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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

Jeff stared at it as one of the gloved men picked up Jeff’s phone, looked at it, hung up and deposited it into a Miami-Dade police evidence bag, then made notes.

“I’m not signing anything,” Jeff said, “until you tell me why you’re doing this.”

“It’s best if you cooperate,” Shore said.

“Am I being charged with something?”

“No. We’re arresting you for questioning concerning the homicide of Vida Warren. At this time, we’re executing search warrants on your home and your vehicles.”

Jeff swallowed hard and bile rose at the back of his throat as shock rippled through him. Several seconds passed before he signed, and Reddick collected the sheet.

“Hold out your wrists,” Reddick said, reaching for handcuffs. “This is procedure.”

Jeff hesitated.

“Please, Jeff. I’m sure this will all be cleared up,” Slaughter said.

Jeff’s gaze met Slaughter’s, then Shore’s, and he was unconvinced that they believed in his innocence as he held out his wrists, feeling Reddick lock them in steel.

Reddick took Jeff’s upper arm. “Let’s go.”

With Slaughter and Shore in tow, the three detectives escorted Jeff down the hall. People appeared in doorways to stare. Jeff searched for Nick Martinez but couldn’t find him. Small groups had gathered in reception; some of the women covered their mouths with their hands. A few of the men were recording the scene.

“People,” Shore said, “get back to your desks.”

Everyone was slow to respond to the order.

In reception, the detectives didn’t need to push the elevator button. It chimed, the doors opened, and Nick Martinez stepped out. Within seconds, he’d taken stock of Jeff in handcuffs, the detectives and Shore and Slaughter looking stone-faced.

“Nick,” Jeff said, “your sister, the attorney—what’s her name and firm?”

“Uh, Sabrina. Sabrina Martinez, at Fender, Palmera and Cardena.”

Jeff and the detectives got into the elevator.

“Jeff, what’s going on?”

The doors started to close.

“I’m going to need her help.”

82

Jeff’s heart beat a little faster taking in the room at Miami-Dade police headquarters.

He glanced at the fluorescent lighting recessed in the fiberboard ceiling panels, the camera suspended high in the corner, and the drab white walls, and thought how the air smelled like a musty battle of air freshener, desperation and lies.

He’d been fingerprinted and photographed but had refused to provide a sample of his handwriting. He had not yet made contact with an attorney. Maybe it was a mistake, but he’d agreed to listen to what the detectives wanted him to know because he didn’t understand why he was here.

Yet, in a faraway corner of his heart, he knew exactly why he was here.

Tears stood in his eyes.