It was nice. It had a certain domestic tidiness about it that Marty must have liked. If the house had burned down entirely that night, then who would ever have figured it out? The bulldozers would have mowed down what was left of the house, rubble loaded into high-siders, hauled off to the dump. Even now, even as it was, who was going to know? In a way, she was foolish to come back for it. Why not just leave it where it was? She was being pushed into a panic, probably anxious to tie up loose ends so that she could feel safe wherever she went. They might catch her, but what could they prove? The murder weapon probably had her prints all over it. Maybe it still bore strands of Elaine's hair or fragments of broken teeth and bones, microscopic particles of flesh. I wondered what she planned to do with the grisly thing. Bury it somewhere perhaps... toss it off the end of a pier. I jammed a big screwdriver into the tight crack between the framing and the strip of wood that held it in place. Window parts must have names, I thought, but I didn't know what they were. I was just imitating Becky's carpentry. The result was the same. I had the frame dismantled, exposing both sets of weights, the cord connecting them, and the pulleys that regulated the raising and lowering of the sash. I hauled both sets into view, four weights all together, careful not to touch anything. Shit, prints weren't going to show up on these things. The metal was covered with a thin film of sawdust and grime. Moisture in the wall had generated so much rust that any latent prints had probably been obliterated now. It wasn't going to help that six months had passed. Flecks of dried blood would still show up on a microscopic exam, but I wasn't sure what else. I shone the flashlight along the sash. At the tip were two glinting blond hairs caught in a knot of dark brown. I could feel my lips purse with distaste. I eased a small plastic Baggie over the tip and secured it with tape. I advanced the blade in the utility knife I'd brought with me and slashed through the cords, clanging the weights together inadvertently as I lowered them into a big plastic bag. Lieutenant Dolan and his trusty crime-scene crew would have fits if they saw me manhandling evidence this way, but I didn't have any choice. I tossed the utility knife in the plastic bag along with the rest of my tools, plastic rustling with my every move – which is why I didn't hear Leonard and Marty until they had already reached the back steps.

Chapter 26

Chapter 26