Black Friday

by Judy M. Kerr

  MC felt flayed. Her eyes were gritty. She had zero appetite. “No. Thank you. I’d really like to leave.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need your cooperation for a little while longer.”

  Her ire was on the rise. A tidal wave of emotions: devastation, anger, impatience, and numbness washed over her. She closed her eyes and muttered, “I can’t take much more, Detective.”

  “I understand. I have a few more questions. And I’d like to take you back to the house and go through it with you. If you feel up to it.”

  Did she? Feel up to it? “I don’t know if feel up to it is the right terminology, but I need to pack some stuff.”

  Someone knocked. Sharpe rose and left the room. He returned holding her cell phones. “The analysts didn’t detect anything questionable on either device, so you can have these back.”

  MC checked her personal phone first, almost expecting a missed call, a text, or a voicemail message from Barb. Only several missed calls, all from Cam. “Would you mind if I return a call? To my work partner?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be down in the squad room. Come find me when you’re finished.” He gathered his notes and left, leaving the door open. Sharpe reached to his left, most likely cutting the switch on the recording system.

  MC detected a low-level buzz of voices, probably from other offices or people in the hallways. She skirted the table and closed the door. She took a deep breath and called Cam.

  Cam picked up halfway through the second ring. “MC. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what else to say.”

  The flow of words fell over MC like a bucket of ice. “I’m not saying I’m okay because I’m definitely not. I’m still at SPPD. I’ve been here all morning being interviewed. Cam—I—”

  “I know, partner. Shit. This is fucked up. What the hell happened?”

  “Has SPPD interviewed you?”

  “Yes. A detective came by the house a few hours ago. I’ve been calling you ever since. MC, what the hell?”

  “She’s dead, Cam. Gone.” She choked back a sob. “I don’t know. A home invasion gone bad? No one’s telling me anything. They’re asking me all kinds of questions, but not giving me any answers. I can’t be a viable suspect, especially after they’ve talked to you, but here I am.”

  “Do you want me to come down there?” Cam asked.

  “No. Stay home with your family. Nothing you can do here.” She felt a stab of pain as the words fell from her lips. Her family—her Barb—had been wiped out.

  “You know you’re family to us, MC.” Cam’s voice cracked. “Ah. God. I can’t believe this.” He blew out a breath. “How much longer will you be there?”

  “Sharpe, the detective in charge, told me he wants to take me back to the house soon. Check it out. And I need to pack some stuff because I have no idea when they’ll clear the scene. Could be days, I suppose.”

  “Shit. That’s harsh. You need company? I can meet you there at the PD. And you’ll come stay with us.” Jane’s voice echoed the sentiment in the background. “See, Jane agrees.”

  “I appreciate the offers, both the company and the place to stay. I don’t think Detective Sharpe will allow you to be at the house, though. And you guys are sweet to invite me to stay with you, but you have your hands full with those two beautiful kids. You don’t need me moping around, getting in the way. I’ll find a place. Don’t worry.”

  Cam said, “I talked to Jamie. He said SPPD interviewed him, too. I’m sure he’ll be calling you, if he hasn’t already. I don’t know what to say. They gotta get whoever did this. Shit, we should take this on. We’ll nail him, whoever he is. Fuck.” He blew out another breath and MC could tell he was pacing.

  “Cam, I gotta get going. Sharpe will probably be back any second.” She couldn’t stay on the line any longer without losing it. “I, ah, I’ll be in touch, okay?” She sniffed and tears filled her eyes, the dam threatening to burst again.

  “Call me if you need anything. Anything. Anytime.”

  “Thanks. Bye.” She disconnected, let the phone slip through her fingers onto the table. She covered her eyes with both hands, working to keep it together.

  Another thought hit her like a sucker punch. Barb’s family. Her parents. Her brothers. She needed to notify them. How on earth would she explain that their daughter and sister was dead? Shit. Shit. Shit. The shit kept rolling over her, threatening to bury her.

  Something vibrated. Incoming call from Jamie Sanchez.

  “Heya, Jamie.” MC’s voice wobbled.

  “MC. I am so sorry.” Jamie’s voice eased into her ear, a soothing balm after the shocking realization she’d been contemplating.

  “Thanks. So, I um, I guess I’ll be—”

  “Don’t worry about work. Take all the time you need. I’ll talk to Chrapkowski. He may want to call you, who knows with him, but I’ll be your point of contact. No worries.” His words settled the dread she’d felt at the mention of Crapper.

  “Okay, good.” She didn’t even want to think about Roland Chrapkowski and hoped to hell he didn’t call her. “SPPD talked to you?”

  “A detective dropped by the office. I answered all his questions and even had the case file you left on my desk to further corroborate. So where are you now?”

  “I’m still at SPPD. I’ve been with a detective here all morning, day, whatever. He finally gave me back my phones and left me to make some calls. He wants to take me back to the house to do a walk-through.”

  “Shit.”

  Silence filled the air. “About sums it up.”

  “I’ll fill out a leave request for you starting on Monday, leave it open-ended. We’ll do what we can to help you on our end. The agency is here for you.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. I should go. Before Sharpe comes back.” Her energy was completely sapped. The hand holding the phone shook.

  “I’ll be in touch. Take care.”

  “Bye.” She set the phone on the table.

  Sharpe opened the door mere seconds later. He sat across from her. “How you doing?”

  She eyeballed him, a sarcastic response on the tip of her tongue, despite her exhaustion.

  He held up a hand. “Sorry. Stupid question. I’ll cut to the chase. I got word they’ll be ready to allow us back into the house in an hour. We’ll drive over and I’d like you to guide me through. Pay close attention to things missing. And anything else you notice which could be relevant. I have a few more questions before we end the interview, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He flipped to a fresh page on his notepad. “Can you give me the name and address of Barb’s workplace?”

  MC said, “She’s a . . . was . . . a teacher.” She gave him the name of the school and the address.

  “Are you aware of any enemies she might have? Anyone who’d want to cause her harm?”

  “Enemies? Are you serious?” MC clenched her fists. “Detective, Barb taught second-graders. I doubt any of them had her on a hit list.” Easy on the sarcasm, McCall.

  “I had to ask. What about you? Any cases you’ve handled lately where someone might be out to get you?”

  “Not that I can think of off the top of my head. I am working on a task force right now. We’re in the middle of an investigation on a Ponzi scheme. But the wheels are still turning on that one. Nothing else comes to mind.”

  Sharpe finished writing and set his pen down. “If you do think of anything later, please let me know. Otherwise, we’re done for now. Ready to return to your house?”

  MC focused on taking slow deep breaths. The thought of entering what used to be their home weighed on her, an anvil of grief.

  Home no more.

  On the way back to her Highland Park neighborhood giant orange snow plows chugged two or three abreast on the highway clearing the lanes, sand and salt spinning out in their wake.

  MC sat in the passenger seat, facing the side window. She felt like the car was moving in slow motion while the world around her ran on fast forward. People hurried
home or to meet friends for happy hour while she was being driven toward a black morass of hell.

  The temperature had warmed a few degrees, but she felt like her bones were made of ice.

  Sharpe adjusted the defrost with one hand as he navigated the interstate. “We’ll go in the front. I’d like to start at the top and work our way down.”

  The ensuing silence was disrupted by the repetitive scrape of the wiper blades across the windshield.

  “Do you understand the plan?” Sharpe switched to the far left lane and passed the plows.

  “Plan? What?” MC glanced at him, then focused on the three hulking orange trucks they passed. “Must have every plow in the state out.”

  Sharpe took a measured breath. “One more time. You with me, Inspector McCall?”

  “Sure.”

  He ran through his spiel again and signaled his exit from the highway. “We good?”

  MC concentrated on keeping the immensity of her grief at bay. “We’re dandy. And you’ll allow me to pack some things before we depart, correct?”

  “Yes. You’ll be allowed to remove belongings. The scene will be considered cleared after we finish.”

  They parked in front of her house. The engine ticked like a bomb timer counting down the final seconds before an explosion, interrupting the silence that hung heavy in the air.

  Sharpe cracked his door open. “Ready?”

  MC stared straight ahead. “Do you know why there is so much silence when it snows? Fresh snow absorbs sound, lowering ambient noise because trapped air between snowflakes reduces vibration.”

  “I had no idea.”

  She took a breath and opened her door. “I heard it on public radio or something. Let’s do this.”

  They reached the front porch and Sharpe brushed aside the fluttering yellow plastic tape and opened the door. The runner in the entryway was askew and dark with grimy footprints. The prints carried over onto the normally glossy oak floor.

  Barb would not be happy about this mess, MC thought.

  “Let’s begin upstairs.” Sharpe had removed his hat and held it out toward the stairs on the right.

  MC unzipped her jacket and trooped up the stairs, Sharpe on her heels. She made her way through the master bedroom where all the drawers of both dressers were pulled halfway out, with various articles of clothing hanging from a few.

  “I don’t think there’s anything missing from here. We never kept anything in the dressers except clothes, so there wouldn’t be anything of value to a thief.”

  “Explains why all the drawers are pulled open and left hanging.” Sharpe jotted something in his ratty notebook.

  MC peeked in her jewelry box. She picked up her dad’s gold Bulova wristwatch with the worn black leather band. She and her mom had shopped for this watch and surprised her dad on his birthday. He’d been thrilled about the gift and worn it every day. He had it on the day he’d died.

  “Inspector McCall?” Sharpe cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”

  “Okay? No, nothing is okay, Detective.” She waved the watch at him. “This was my dad’s watch, a gift on his fortieth birthday. I’m glad it’s still here.” She tucked the watch into her pants pocket and poked through the rest of her box. She kept a stash of two hundred dollars in twenties inside a velvet bag which contained her mother’s rosary. She lifted the black bag from the bottom of the box. She tipped it upside down, and a rosary with pale blue glass beads and a silver crucifix fell into the palm of her hand.

  No money.

  She reached into the bag with her fingers and encountered nothing but empty bag. “Here’s the first item for your list.” She held the empty bag toward him.

  Sharpe noted the bag and raised an eyebrow. “Missing a rosary?”

  “Nope. Cash. I keep two hundred dollars in here. I know the money was here yesterday because I moved the bag when I dug out my watch before I went running.”

  “And Barb wouldn’t have taken it?”

  “Not without telling me. We keep an emergency stash handy and neither of us depletes it without letting the other know.”

  “Hmmm.” Sharpe noted it.

  “I don’t see anything else missing. I don’t have a whole lot, but it appears to all be here.”

  Next they checked out the bathroom, which was a disaster. The contents of the medicine cabinet above the sink were strewn every which way. A plastic jar of TUMS antacid tablets, a half empty tube of toothpaste, pain reliever, a tube of Barb’s lipstick, cotton swabs. MC sifted through the debris. “Two prescription bottles missing.”

  “Really? You can tell so quickly?”

  “Yes, because they were brown plastic bottles. One had my name on it. Percocet. I had my gallbladder out last year and they sent me home with pain meds. I only took two or three, so there were probably nine left in the bottle.”

  “And the other?”

  “Barb’s. Oxycodone. She’d twisted her back gardening this past summer. The doctor gave her a prescription for oxy. I think there were twelve or fourteen left of the original twenty.”

  “Seems likely they’d take those. Probably for themselves, though. Not much street value for so few pills.”

  In the spare room, which they used as an office, MC found several items gone. “Our MacBook Pro laptop is missing. Normally, it sits on the desk. Also, a Bose wireless speaker, black. And our wireless HP printer.” MC pointed at the table next to the desk where the printer usually sat. A half ream of paper remained on the bottom shelf under the table.

  Sharpe scribbled as MC talked. “Anything else?”

  “No.” She ran her hand over the framed photo of her and Barb taken up north at the cabin this past summer. They’d been so excited by the renovation and were celebrating with Dara and Meg. MC picked up the photo and drifted out of the room.

  Back on the main floor they entered the living room. “Flat screen TV is gone, an LG forty-six inch. DVD Blu-ray player is gone, too.” She scrutinized the CD tower next to the bookcase. “I can’t be certain without picking through all the DVDs on the floor, but I think there are several missing.” She stepped gingerly around the cases tossed about the room. “I don’t think any books are missing. I guess the asshole didn’t care much for reading.”

  In the dining room, MC took stock. Her grandma’s silver was gone from the hutch. Otherwise, nothing else appeared to be missing. She set the framed photo on the table and angled toward the kitchen.

  Sharpe stepped in front of her. “Are you ready to continue?”

  She locked gazes with him. “I have to.” She stepped around him and entered the kitchen from the dining room.

  The breakfast nook was to her left and the back door was almost directly across from her.

  “Looks like World War Three.” She leaned against the door frame.

  Sharpe stopped behind her.

  MC smelled gun powder. She coughed and gagged.

  Sharpe asked, “Are you okay?”

  She held up a hand. “Fine.” She knew the tastes and odors weren’t really present, they’d dissipated hours earlier.

  “Take your time.”

  “So much blood.” MC hunkered down near the counter at the back door. She held her fingers over the maroon Rorschach blots on the white tile kitchen floor. She watched as her hand, of its own volition, reached out to a spot smaller than her palm. MC rested a finger on the stain and felt a spark that immediately faded, much as she imagined Barb’s life had faded from her as she lay alone on the cold floor. MC examined her finger. The blood had congealed, but something red glinted.

  Sharpe stepped forward. “What’s that?”

  They both scanned the floor.

  “Jesus. Ornaments. She bought more.” MC pointed to where the floor was littered with colored glass shards and glitter sparkling in the late afternoon sun. She twisted her feet and heard a crunch beneath her boot. “We didn’t need any more ornaments.”

  The ornaments had been massacred, like Barb.

  Tears rolled slowl
y down MC’s face and dropped onto her thighs to create darker blue marks on her pants. She stood up and went to the sink where a roll of paper towels stood in a holder on the counter. She rinsed her hands, tore a sheet from the roll, and blew her nose.

  Sharpe said, “We’re pretty much done here. We checked the basement and it didn’t seem like anyone had even been down there. Laundry room and utility room doors were closed and nothing appears to have been disturbed.”

  “We use it mainly for storage. Decorations. Old clothes to be donated.” MC leaned her hands on the counter and stared out at the backyard. The clotheslines had a layer of snow on them, as did the t-shaped poles on either end. “Her car?”

  “Nothing. The garage was closed, and nothing inside seemed to be messed with, including her car. The keys were on the floor not far from her right hand, so we bagged them, and we’ll test for prints.”

  “I can drive her car?” MC asked.

  “I don’t see a problem with it. Do you have a set of keys?”

  “Yes.” MC pulled open a cupboard. She’d installed a few small hooks for the extra keys, and the cabin keys. “All present and accounted for.” She collected all the keys and dropped them into her jacket pocket.

  “You have a house key?”

  MC dangled the plain silver key ring with Barb’s Subaru key, her Camry key and front and back door keys. “Right here.”

  “Go ahead and pack up what you want to take. Unless you want to stay here?” Sharpe tucked his pen in a pocket. “Up to you at this point.”

  “No.” She didn’t elaborate. Nor did she tell him she wouldn’t ever stay here, ever again.

  Sharpe pulled out his wallet. He extracted a business card and handed it to her. “My contact information. Call me if you need anything.”

  She accepted the card and stuck it in her pocket. “Thanks.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss Inspector McCall.”

  “When can I see her?” MC croaked. She coughed to clear her throat. “I want to see her.”

  “The medical examiner has to perform an autopsy. I’ll find out when it’s scheduled and let you know.”