Rite of Wrongs Read Free Page B

groceries, unloaded the car here, then went back out with the dog.”
    Ballard grunted his doubt. Or maybe his annoyance with her contradicting him. “And just left the grub on the counter?”
    “Greens, right?” she asked Vince, and he nodded. “They’re okay here, just not in the car. Where’s Bongo now?”
    “Dog’s in the backyard. Park’s two blocks north, then six blocks west.” Vince gestured in the various directions. “Soccer fields. Baseball diamonds. Several hundred acres. County owns the property. Leases it to the various sports organizations.”
    Miriam let that sink in. While Ballard dug through the grocery bags, she thought about the finger- and palm prints decorating Gina Gardner’s pink top. “The prints on the victim’s clothes . . . anyone here touch her besides the husband?”
    “No, ma’am, Detective.”
    “Thank you, Sergeant,” she said, and left the kitchen for the rear of the house, climbing the stairs to the second floor and making her way down the hall.
    There were three bedrooms: one with posters of David Beckham, Tim Howard, and Brian Ching. One with musical-note cutouts suspended by pink ribbons from the ceiling. One with a shelf displaying worn—collectible?—ballet slippers in multiple colors.
    The gender divide matched that of the bikes. Two girls. One boy. The fourth room on the floor held three desks with laptops and lamps. Miriam wondered if the kids had a nanny, or tutors. Or if the victim had been the one to help with school projects and homework. She jotted a note to find out, then glanced at her watch.
    Elementary school got out at three o’clock. Middle school at three thirty. She’d have Vince call the station, find out from the doctor which schools his children attended, then bring them to their father there. That problem solved, she made her way back to the first floor and the rest.
    The master suite was located downstairs. Miriam spent some time looking through the victim’s belongings but found very little worth noting. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. The jewelry box on the vanity dresser held more than a few pieces with precious stones. Three gold watches sat on the doctor’s chest, along with a money clip thick with bills.
    The deceased’s purse and cell phone were in the kitchen, and Miriam wanted to get her hands on those ASAP. She returned to the front of the house, catching a glimpse through the kitchen windows of Ballard in the backyard with the dog, and found the tech in the living room.
    “Karen, there’s a diary on the bedside table in the master suite. Can you put a rush on printing that? I’d like to make a copy as soon as I can.”
    “Sure thing, Detective.” Karen was crouched low, photographing the footprints fading from red to brown and leading from the entryway across the living-room carpet. She’d set up bright-yellow evidence markers along the path.
    Dress shoes, Miriam decided. The husband’s, most likely. She thought she saw a sliver of glass. “And the purse and cell phone, too.”
    “Will do.”
    “Call me or Ballard if you need anything else,” she said, heading out to talk to Vince about the children. “We’ll be at the station with the husband.”
    Wondering what kind of sicko was motivated by the Bible to kill.

F OUR
    Monday, 2:30 p.m.
    Back at the station, Miriam stopped at the restroom to wash her hands and face. She needed a shower. Yoga didn’t wear so well two hours later, but there was nothing to be done save for fixing her hair.
    Pulling the elastic band from her ponytail, she grabbed the comb she kept in her locker. As she worked it through the thick mass, she gathered her wits, along with the list of questions she needed to ask the grieving man. Then she bound up her hair again, swiped deodorant under her arms, and headed off to make the best of a really shitty situation.
    At the door to the soft-interview room, she silently counted to ten. It was a calming trick, a focusing trick. It allowed her