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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 and Ramon moved to the living room, where the officer responded to calls on his radio, then continued speaking with Jeff. “We’re putting out a description of the suspect and details of the incident on the neighborhood-watch alert network. It’ll go out in texts, calls, emails, online alerts to get extra eyes in the surrounding area looking for the guy.”

“Good.”

When the paramedics were done, Ramon and Hawkins then had Lisa and Jeff conduct a quick reenactment of what happened, with Hawkins making a video recording. Lisa couldn’t stop her tears. Every step was excruciating, but they forced their way through it.

Afterward, they returned to the living room, and Jeff’s attention went to the front window. Amid the flashing lights outside, another cop unreeled yellow police tape, cordoning off his property. Beyond the tape, Jeff saw people on the sidewalk, some wearing T-shirts and sweatpants, others in housecoats. Some were taking pictures with their phones or cupping hands to their faces. The tape bowed upward as a man and a woman ducked under it and approached the door.

“The detectives are here,” Ramon said. “They’ll take over.”

Jeff dragged both hands over his face.

And to think, he’d just been marveling at how far he’d come in life, how hard he’d worked and how fortunate he was. Now his wife had been assaulted, his home was a crime scene and, in some part of his gut, he felt the dawning of a distant fear.

Could this be my fault?

3

“Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, I’m Detective Camila Cruz. This is Detective Joe Reddick.”

Cruz was in her midthirties. Her brown hair, parted on the side, touched the shoulders of her blazer, which was open to provide a glimpse of the badge clipped to her belt and her holstered sidearm. She shifted the small zippered binder she held to shake hands with Jeff and Lisa.

A firm, confident grip signaled that Cruz was alert and primed.

Reddick was taller, about six feet of solid build under his polo shirt and khakis. He looked haggard, his stubbled face creased from seeing too much of what a case-hardened cop sees. His thinning dark hair was tousled, his goatee flecked with gray. Intense eyes, strong handshake.

“Before we get started, you’ll have to excuse us.” Cruz nodded to the investigators at the sliding door in the great room and unzipped her binder. “We need to consult with the officers who first responded.”

The detectives huddled where the crime-scene tech was examining the damage. Talking in soft tones, taking notes and pictures, they occasionally glanced at Jeff and Lisa, who, out of earshot, watched from the living room. Desperate to restore order, Lisa found a degree of composure in the sudden need to be a hostess. She went to them, offering to make coffee.