. Hard to disprove that assertion. Harry had seen the photographs, and anyone who came into contact with Frank Avellino in that bedroom would’ve been a bloody mess.

There was a nightstand table with no books on it. Just a lamp and some tissues. A chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room looked untouched. A mirror rested on top of it, and the blood spatter had not reached this far. Harry pointed his flashlight at the ceiling. There was nothing there. No stains. And apart from some streaks on the wall above the bed, there was no staining on the walls either.

Bloch took her time, getting close to the bloodstains, the only real physical evidence that remained in the house. Harper had spent time doing the same.