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

White male, six foot, one-seventy, armed with serrated knife, small tear near eyelet of left dark blue sneaker. Shadow Man.

Taking a hit of coffee, Cruz surveyed her tidy desk, her awards and the framed family photo with her husband, Paulo, and her eleven-year-old son, Antonio, taken at the Grand Canyon. The calendar clipped to her low dividing wall had previous days crossed off with Xs. The days ahead held penned notations flagging her courses, appointments and Antonio’s Little League practices and games. His birthday was marked with a happy face and candles.

Turning back to her monitor, she ran the footage again. “Not much here, Joe.”

“I know.” Reddick was finishing off a bagel with cream cheese. His desk was cluttered with fast-food wrappers and tepid take-out coffee. A picture of Reddick when he was a linebacker for the University of Miami Hurricanes was pinned to his desk wall. He’d had a shot at the NFL; in fact, the Saints had invited him to try out, but he’d decided to be a cop, like his old man, his uncle and his brother. “I had to think about the long run. Injury and career brevity versus a pension and the odds of getting shot,” Reddick had told Cruz when they’d been partnered a year ago.

“And now you’re living the dream,” Cruz had said.

Reddick had allowed the hint of a smile.

They fit well together.

Cruz felt vibrations on their conjoined desks as Reddick typed with force on his keyboard while scrutinizing the security-camera images again.

“Yeah,” he said, chewing on the last of his bagel. “There’s little there. I’m thinking our guy knows the neighborhood and planned a hideout and escape route. He got by us. He got lucky.”

“We’ve run down every tag we could obtain of every vehicle parked in the vicinity during the time frame. Zilch so far.”

“Maybe he was on foot, had a bicycle, who knows,” Reddick said.

“I’m surprised he got by Roland’s place. His yard adjoins the Taylors’, and he’s a watch captain.”

“The direction of his cameras was off. Besides, he’s got plenty on his plate without having to watch his yard for assailants.”

“I heard. That’s so sad about his wife.” Cruz flipped through her notes and forms in a file folder, went back to her computer and ran down the status of the investigation.