Aphrodite by Russell Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

sucking in a few more deep breaths.
    “Jay?” Leggett said. “You looked things over and you agree?”
    Westwood squinted and scratched his forehead and contorted his face as if he were going to say something, but it took him a few more seconds before he said, “Yeah, I guess so.”
    Leggett turned to the two young cops. “Okay, you guys, you can take off.”
    “What about him?” Gary said, nodding at Westwood.
    “He’s staying here for a minute.”
    “We got here first, Jimmy.” This was from the other one. “We were the ones, you know, checked things out and—”
    “Fine. You checked things out. I’m happy for you, Brian. Now get the fuck out of here.”
    The two cops scowled and started to leave, but before they got to the door Gary stopped, turned back to Leggett, and said, “Westwood didn’t do shit, Jimmy. We got here, we did what we were supposed to do.” Then they both went out the door.
    “That right?” Leggett asked, when he was alone with Westwood. “You didn’t do shit?”
    “His name’s Brian?”
    “What?”
    “Gary’s little friend. I didn’t know his name was Brian.”
    “Jesus Christ, Jay. You been workin’ with the guy for almost a year.”
    Westwood shrugged. Leggett realized that was all he was going to get on that matter, so he said, “Wanna go back in there with me?”
    The chief opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. Nothing had changed since Justin had first gone in. The room was still a mess and the girl was still dead on the floor.
    Leggett let a long breath escape, a faint whistle creeping into it, and said, “The only time I ever saw a body was in a casket.”
    “They seem a lot more dead when you see ’em in real places.”
    “Yeah,” the chief said. “So what’s bothering you?”
    “Nothing,” Westwood said.
    Leggett waited. Westwood scratched at his cheek, then he said, “It’s funny, though. Look at the broken glass.”
    “What about it?”
    “She got out of bed, tripped, knocked the glass over. It was probably on the nightstand, right? Next to the clock radio.”
    “Yeah?”
    “It’s just strange. She must’ve knocked it over first, you know, flailing around when she realized she was falling, trying to grab hold of something. So she knocks it over, it breaks, and then she falls. But she doesn’t fall
on
it. I mean, you’d think she’d fall on some of the broken glass. It’s all around her.”
    “How do you know she didn’t fall on it?”
    “There’s no cuts. No blood. Even if she died almost instantly, she should’ve been cut. She couldn’t’ve died
before
she hit the floor if she died of a broken neck.”
    “What else?”
    “Look at this.” Westwood bent down, pointed to the girl’s left knee. “A scrape. And it’s fresh. How do you scrape your knee while you’re sleeping?”
    “Maybe she did it before she went to bed.”
    “She would’ve put something on it. A Band-Aid. That stuff that stings like hell …”
    “Mercurochrome. Okay, maybe she did it when she fell.”
    “No. This floor wouldn’t do it—too smooth. A bruise maybe. A bump. But this is like she rubbed it against something rough.”
    “So what are you saying, Jay? You saying it’s not an accident?” Westwood closed his eyes for just a moment. He remembered being on Main Street, not much more than half an hour ago, with his eyes closed the same way. He remembered the feeling of locking the world out and he remembered how much he liked that feeling. Another song began to rattle inside him. Roger McGuinn. “King of the Hill.”
It’s sunrise again. The driveway is empty. The crystal is cracked. There’s blood on the wall. …
    Justin Westwood opened his eyes. He walked to the window, the one that had the fire escape outside. He fiddled with the latch, opened the window, and looked at the ledge. Then he closed the window, flipped the latch so it was locked.
    Then he looked at the chief of the East End Harbor Police Department, such as it was.
    “It’s