Dead Woman Crossing by J.R. Adler (books on motivation .txt) 📗

at Kimberley, his face not as tense and angry as it was the night before. The vein in his neck and forehead had retreated. “Kimberley,” he said with a nod.

“David.” Kimberley nodded back while popping a piece of cheese in her mouth.

It seemed they were progressing into neutral territory, almost an indifference toward one another. Like they were neighbors that just happened to reside in the same house. He wasn’t yelling at Kimberley, and she wasn’t tossing around sarcasm and insult, so that was progress. A small amount. But as they say, progress is progress.

David walked to the coffee table with one step, and bent down, grabbing a handful of cheese and a vine of grapes.

“You look different.” He ran his eyes over Nicole’s face, popping several chunks of cheese into his mouth.

“She got her hair dyed. Isn’t is obvious?”

Nicole smiled, pushing up the ends with her hand like she was showing it off.

“Looks nice,” David said, pulling a grape from the vine with his teeth. He chomped down, popping the fruit in his mouth. “When’s dinner going to be ready?”

Nicole pressed her lips together for a moment. “About an hour.”

“I think it looks amazing, Mom,” Kimberley said, her eyes peering over the rim of her wine glass.

“Thank you. Now what were you saying about this hunch?”

David stood there, switching between eating a piece of cheese and a grape.

“I really shouldn’t be talking about an ongoing case.”

Jessica swatted Kimberley in the face. “More,” she demanded.

“Ouch. Don’t hit Mommy,” Kimberley said, handing her a piece of cheese. She immediately put it in her mouth.

“From what Michelle’s mom said, it sounded like this mystery man may be Isobel’s father,” Nicole said.

“Mom, stop.” Kimberley rolled her eyes.

“What? You’re not talking about the case. I am,” Nicole said lightly. “I thought Hannah’s ex, the boy who moved out to Texas was the dad. What was his name?” She scratched her head, trying to conjure it up.

“Nicole, Kimberley said she wasn’t allowed to talk about the case, so don’t put her in a position to jeopardize it.” David looked at Nicole firmly.

“Okay. Sorry.” Nicole dropped her shoulders.

David tossed the stripped grape vine on the plate and left the living room, heading down the hallway to his bedroom. If she hadn’t known it already, that interaction right there would have told Kimberley that David was former military or police. He put a heavy importance on confidentiality and tight lips, and Kimberley realized she hadn’t been doing the best job when it came to nondisclosure. In a city like New York, where there were thousands of cases going on, no one cared about chatter, but in this town, the town of Dead Woman Crossing, this was the case. Small towns brought out lots of talk and Kimberley wasn’t immune to it.

“Sorry, Kimberley,” Nicole apologized again.

“It’s fine, Mom. I wish I could tell you everything, but he’s right, I really shouldn’t be discussing an active case.”

Nicole nodded, topping off her wine glass.

It was true, Kimberley wished she could tell her mom everything, like how Hannah’s murder had brought up old wounds, how it had rattled her and made her sleep less… but it was like a slight tremor in comparison to the earthquake of a case that still haunted her every moment, whether she was asleep or not.

“Hey, Lynn. We finally tracked down Eddie Russo. We had no luck last night but got a tip today from the cook, Mario, and found out he was hiding at a friend’s house in the Bronx. We’ve got a patrol car bringing him in, and I’m not far behind with Shake Shack, your favorite. See ya soon,” Kimberley said, ending the call.

It was noon on a Friday, an absolute nightmare to drive in New York City, but she didn’t mind the traffic today. This case had haunted her for the past year and a half, and Kimberley felt like she was finally close to solving it, to finally getting justice for Jenny, Maria, Stephanie, and their unborn children. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of a catchy pop song that played quietly on the stereo.

“Dispatch. All units, 10-18 to 1058 White Plains Rd. Bronx, NY for a 187,” played over her police radio.

Kimberley looked at the sign, realizing she was just a couple of blocks away. She clicked the radio. “Dispatch. This is Detective King. I’m in route. 10-4.” She pulled up to an abandoned two-story brick house. The windows were boarded up with plywood and the front door was busted open. Nothing about it stood out as it looked like many of the other houses in the neighborhood. It was the perfect place to carry out a murder.

The open staircase creaked as she made her way down to the unfinished basement of an abandoned house. The musty, mildew scent invaded her nose before her boots touched the dirt floor. Her flashlight was the only light source.

“Careful, the last step is rickety,” an officer at the top of the stairs called out. He and his partner had been the first to arrive on the scene.

She skipped the bottom step, planting her feet firmly on the ground. A thick, black rat scurried across her boot. She was used to vermin, so Kimberley didn’t react. Her feet followed the illumination of the flashlight she was holding. Sticky cobwebs grabbed hold of her face, and she quickly pulled them off. In the far right corner of the basement, she shone her light, starting at the floor and working up slowly. First, she saw the feet covered in small burns and cuts. Her feet dangled above the ground as she was seated in a tattered chair. Her legs were equally inflicted with similar cuts, hundreds of them as though he had scored her flesh like a chef would with a piece of pork or chicken. She was stripped bare, no clothing, no jewelry, nothing, except for a paper bag that covered her head.

Kimberley walked closer, tucking the flashlight under her arm,