PsyCop 4: Secrets Read Free Page A

rental truck first, and lined my white pressboard furniture up against the far wall. The high ceilings dwarfed it; the bookshelves looked like something out of Bar-bie’s Dream House. I regretted using up the entire stack of sticky notes. At least Carolyn and Crash didn’t give me any flak. Carolyn was probably happy she was actually able to lift something. And Crash might not have even noticed, since his furniture was no better.
    The apartment at the back of his store was outfitted with mismatched odds and ends he’d found in the alley.
    The folks at Jacob’s storage unit sent his furniture over in a crate that was probably about the size of my apartment. My old apartment. I lived here now, I told myself.
    “Victor,” said Carolyn. “Give me a hand.”
    It took both of us to lift Jacob’s bedside table. “Holy shit. Are the drawers lined with lead?”
    “And this is going upstairs, right?”

    I would’ve been just as happy to leave it on the narrow strip of lawn. “I guess.” Jacob and Crash steered the massive leather sofa through the front door while Carolyn planned out the order in which we’d take the smaller stuff. I’d expected to feel jealous the day that Jacob could look at Crash without scowling. But instead I was just relieved that it wasn’t me holding up the other end of that gigantic couch.
    Carolyn and I were just setting down the coffee table and Jacob and Crash were halfway up the stairs with the king-sized box spring when two phones chimed in pager-mode simultaneously. “I’ve got it,” said Carolyn. She speed dialed the Twelfth Precinct, where she and Jacob work sex crimes. They wouldn’t have been called in so late unless it was urgent, possibly a suspect or a victim who’d just turned up and needed to be questioned before they could start reconstructing events in their own heads. You’d think that either something is factual or it isn’t. Carolyn tells me people’s individual truths often have little to do with facts.
    Jacob came downstairs, planted his hands on his hips, and looked at Carolyn. “There was an incident at Rosewood Court,” she said.
    The Twelfth district rubs up against mine, the Fifth, on one side, but I wondered if I was hearing her right. “The old folks’ home?” I said.
    “I’ll get cleaned up and meet you there,” said Jacob. “Vic, find me the blue suit bag in the closet.”
    Carolyn and Jacob deployed, him to the bathroom and her out the front door, leaving Crash and me frowning at the boxes. “That is so fucking sick,” said Crash.
    “It doesn’t necessarily mean something happened to a resident,” I told him. I squeezed my way between an empty bookshelf and a waist-high box. Jacob could shower in two minutes if he had to, and I figured he’d need socks, underwear and shoes. “It could’ve been an employee. Or a visitor.”
    Crash worked his tongue stud against the backs of his teeth like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “No, it wasn’t,” he said flatly. His hand was pressed against his stomach, Crash-shorthand for “I felt it.” I fought the urge to press my hand against my stomach, too.
    “We can finish this ourselves,” Crash told me as Jacob tied his shoes. “Unless you’re too much of a wuss to lift the entertainment center.”
    I did my best not to let him yank my chain. Without answering him, I headed outside to get the next box. Jacob, now freshly-showered and suited up, paused at the edge of the container to grab the back of my head and pull me into a quick kiss. “Text me if you need anything.” Which I took to mean that he was turning off the ringer on his phone. The more a crime disturbed Jacob, the less he said about it.
    Jacob nodded at Crash. “Thanks,” he said. Then he climbed into his midnight blue Crown Victoria and peeled away from the curb. His tires squealed as he took the turn at the end of the block.

    “Well, let’s get to work,” said Crash. “This stuff won’t move itself.” That’s it? No