A Matter of Trust

Chapter 35





Mia? What’s wrong?” Charlie asked. “Mia?” He swung his gaze back to the house across the street, the house that was for sale and obviously had been for some time. What was she seeing?

Without answering him, Mia ran through Colleen’s yard to the front of her house. Charlie hurried after her until they both were standing in front of the boarded-up window, staring at the house across the street.

“When I came here this morning to help set up, the blinds were all down.” Mia pointed. “Now that one’s half up. And I’m pretty sure I just saw a person’s face in the window.” She now sounded completely sober. “Charlie, I think someone is in that house.”

He turned to look at the plywood and then back up at the window across the street. If anyone had been up there Sunday night, they would have had a clear view of Colleen’s murder. Then another thought occurred to him. Could whoever had killed Colleen have holed up just a few yards from where the murder had occurred?

Unbuttoning his coat, Charlie put his hand on the butt of his gun and hurried across the street. Mia followed.

“Don’t come any farther,” he told her as they reached the edge of the wild lawn. She started to protest, but he cut her off, keeping his voice down. He didn’t have time for this. “Somebody could be lying low here. Maybe even the person who killed Colleen. Empty houses attract all kinds of bad people.” Addicts broke in to steal appliances, fixtures, or any copper wire or pipes they could pry out of the walls. Vacant houses were magnets for vandalism, drug dealers, or even prostitutes looking for an out-of-the-way place to service a client.

He pointed at the sagging For Sale sign. “Call the real estate agent and ask when she last showed the house, or if anyone has permission to be inside. And if things don’t add up, tell her to meet us down here ASAP to open the house. While you do that, I’m gonna call it in and check the perimeter.”

Charlie notified dispatch, then went up onto the front porch, gun in his hand. He knocked on the door, then tried the handle. Locked. Holding his breath, he listened intently for the sound of footsteps or movement but heard nothing. He went back to the driveway and began to make his way around one side of the house, checking the windows as he went along. Everything was closed and locked.

But then he got to the back door. At his touch, it swung open with a faint squeal, revealing an empty kitchen with shadowy corners.

Protocol called for Charlie to back off and wait for backup. He hesitated for a second. If things got really hairy, there were probably two or three cops still at the wake, cops who could be over here in a second. Mia might even be alerting them now.

Taking his gun out of its holster, Charlie stepped inside.

“Seattle Police,” he called out. His voice echoed through the empty space. The air was cool and stale. He sniffed. No stench of cat urine, which was what meth smelled like when it was being cooked. Still, his gut told him that someone had been here recently.

Was maybe even still here.

The question was, who was it? Colleen’s killer? Someone mentally ill? Homeless? On the lam? Dealing drugs?

A new thought occurred to him. Had someone killed Colleen because of what she had witnessed happening in this supposedly empty house? Or had the killer decided to hide out here—hide out in plain sight—after killing Colleen for a different reason?

With his Glock leading the way, Charlie moved at a half crouch through the kitchen, past the stainless steel refrigerator and the matching range. The cupboards were too small to hold a person, so he ignored them. It was so quiet he could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

At the end of the kitchen there were doors to the left and right. Taking a deep breath, he opened the one on the left, keeping well out of the doorway. He heard nothing. He stuck first his gun and then his head past the door frame.

A laundry room. Empty, except for a washer, dryer, and utility sink.

He turned his attention to the door on the other side, which had a metal pull instead of a knob. He pulled the handle back with his free hand.

Too hard. The lightweight door banged into the wall, making him jump. His heart was hammering in his chest. The doorway framed only darkness, then his eyes adjusted and he dimly made out steps leading down to a basement. With him backlit at the top. There was a reason cops called doorways vertical coffins. Stepping back, he spotted a double light switch and flicked both of them up. One light came on over his head and another in the basement. The stairs ended in one corner, and even with the light on he couldn’t see much past them. But the basement seemed as empty as the kitchen.

Holding his breath, Charlie listened for movement or even just breathing. Nothing.

Now he had a decision to make. He was in the middle of a house sandwich. There could be bad guys above him and/or bad guys below. There might even be bad guys on this floor. Whatever he did, he was taking his chances that someone from another floor might decide to ambush him.

He had been trained to start a search at the bottom of a house and then work his way up, which meant he should start in the basement. But Mia had seen a face at the window on the second floor.

His eyes caught the brass gleam of a bolt on the basement door. He closed the door, then pushed the bolt home. It wasn’t much of a bolt—maybe one-third of an inch thick. But even if someone managed to shoulder or kick it open, it would make some noise before they succeeded.

Charlie still hadn’t heard a sound. He moved through the small dining room on tiptoe and then into the living room, where he opened the closet door. Empty.

But then he turned back and saw a white face peering in through the windowpane on the front porch. His heart jumped. And then he realized who it was.

Mia! Hadn’t she just been lecturing him about playing by the rules?

Gritting his teeth, he made a shooing motion, but he didn’t wait to see if she obeyed. Instead he circled back to the far side of the house. Here a hallway connected two bedrooms and a small bathroom, as well as a set of stairs leading up to the second floor. Everything empty, including the closets. Everything quiet.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he saw the first sign that someone had been in this house since it went on the market. Someone who didn’t belong here.

A silver can of Coke sat on the top step. Taking a deep breath, Charlie went up the carpeted stairs on tiptoe.