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Back The Lying House Save as PDF
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

After cancer took her husband, Willow Dureegar had faced huge medical bills, forcing her to sell her home. Alone with two children, she needed a job and was surviving at the mission. Finishing breakfast, Willow was telling her boys things would get better for them, when she felt her hair being torn from her head, as she was lifted by an arm crushing her neck.

The steel point of a knife was pressed hard to her throat.

“Mom!” Lonny, her nine-year-old son, screamed.

Willow pulled at the arm around her throat.

Reddick and Cruz drew their weapons, pointing them at Loften.

“Drop the knife, Clete! Everybody on the floor!” Reddick called. “It’s over, Clete! Drop the knife. Let the woman go.”

The other officers inched closer, guns drawn. Reddick holstered his weapon and approached Loften, showing him his palms. “You’re not getting out of here,” he said. “Drop it and let her go.”

Sweat beaded on Loften’s brow as he searched in vain for a way to escape. When he relaxed his arm to reposition it on the woman’s throat, she bit him and stomped his foot. Loften yowled, and she broke away with Reddick flying at Loften, slamming him facedown to the floor. The knife went flying. Loften groaned and cursed as a metallic click rendered him handcuffed.

69

Yellow plastic police tape bowed in the wind as it stretched around the motor grader and the swath of desolate earth that had given up a body at Stonewater Meadows.

A knot of Miami-Dade emergency vehicles, lights flashing and wigwagging, was parked approximately seventy-five yards away.

Stepping from an unmarked sedan, lead detective Jack Bogan slid a stick of Juicy Fruit gum into his mouth. He offered a piece to his partner, Dev Zelinski who, as usual, declined, thinking it somewhat disrespectful to the deceased. Bogan believed it sharpened his powers of observation and kept the rejected stick for himself.

They tugged on blue latex gloves, collected their tablets and notebooks, and then, so as not to disturb evidence, they followed the route used by the officers at the airport district station who had first responded to the 9-1-1 call made by the grader operator.

“They did a nice job protecting the scene.” Zelinski surveyed how the tape seemed to stretch forever. “The more they rope off the better.”

“I seriously doubt we’ll get much evidence out here.” Bogan chewed. “Looks like a straight-out body dump in the middle of nowhere with a whole lot of nothing. No security cameras, no wits, no tire or shoe impressions likely, seeing how the entire area’s been graded.”

“Stay positive, Jack. We live in hope.”

“And we die without it, Dev.”

They joined other investigators and crime-scene techs huddled at the grader near the blade where a yellow tarpaulin covered the body. Most everyone knew each other, and after perfunctory greetings, Bogan and Zelinski steeled themselves.

“Show time,” Bogan said, gnawing away.