“Right.”
“How soon can I get into the house?”
“It will be at least a week. But right now, until we complete a full search of the property, I can’t make any promises.”
The guy ran thick fingers through thinning hair. “That’s not so bad.”
“That’s assuming we don’t find other bodies or evidence.”
The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damn it.”
“Right.”
Novak gave him his card, then reached for his cell. He dialed Julia’s number, knowing he was waking her up with unwelcome news. As he stared at the houses lining the street, he also knew tomorrow would have him knocking on each door. Someone always sees something.
CHAPTER TWO
Sunday, October 29, 11:30 p.m.
The dream always begins with bloodred apples.
A collection of six bright Red Delicious arranged in a white bowl centered on her mother’s kitchen table. Ripe. Delicious. Ready to burst. Julia runs into the kitchen to greet her father but the ground under her feet turns slick, and the beige tiles melt into crimson puddles. She skids. Slips. Her gaze settles onto her father’s body slumped over the kitchen table. One of his hands stretches toward the apples, and the other dangles toward the floor where his service weapon rests in a puddle of blood. His glassy eyes are wide open, mirroring joyless surprise, and his slack jaw presses into the table. Her mouth opens to scream, but it’s her mother’s anguished cry she hears behind her.
The shrill of a phone pulled Agent Julia Vargas toward consciousness. Heart racing, she sat up. She groped the nightstand beside her, fingers skimming over an opened pack of cigarettes before she found her phone.
Making no effort to clear the sleep from her voice, she glanced at the clock’s red digital numbers. It was well after eleven. “Yeah.”
“Julia?”
She blinked and cleared her throat. “Yes, who’s this?”
“Tobias.” His rough, gravelly tone chased away the fog of sleep.
“Novak?” Phone pressed to her ear, she looked toward the pillow to her right. A faint impression still remained, evidence he’d been there. “I didn’t hear you leave.”
“You were sleeping soundly. I didn’t want to wake you.”
She had been sleeping unusually well until the dream. “Where are you?”
“I’m at a homicide in Church Hill. You’ll want to come and see it.”
She pressed the bridge of her nose. “Novak, if this is your idea of pillow talk, it’s not working for me.”
“Julia.” Warning hummed under the word.
“Can you give me more details at least?”
“I’ll text you the address.”
She cleared her throat again and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Earlier today, she’d worked a homicide with Agent Dakota Sharp. After nineteen hours nonstop, they’d traced the killer via a series of violent texts made to the victim, his ex-girlfriend. The accused was in cuffs by 7:00 p.m., and by 9:00 p.m. she was in bed, swearing she’d not move before dawn. But she’d been too wired to sleep. So she’d texted Novak.
“Why me?” she asked. “I’m technically off duty. And I’m surprised you’d be reaching out to Virginia State Police.” Though she worked for Division One, which covered the Richmond metro area, the city had sufficient resources and usually didn’t call in the state police.
“Trust me on this one.”
She picked up the pack of cigarettes and tapped it against her thigh. Novak was no nonsense. No drama. A call from him meant the case could be big. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Detective.”
“Victim is female. Young. Blunt force trauma to the back of her skull.”
Rising, she paced, hoping to clear her head. “Seriously, why me?”
“It appears the victim knew you.”
She flipped back a lock of dark hair. “Stop dropping bread crumbs for me to follow, Novak. I’ve crossed paths with a lot of people.”
“Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “This is a topic I’d rather not get into with you on the phone. But I strongly suggest you look at the crime scene.”
She looked back at her still-warm bed. “You can’t give me a clue?”
“No.”
When he didn’t offer anything else, she checked the clock on her nightstand. It read 11:40 p.m. Damn it. She had court at ten and a meeting near Quantico in the early afternoon.
Resigned, she crossed to the long window and peeked through the blinds. The streets were quiet. She lived in Richmond near the Shockoe Bottom district in an apartment over a bar called Billy’s. The bar was outside the financial district, but not quite in the historic section. A not-so-charming no-man’s-land.
If it all went perfectly, she could dress quickly, check out Novak’s scene, and be home to catch at least another few hours of sleep. Perfect. She’d yet to have a murder scene unfold neatly in front of her.
“Okay. I can be there in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll be here.”
She ended the call and willed away fatigue. The edges of her faded police academy T-shirt brushed her thighs as she surveyed the room.
“Shit,” she muttered as she ran fingers through a tangle of dark hair.
Automatically she removed her second to last cigarette from the pack, but then caught herself. Last night, she’d taken the capture of the killer as a sign to ditch the dirty habit. With a twinge of regret, she threw the pack on the rumpled sheets. “Damn it.”
Across from her bed was a large gilded mirror; its streaked and faded silver backing hinted at its decades in an old hotel lobby. Below it, her secondhand dresser, painted a bright indigo, was covered with perfume bottles, makeup, and earrings. A rocking chair in the corner was draped with yesterday’s jeans and a white T-shirt. Beside it were ankle boots kicked off midstep in her rush to get into a hot shower and wash away today’s homicide scene.
Controlled chaos. Just as she’d left it when she went to bed.
Julia hustled to her closet and yanked on slim dark pants and a black T-shirt. She threaded a worn leather belt through the loops. The belt buckle had been her father’s and doubled as a knife. Fastening it, she shrugged on a jacket.
Her black hair curled around her face as she tugged it up into a ponytail. High-heel boots and a collection of beaded bracelets around her wrists made her look more like a rocker than a cop. She secured her service weapon, badge, and handcuffs to her belt. She tucked the cigarette pack in her pocket for good measure.