AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Too little, too late. The protective detail you provided her wasn’t good enough. There was a failure somewhere.”
“You might want to point the blame elsewhere, ADA. Protocol was followed. She wound up dead anyway. The medical examiner estimates she was attacked over ten hours ago. It looks like she was winding down for the evening when the guy broke into her apartment. Signs of extreme physical trauma. She suffered before she died. The sick fuck used some sort of axe or hacksaw. Neighbors and our detail watching her apartment claim they didn’t hear a thing, so she was likely already dead when he did it... or mostly dead.”
I listen to his statement with almost deaf ears. My gaze has landed on Octavia’s battered body. The yogurt and hazelnut latte I had for breakfast suddenly threatens to rise up in bile form. I’m usually not squeamish, even when visiting crime scenes, but this is different.
I swore to her she’d be safe.
Octavia Doukas was spending a regular evening in the privacy of her home when she’d been beaten to a pulp. She’d been murdered in one of the most inhumane, violent ways.
Galecki comes up behind me.
“Ms. Adams?”
“Hmmm… yes?”
“You’re the prosecutor. What does this mean for the charges against Frausto?”
“The security cameras,” I say, ignoring his question. “Surely, they must’ve caught the intruder coming and going.”
“The ring camera malfunctioned. The footage was lost. I checked myself.”
“I don’t buy it’s gone for good. Send the device to Cade at Cyber Crimes. He’ll be able to recover it.”
Galecki scowls, but doesn’t protest. He has no authority to even if he wanted to.
My mind reeling from the brutal crime scene, I excuse myself in search of some air. I bumble my way out of her brownstone and escape outside to the front steps. Detective Santana stands nearby on a smoke break. His eyes light up in recognition as soon as he sees me, his cigarette dangling between his lips.
“Sorry we called you in so early, ADA,” he says. Crinkle lines bracket his eyes in a way that adds five years to his age. He blows out some smoke. “They struck again. I don’t get how it happened. The detail didn’t notice a thing. Galecki was first on the scene to discover her.”
The menthol stench swirling around him doesn’t help my quest for fresh air. The chemicals make me forget the time and place. Even without the nauseating mint-flavored scent I permanently associate with my attacker, I’ve found it difficult being around any cigarettes. The smell’s too similar, toohaunting.
“You okay, ADA?” Santana asks, frowning. “You look queasy.”
I nod. “Fine. Just... just sick of this.”
He blows smoke away from me. “That makes two of us. We can’t let this bastard get away with what he’s done.”
My phone rings and cuts his rant short. I excuse myself, frowning at the number on my screen. Not because I don’t recognize the number, but because I do recognize it—my old neighbor, Commissioner Flynn’s ex-wife, Rachel, is calling me.
I haven’t been at my apartment in over a month. What could she possibly want now?”
“Delphine, I’m so glad to hear your voice,” she says the moment I answer. “I’ve been worried about you.”
I glance around the block, double checking no one is eavesdropping. The scene is too hectic for anyone to pay attention to the ADA slipping off for a quick and private phone conversation. Detective Santana has finished his cigarette break and returned inside. The uniformed police officers still guard the brownstone against the nosy and inquisitive news reporters desperate for more info.
“Is everything okay, Rachel?”
“No. It’s not. Your apartment.”
My stomach drops. “What about it?”
“Someone came around last night. He was looking for you. I only know because of my security camera. You remember Steve thought it was a good idea I install one outside my door. I review the footage every day to make sure nobody suspicious comes around.”
“Who was it? The guy looking for me?”
“I’m not sure. But I have the footage. He came late too. Around 10 p.m. He let himself inside your apartment. It took him some effort—he had a whole set of tools with him.”
I feel sick. Sicker than I did inside the gruesome setting of Octavia’s brownstone. I stumble a couple steps toward the side of the building and use it for support.
