The Mephisto Club Read Free Page A

“By now, they’re probably ready for you.”
    The sound of violent retching made her glance toward the street, where a blond woman stood doubled over, clutching at her long coat to avoid soiling the hem as she threw up in the snowbank.
    The patrolman gave a snort. Muttered to Maura, “That one’s gonna make a
fine
homicide detective. She came striding onto the scene right outta
Cagney and Lacey.
Ordered us all around. Yeah, a real tough one. Then she goes in the house, gets one look, and next thing you know, she’s out here puking in the snow.” He laughed.
    “I haven’t seen her before. She’s from Homicide?”
    “I hear she just transferred over from Narcotics and Vice. The commissioner’s bright idea to bring in more girls.” He shook his head. “She’s not gonna last long. That’s my prediction.”
    The woman detective wiped her mouth and moved unsteadily toward the porch steps, where she sank down.
    “Hey.
Detective!
” called out the patrolman. “You might wanna move away from the crime scene? If you’re gonna puke again, at least do it where they’re not collecting evidence.”
    A younger cop, standing nearby, snickered.
    The blond detective jerked back to her feet, and in bright strobe flashes the cruiser lights illuminated her mortified face. “I think I’ll go sit in my car for a minute,” she murmured.
    “Yeah. You do that, ma’am.”
    Maura watched the detective retreat to the shelter of her vehicle. What horrors was she about to face inside that house?
    “Doc,” called out Detective Barry Frost. He had just emerged from the house and was standing on the porch, hunched in a Windbreaker. His blond hair stood up in tufts, as though he had just rolled out of bed. Though his face had always been sallow, the yellow glow cast by the porch light made him look sicklier than usual.
    “I gather it’s pretty bad in there,” she said.
    “Not the kind of thing you want to see on Christmas. Thought I’d better come out here and get some air.”
    She paused at the bottom of the steps, noting the jumble of footprints that had been left on the snow-dusted porch. “Okay to walk in this way?”
    “Yeah. Those prints are all Boston PD.”
    “What about footwear evidence?”
    “We didn’t find much out here.”
    “What, did he fly in the window?”
    “It looks like he swept up after himself. You can still see some of the whisk marks.”
    She frowned. “This perp pays attention to detail.”
    “Wait till you see what’s inside.”
    She walked up the steps and pulled on shoe covers and gloves. Close up, Frost looked even worse, his face gaunt and drained of all color. But he took a breath and offered gamely: “I can walk you in.”
    “No, you take your time out here. Rizzoli can show me around.”
    He nodded, but he wasn’t looking at her; he was staring off at the street with the fierce concentration of a man trying to hold on to his dinner. She left him to his battle and reached for the doorknob. Already she was braced for the worst. Only moments ago, she had arrived exhausted, trying to shake herself awake; now she could feel tension sizzling like static through her nerves.
    She stepped into the house. Paused there, her pulse throbbing, and gazed at an utterly unalarming scene. The foyer had a scuffed oak floor. Through the doorway she could see into the living room, which was furnished with cheap mismatches: a sagging futon couch, a beanbag chair, a bookcase cobbled together from particle board planks and concrete blocks. Nothing so far that screamed
crime scene.
The horror was yet to come; she knew it was waiting in this house, because she had seen its reflection in Barry Frost’s eyes and in the ashen face of the woman detective.
    She walked through the living room into the dining room, where she saw four chairs around a pine table. But it was not the furniture she focused on; it was the place settings that had been laid out on the table, as though for a family meal. Dinner for