Eight in the Box by Raffi Yessayan Read Free Book Online Page A

off Marcy’s cheek. He felt her stiffen. In that moment he hated Mooney for calling so early. Two more hours and he’d be having coffee with the guy anyhow. He couldn’t have waited to fill him in?
    Mooney read the silence. “Angel”—his voice was tight and tinged with anger—“in a homicide investigation, you have to follow every lead. You take what you’ve got and investigate the hell out of it so that you can catch this guy before he kills again. And he will kill again. If you don’t think Homicide’s for you—”
    “Sarge,” Alves began, “I didn’t mean to—”
    “I need you to chase down the evidence so we can figure out how these women came across this guy and ended up dead. That’ll be the most important piece of this puzzle. Once we know how he found them, we’ll find him. I’ll be at New Balance. You go through those missing-persons reports. I’ll see you at headquarters in a couple of hours.”
    Alves flipped his phone closed and sat up in bed trying to focus his eyes with the light from the clock. He looked at Marcy. He never wanted to let the job come before his family, but Mooney was right. This was Homicide.
    He leaned over and kissed Marcy on the cheek. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered.
    “Are you leaving?” she asked, without moving, her eyes shut tight.
    “I have to. Sarge has already been up for three hours.”
    “So we can’t have a life because your boss is an obsessive maniac?”
    “He’s doing his job. How can I complain? He’s not asking me to do anything he wouldn’t do.”
    She lay there quietly, facing away from him. He heard her short, quick breaths. He was screwed.
    “Marcy, we both knew this was going to happen. But we decided that this was the best thing for us right now. Homicide is going to look great on my résumé. And we need the money if we’re ever going to get out of this tiny house and send the twins to private school. You were more than happy with the thirty hours of guaranteed overtime every week. Well, this is why it’s guaranteed.”
    He was making sense, but he knew she was not in the mood to hear it. She’d been comfortable with their old life, when he had a regular shift and they could sit and have a cup of coffee together in the morning. Still, she had to understand that he was doing this for her and the kids. He gave her another kiss on the cheek. This time he whispered, “I love you.” He stood up, and with the help of the kids’ night-light in the hall, walked toward the bathroom.

 
    CHAPTER 13
    N ick Costa stepped out of the clerk’s office with the police reports for the day’s arraignments. Behind him he heard knocking on the glass entrance. A pretty blonde was trying to get his attention. Just his luck that a good-looking juror would show up on a day when he didn’t have a trial scheduled.
    Nick checked his watch: It was only seven thirty. He opened the door a crack. “I’m sorry, Miss, but jurors aren’t allowed in until the courthouse opens. You’re about an hour early.”
    “I’m not here for jury duty,” she said. “I’m with the DA’s office.”
    Nick stammered for a moment, then caught himself. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, extending his hand. “My name’s Nick Costa.”
    “Monica Hughes,” she said. She had a firm handshake, almost too firm, and she made some serious eye contact. Someone, probably her father, had told her the importance of a good handshake and eye contact. It didn’t come naturally for her. She gripped his hand as if she were trying to crush it, jerking his arm up and down.
    On the other hand, thought Nick, she had a great body, tall and athletic. Not an ounce of fat on her, and blue eyes to go with her short blond hair.
    “I’m with the DA’s office too,” Nick said. “I think you’re going to be tagging along with me today in arraignments.”
    “I didn’t mean to snap,” she said, taking a moment to grab a breath. “It bothers me when people assume I’m a juror