BooksBarbecue
Back The Lying House
Chapters (103)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover Text
  3. Praise
  4. Booklist
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. 85
  92. 86
  93. 87
  94. 88
  95. 89
  96. 90
  97. 91
  98. 92
  99. 93
  100. 94
  101. Epilogue
  102. Acknowledgments and a Personal Note
  103. Excerpt

Cruz knuckled down and got to work. Still, with everything on her plate, she kept coming back to Loften. Later in the day, she found a free moment to replay the video of the first interview she and Reddick did with him.

She studied Loften’s pocked, bandaged face, his swollen eyes and the patchwork of lacerations from the beating Jeff Taylor had given him. All the while she watched, she thought again of all the items they’d linked to him: the serrated knife, condoms, his collection of women’s underwear. How Loften’s icy demeanor exuded some sort of immeasurable darkness, something beyond anything she’d experienced with other suspects.

Could he be The Collector? The killer Terri Morrow and the FBI have been hunting across the country?

Cruz shook her head in anger.

And did we capture him without knowing it before he slipped through our fingers?

It was midafternoon when Reddick’s phone rang. He took the call, his face serious as he listened for a few minutes before he smiled and said, “Hold on, Melvin, I gotta put you through to my partner.” Reddick punched a button on his phone. “Another wild one from the tip line, Camila. No call display on where it’s coming from, but you gotta hear it.”

She grimaced and picked up her line. “Detective Cruz.”

“It’s like I was sayin’, my name is Melvin, no last names, please. I am a guest at the mission, and Jesus told me to call you.”

“Jesus told you to call?”

“That’s right. I asked Him why, and Jesus said that the man police are looking for is at my mission. But they’re not looking very hard.”

“Sir, what man and what mission?”

“Also, one of my friends said that this man police want stole my money that fell from my pocket, so that’s breaking the commandment Thou shalt not steal, right?”

“If that’s what happened, yes. Melvin, what mission are we talking?”

“Now, Jesus and His Father work in mysterious ways, do they not?”

“Yes, they do. Can you tell me the address?”

“I surely can, but first, I want to report that last month I was taken aboard an alien craft. I swear to the Lord I was, and they studied me before they released me. It was unpleasant but necessary. They told me they were from Mars and could read my thoughts. That is the reason I have taken the precaution of lining my hat with foil. It deflects their mind-reading capability…”

Cruz looked at Reddick, shaking his head and laughing soundlessly. After several minutes of bizarre accounts from Melvin, she ended the call without obtaining a shred of useful information. “Melvin the Martian,” Reddick said. “He’s called twice before.”

59

Waves of nausea roiled through Lisa.