Animal Instinct by Rosenfelt, David (novels for students TXT) 📕

“Fair point. And there’s another factor here.” I tell Laurie about my feeling that an intruder was in my house today.

“I don’t think you should go at all. He says he’ll turn what he has over to the police? Let him do that.”

“No, I’m going.”

“Then let Marcus and me be there as backup.”

“I’ll tell you what. You can have Marcus in the area, close enough to move in if I call. I’ll call him if I sense any problems. And Simon’s a better problem senser than I am.”

She reluctantly agrees, since she knows the final call on this is mine. “Marcus and I will both be there and ready. Call my phone for anything you need. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.” I hang up and turn to Simon. “Simon, old buddy, it’s showtime.”

We arrive at Kline’s house exactly forty-five minutes from the time I got off the phone with Laurie. I don’t bother calling to make sure that she and Marcus are in place; they are 100 percent reliable. And if anything had happened to delay them, Laurie would already have called me.

We pull up the driveway and park. Kline’s car is there and lights are on in the house. Nothing seems amiss, though I’m not sure what amiss in this case would look like.

I decide to go in the back door without knocking, since Kline would expect me to go in the front. I’m not worried about the social niceties here; if any kind of unfriendly reception is waiting for me, I’m not going to make it easy on Kline and anyone he might have with him.

So Simon and I enter quietly into the laundry room. I take out my weapon just in case; I can always put it back if I don’t need to use it. I can hear the television playing somewhere in the house; it sounds like the local news. They’re giving the weather; local news consists of about 80 percent weather these days.

With my gun drawn and my trusty companion by my side, I walk slowly into the house. I head for the sound of the television; it would only be on for the amusement of humans. Who else would care about the frontal high keeping out the Canadian air? Especially since all one has to do is go out in the summer heat to know the Canadian air hasn’t made it here.

But I don’t hear those humans, and I hope they don’t hear me.

I’m about halfway through the house when I turn into the den, which is where the television sounds are coming from. Kline is there, but he’s unconcerned with the weather.

He’s dead.

I am certain he’s dead because the amount of blood around him approximates what would be found in an average slaughterhouse. Nevertheless, my cop training kicks in and I feel for a pulse just to be sure. I don’t feel for it on his neck because he barely has a neck. That’s where he was slashed.

I get some blood on the bottom of my sneakers; there is simply no way to avoid that. Once I determine that there is no pulse, Simon and I set out to make sure no one else is in the house. We do so slowly and methodically, but we turn up nothing and no one.

My first call is to 911 to report the murder. The operator professionally asks me the proper questions, then instructs me to remain on the scene, which I promise to do.

The next call is to Laurie to tell her what has happened. I say that since the police are on the way, she and Marcus can stand down. She seems hesitant, maybe thinking that I am being forced to make the call. I assure her that I’m fine, but my guess is that she and Marcus will hang around until they see the police cars pull up.

They don’t have long to wait; the cops are here within five minutes, in force. They enter, guns drawn, and are immediately treated to the same gory scene that I uncovered. I have placed my weapon on the table, lest there be any confusion as to who might be dangerous.

“Holy shit,” one of them says, but he’s not the spokesman. The spokesman says, “What have we here? Who are you?”

“I’m the guy who called nine-one-one. My name is Corey Douglas, twenty-five years Paterson PD, K-9 division, recently retired.”

He points to Simon. “This must be the K-9. He under control?”

“Totally.”

“Against the wall. Assume the position.”

I start to do so. “My weapon is on the table over there.”

The cop frisks me and finds no additional weapons because there are none to be found. Then, “Take a seat over there. Hands where we can see them.”

“You want to hear my story?”

“Not particularly. Homicide will be here in a minute; you can tell it to them.”

His prediction proves accurate; Homicide does show up in almost exactly a minute. The good news is that it is Lieutenant Robbie Lillard, who originally was Paterson PD. A lot of Paterson cops get started there and then move on to smaller towns in the adjacent area; they come in at a higher rank. Fortunately, I know Robbie pretty well from back in the day.

“Well, look who’s here,” Robbie says.

“How’s it going, Robbie?”

“Well, I was home in bed twenty minutes ago, and now I’m standing in a goddamn butcher shop, so all in all, not that good.”

I tell Robbie the whole story, starting with the domestic violence, and moving on to Lisa’s murder, leaving out nothing. He’s most interested in why I was at the house tonight. “So he didn’t tell you what he had to show you?”

“No. I pressed him, but he insisted I come here to see it in person.”

“You have any idea what it was?”

“Honestly, none.”

Robbie has me write out a full statement and sign it. When I’m done, I ask if he needs me for anything else.

He shakes his head.