The Mask of Atreus by A. J. Hartley Read Free Book Online
Authors: A. J. Hartley
the notch of fabric. It made no difference, but then whoever was in the room, only feet from where she lay, took two quick steps, and a pair of shoes came into view: white gym shoes marked with a Nike swoosh on the heel. Women's shoes. They were turned to face the body and the secret room which housed it. As Deborah stared, they rocked forward on the toe, as if craning to see something, but then everything stopped. The feet turned, pivoting sharply back toward the door, and then were gone. Deborah heard the door open and close again, a good deal less stealthily this time, and then dimly, farther away, she heard something else, male voices coming through the lobby downstairs: the police.
Now.
She rolled out in one quick movement, passed her hands over her clothes, and opened the bedroom door. Still on the landing, preparing herself for the officers coming up the stairs, was Tonya, the middle-aged maid, in the spotless Nike gym shoes purchased for her, no doubt, by a daughter or niece. Hearing the bedroom door, she spun around, her mouth open, and stared at Deborah with undisguised hostility. CHAPTER 10
The two women considered each other in silence, momentarily oblivious to the sound of the uniformed policemen cautiously announcing their presence as they came up the stairs, one bald and fat but probably no more than thirty, the other lean and black.
"Miss Miller?" said the bald guy, looking from one woman to the other.
"Yes," said Deborah, turning from the black woman with an effort. "In there."
The two cops exchanged looks, and the bald guy moved toward the bedroom doors. He was gone no more than thirty seconds or so, but it felt like an age and a silent one at that. The other policeman hovered, looking embarrassed, as if he had interrupted a church service, though whether that was because he was dealing with two women or with one corpse, Deborah wasn't sure. He said something, but Deborah wasn't paying attention, was straining to hear the chatter of the bald cop's radio as he emerged from the room. She thought he looked a little green but was putting a brave face on it. It was strange, she thought. She had been too consumed by her own grief at who the corpse was to have been horrified or revolted by it.
"I thought I'd get a jump on the day's work," Tonya was saying. "I knew there'd be a lot of cleaning up to do. We had a party in the museum last night."
"And you, Miss Miller?"
"I'm sorry?" said Deborah, turning to the black cop. He had taken out a notebook and was watching her anxiously. He was probably terrified of getting the procedure wrong, she thought, feeling something oddly like compassion for him. 41
T h e M a s k o f A t r e u s
"I got a phone call telling me I needed to get back here,"
she said. "It was a little before three, I think."
It was now almost four. This was what Tonya called getting a jump on the day's work?
"Did you know the caller?"
She said that she didn't, and then went over her movements and the manner in which she had come to find the body. Tonya tried not to look like she was hanging on her every word.
"And you had never seen the room behind the bookcase before?" said the bald cop who had now rejoined them and taken over.
"I had no idea it was there."
"Neither did I," Tonya volunteered. She didn't meet Deborah's gaze.
"It's going to be a little while before the crime scene team gets here," said the bald cop. "Is there somewhere you can wait?"
They left the black cop to guard the bedroom, and Deborah led the way downstairs to the sitting room where she and Tonya perched on Queen Anne chairs, staring silently at the walls, while the bald cop paced, studying pictures and knickknacks at random. Occasionally he made notes, as if proving himself to be a detective rather than a beat cop. It was twenty minutes before they heard a door slam at the front of the house. Then came the swelling babble of voices as an army of investigators and specialists moved in, lugging their equipment with
Now.
She rolled out in one quick movement, passed her hands over her clothes, and opened the bedroom door. Still on the landing, preparing herself for the officers coming up the stairs, was Tonya, the middle-aged maid, in the spotless Nike gym shoes purchased for her, no doubt, by a daughter or niece. Hearing the bedroom door, she spun around, her mouth open, and stared at Deborah with undisguised hostility. CHAPTER 10
The two women considered each other in silence, momentarily oblivious to the sound of the uniformed policemen cautiously announcing their presence as they came up the stairs, one bald and fat but probably no more than thirty, the other lean and black.
"Miss Miller?" said the bald guy, looking from one woman to the other.
"Yes," said Deborah, turning from the black woman with an effort. "In there."
The two cops exchanged looks, and the bald guy moved toward the bedroom doors. He was gone no more than thirty seconds or so, but it felt like an age and a silent one at that. The other policeman hovered, looking embarrassed, as if he had interrupted a church service, though whether that was because he was dealing with two women or with one corpse, Deborah wasn't sure. He said something, but Deborah wasn't paying attention, was straining to hear the chatter of the bald cop's radio as he emerged from the room. She thought he looked a little green but was putting a brave face on it. It was strange, she thought. She had been too consumed by her own grief at who the corpse was to have been horrified or revolted by it.
"I thought I'd get a jump on the day's work," Tonya was saying. "I knew there'd be a lot of cleaning up to do. We had a party in the museum last night."
"And you, Miss Miller?"
"I'm sorry?" said Deborah, turning to the black cop. He had taken out a notebook and was watching her anxiously. He was probably terrified of getting the procedure wrong, she thought, feeling something oddly like compassion for him. 41
T h e M a s k o f A t r e u s
"I got a phone call telling me I needed to get back here,"
she said. "It was a little before three, I think."
It was now almost four. This was what Tonya called getting a jump on the day's work?
"Did you know the caller?"
She said that she didn't, and then went over her movements and the manner in which she had come to find the body. Tonya tried not to look like she was hanging on her every word.
"And you had never seen the room behind the bookcase before?" said the bald cop who had now rejoined them and taken over.
"I had no idea it was there."
"Neither did I," Tonya volunteered. She didn't meet Deborah's gaze.
"It's going to be a little while before the crime scene team gets here," said the bald cop. "Is there somewhere you can wait?"
They left the black cop to guard the bedroom, and Deborah led the way downstairs to the sitting room where she and Tonya perched on Queen Anne chairs, staring silently at the walls, while the bald cop paced, studying pictures and knickknacks at random. Occasionally he made notes, as if proving himself to be a detective rather than a beat cop. It was twenty minutes before they heard a door slam at the front of the house. Then came the swelling babble of voices as an army of investigators and specialists moved in, lugging their equipment with
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