Nick of Time by Tim Downs Read Free Book Online

it because they’ve got good people of their own? The Philadelphia Police Department is the fourth largest in the nation, Polchak—that’s why we don’t need you either. Now be a good boy and go home.”

6
    N ick left his car three streets over and approached Pete’s house from behind, slipping over fences and ducking under windows as he crept through the narrow side yards that separated each house from its neighbor. He had to move fast because night was quickly falling and there was a moonless sky. The neighborhood behind Pete’s was unfamiliar to him and he needed the last vestiges of daylight to find his way; the last thing he wanted was to surprise some neighbor’s pit bull or to garrote himself on an invisible clothesline.
    He emerged from the last row of houses and found himself directly behind Pete’s garage. He quickly crossed the open driveway and ducked into the concealing shadow of the house. He sidled his way to the corner of the house and poked his head around, searching for signs of a patrol car surveilling the front of the house—but Misco had left the house unguarded. Nick smiled—Misco must have thought he was a lot more intimidating than he really was.
    Misco’s final words still buzzed in Nick’s head like an annoying mosquito: Now be a good boy and go home . What was it about the human species that so easily confused arrogance with competence? The “ Women’s Murder Club ” . . . The guy actually thought Vidocq was a joke! He thought Nick was a joke too—that’s what really burned him. Well, the feeling was mutual, and Nick was not about to leave the investigation of an old friend’s murder to some amateur with an inflated ego.
    Pete’s body would have been removed from the house as soon as the forensic technicians had finished taking photos and collecting evidence; by now it was probably at some downtown morgue awaiting autopsy by the medical examiner. Nick wished he could have examined Pete’s body in situ, for both personal and professional reasons. But even without the body there were still things to look for in the house—and nothing was going to stop Nick from taking that look.
    He crossed in front of the garage doors again and climbed a stairway to a small porch with a white wooden railing and two empty lawn chairs that looked out over the driveway. He lifted the sisal welcome mat and found a silver key. Definitely a friendly neighborhood , he thought. Maybe a little too friendly . He wondered if Pete’s killer might have gained access to the house in exactly the same way.
    When Nick stood up and faced the door he found two strips of yellow crime scene tape crisscrossing the frame in an ominous X. Nick ignored the warning and unlocked the door, then ducked under the tape and entered the house. He quietly shut the door behind him and listened for a moment before switching on his flashlight and shining it about the room.
    He was in the kitchen. The house was completely dark and the narrow beam of the flashlight illuminated the room in disjointed fragments, the same way his memory recalled it: side-by-side refrigerator on the left, arched doorway, wall-mounted telephone with long dangling cord, laminate countertop, electric range, breakfast nook under a window on the right. He started toward the doorway to the living room, but before he even reached it he was met by the stomach-wrenching odor of decomposing flesh.
    Nick entered the living room and shined the flashlight around the hardwood floors; he saw the taped contour of a body near the center of the room, marking the location where the Philadelphia police had discovered Pete’s body. He approached the spot carefully, aiming the flashlight directly in front of his feet to avoid disturbing any potential piece of evidence. He squatted down beside the contour and held the flashlight over it at arm’s length . . .
    The head’s positioned toward the back of the house with the feet pointing toward the front. Misco said he