Crawford’s eyes were mesmerizing and as Josh silently asked forgiveness for anything he had ever done wrong to anyone, he took his uselessly clawing hands away from Crawford’s unbreakable grip and plunged his thumbs into the taunting eyes. With so little strength left it did no damage, but eyes are sensitive and it didn’t take much to cause pain. The darkness kept Crawford from seeing Josh’s hands coming toward his face and his eyes were wide open when the weak blow struck him. But it was enough. Crawford instinctively released his grip and covered his eyes with both hands. It was just for a second as he silently rubbed them hard then blinked to get his focus back. In that instant Josh drew a deep, sustaining breath and felt the pain recede to a horrible but bearable level. His legs took his full weight after being held off the ground and Josh almost crumpled but his hand grabbed at the dresser next to him. His fingers brushed a cold, hard object and he knew without looking what it was. He had grown up playing tennis, training like a madman and winning his fair share of tournaments all the way through college. There were a few trophies he kept, like the one for winning the singles title at the local public courts. JoshEmma loved tennisJ clutched at it, two feet tall with a hefty marble base and a brass figure of a man in mid-service motion. With the wire still wrapped around his throat, Josh swept the trophy off the dresser. Crawford had regained his focus and in one motion reached to his side and pulled out the long, thin knife Josh had seen at Jerry’s. But Josh was motivated and he was faster. Without stopping, holding the trophy like it was his last hope, Josh drove it up toward Crawford’s face. His grip was tight and slipped only an inch as it made contact under Crawford’s chin. All the years of otherwise useless exercise and weightlifting, which seemed so self-serving and vain, went into that one motion. The tennis racket held by the figurine pierced the skin under Crawford’s jaw and blood sprayed onto Josh’s face. The momentum of the thrust stopped when the wider part of the figure on the trophy made contact with the bone of Crawford’s jaw. He made a loud, high-pitched squeal and shot backward, but did not go down. Josh’s grip hadn’t loosened and the trophy was still in his hand. Crawford had the knife, but he had his hands under his jaw trying to staunch the blood. He was wounded, but not out. Josh switched the trophy to his other hand, now holding it upside down. Before Crawford could react, Josh raised the trophy and brought it down hard on his forehead. The corner of the marble base opened a deep gash above Crawford’s left eye and he bent over double. Josh swung again and hit the back of Crawford’s head. This time the trophy glanced off, but Josh held on. Driven by fear, anger, hatred, he hammered Crawford’s head until he fell down, curled in a fetal position. Again, Josh smashed the trophy onto whatever part of Crawford’s head was exposed, digging an inch into his temple. Crawford covered his head with both hands, on the defensive now. But Josh couldn’t stop. This was the threat, this was the monster that was going to ruin Josh’s life. Maybe he already had killed Allison. Josh brought the trophy up and struck again and again. Crawford rolled onto his back, unconscious or dead, and Josh hit again in his face. He felt bone crunch. On the next blow Crawford’s teeth shattered and the marble block fell off the base of the trophy. Josh knew the man was dead now, and he didn’t care. Josh stopped, breathing heavily. He heard a muffled sound, but it was from behind him.
“Josh?”
Josh turned around, still holding the remnants of the trophy. Blood from the first blow to Crawford was on his face. His chest and legs were covered with the fresher blood from the strikes to Crawford’s head. It was Allison standing there, looking horrified but unhurt.
“Oh my god, Josh, what is…” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence. This wasn’t anything she had experienced, her brother standing there covered with either his own blood or that of a man he had just beaten to death. “What is going on?”
She began to shake. Josh could only imagine what she was thinking. Burglary, home invasion, crazed killer.
He dropped the weapon and took her by the shoulders, turning her away from the sight of Crawford on the floor of the room she would have been in.
“Oh my god, are you all right? Is that…”
Josh shushed her, though he voice was barely a croak. “I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m not hurt. C’mon, let’s go.”
“I…I fell asleep, watching the TV in your office…” Allison let Josh lead her back down the hall. Her steps were faltering at first, the shock affecting her balance and focus. But as they moved down the hall, Josh could see her strengthening. This was the sister who had lived alone in Turkey for two years after college, pulled herself out of a lousy marriage, and took no crap from anyone. By the time they got to the kitchen and Josh had gotten her a glass of water, she was looking him in the eye and waiting for an explanation. His being calm showed her there was no immediate danger, but there was no way she was going to overlook the gore covering him or the body down the hall. She quickly turned to business-mode.
“Why aren’t you freaking out? Why aren’t you hiding in the corner calling the cops because there could be another one of those guys lurking around? What the hell aren’t you telling me?”
Josh was glad it was his sister standing there, who could handle a crisis, and not some girlfriend who would be shrieking and waking the neighbors until he could get a sedative in her.
He knew they were safe now, and that’s all that mattered. There was still a long night ahead, he thought, as he started to think about what to tell the police. He would have to tell Allison what had happened.
“I’ll call the police. Then I’ll explain.” Josh took the cordless phone from beside the microwave and walked back to the guest bedroom. There would be no movie-ending last-minute revival of Crawford from apparent death here. Josh dialed 911 as he flipped on the hall light and stepped back into the bedroom room. Crawford’s eyes, obscured by blood and bits of scalp and hair, were open and glazed. Josh looked at him and felt nothing as he told the operator there was a burglar in his house and he had killed him.
Chapter Sixteen
A squad car pulled into the driveway with lights flashing but no siren. Josh had made clear to the 911 operator everyone was safe. Thinking of Helen, he knew this was a lie. One of the police officers stood in the doorway while the other circled the house with his flashlight hitting every corner and tree. Josh kept looking at the equipment on the officer’s belt. Handcuffs, flashlight, nightstick and a few things he didn’t recognize. But Josh’s eyes kept returning to the gun. He’d only shot a rifle a couple of times, in sleepover camp thirty years ago, and never a handgun. His feelings about not having a gun in the house were changing.
The cop in the entryway had already been back to the guest bedroom, surprising Josh by carefully wiping his feet before stepping on the carpet. He didn’t touch anything except to turn on the light once he was sure Crawford was dead. He looked around the room then back at Josh. No comment. With the lights on, the scene was even harsher than Josh had imagined. Crawford’s body seemed to fill the space, incongruous in the simply furnished room with queen bed, bookshelves, dresser, and work desk. Allison’s backpack had been knocked over, and various hair-manipulating tools were scattered around the floor. A bottle of contact solution had fallen off the dresser and somehow landed upright near Crawford’s outstretched hand, looking like he was about to grab it.
The officer, Pollack his badge said, asked if could look around the rest of the house. He had already met Allison, who was still in the kitchen. Josh told him to help himself.
As Pollack headed toward the front door, Allison came down the hallway. She didn’t even look in on Crawford. “Time to talk. Let’s go.” She didn’t look like she was going to let Josh put her off any longer, but he needed to wait until the police had finished. He was still unsure what he was going to tell them.
“Just a little while longer. Please – just trust me.” She gave him a look that said he wasn’t going to get a lot of leeway. But she followed him back to the entryway. There was a sharp rap on the front door.
Expecting the other officer, Josh reached around Pollack to get it but the cop stepped in front to get there first. When the policeman opened the door, instead of seeing another cop in uniform there were two people in street clothes. Josh was confused for a minute until the man flashed a badge at Pollack.
“What’ve we got?” he asked Pollack, but looking at Josh. The police officer gave him a three-sentence summary. The man stepped in and put his hand out. “Detective Crevins. Why don’t you tell me what happened.”
Josh shook his hand and it was strong and dry. Crevins was all business and looked like Josh’s idea of a police detective. Cleanly pressed suit, stern look that inspired confidence, and enough gray at his temple to suggest experience. He took in Josh’s sister’s face and seemed to understand immediately. He put his hand on her arm and smiled slightly.
“It’s okay now, Miss Barnes. You’re safe.”
Allison looked at him and her face went tight. “Everybody keeps telling me that, but there’s a dead man in the room where I sleep. He could have killed both of us. I don’t feel particularly safe!” She shot Josh a look that said the leeway was getting even less now.
Crevins kept smiling, like a therapist talking to a patient. “Yes, ma’am. This has been a horrifying experience. But you ARE safe now. We’ll have to ask you a few questions, and there will be a medical examiner and crime scene crew getting here soon. It’s going to get noisy and there will be a bunch of people, so let’s chat while it’s still pretty calm.”
Allison looked less angry, but not mollified. Before anyone could say anything else, a woman in street clothes who had been standing next to Crevins and had been having a whispered conversation with Pollack stepped in. Josh could see that Pollack treated her deferentially.
“Let’s go into the living.” She didn’t introduce herself, just gave the order. Crevins gently turned Allison toward the living room. The female detective led the way, as though she had been here a hundred times and was right at home. She wore tailored gray pants and a robin’s egg blue blouse. Slim in the hips but with strong legs, she carried herself like a woman who’d taught herself to walk like a man. She swaggered her narrow shoulders, unencumbered by the leather holster looped over her right arm and shoulder that held a smaller, darker gun than the one Josh had seen in Pollack’s belt. She sat on the couch and started while the rest looked for a place to sit.
“I’m Detective Rigas.” She pointed the notebook in her left hand at Josh and said “let’s start with you. What happened?”
Josh looked at Crevins. He nodded. “Don’t you want to see him? The body?” Josh asked, confused.
Rigas looked at him hard, no patience or sympathy. “Tell me what happened.”
Josh liked Crevins better. “Like I told the officer, I came home and heard a noise. I saw a man crossing from the spare bedroom into the guest room where my sister slept. I ran down there. He attacked me and I fought back.”
“That’s the Reader’s Digest version. Tell me exactly what happened, starting with why you came home so late. Tell it like I wasn’t here. Details.”
Josh looked at Allison, not sure she needed to hear this. But she had already seen most of it. Josh hadn’t made any kind of decision about how much to tell the police about Crawford and Helen, so he started with why he was out of town, making it sound like a regular business trip. Then he described every detail he could think of about getting home, from undressing to the flicker of light and the shadow passing into Allison’s room. When he described Crawford’s attack, Rigas looked at his neck. Josh had put on a hooded sweatshirt and zipped it all the way up, covering part of the bruising. When he told about the trophy, she wrinkled her brow.
“Unzip your sweatshirt.”
“What?” he didn’t understand.
“Show me.”
Josh pulled down the zipper, realizing she wanted to see the blood. She didn’t say anything. He looked down and felt the same way he had in Allison’s room a few minutes ago – in the full light of the living room he looked like a butcher, or victim. He pulled the zipper back up, close around his neck.
“Let’s look at the body. Miss Barnes, you stay here with Pollack. Mr. Barnes, come with me.”
An order again. They followed, Crevins bringing up the rear. Rigas didn’t wipe her feet. In the doorway to Allison’s room she stopped and looked around. Going in, she used her pen to poke around Crawford’s body, then crossed the room and looked at it all from a different angle. The piece of wire Josh pulled off his neck at the end of the struggle was on the floor. The marble base of the trophy was on the ground near the body where it had broken off. The rest was next to the dresser where Josh had finally dropped it. Rigas squatted down next to Crawford’s misshapen head. She looked up at Josh, the stare even harder than before.
“You did this? He’s a pretty big guy.” She sounded doubtful, but not in the polite way you ask your kids if they really ate all their vegetables. It was more accusatory, like she didn’t buy this at all.
Josh was still confused by the approach, but he was starting to get his wits about him. And his anger was starting to rise.
“Two feet from my sister, Detective. Do you have people you care about? He could have been a goddamned giant…I wasn’t going to let him come in here and kill my sister.”
Her look didn’t waver. “You were thorough.”
Josh felt like a bug about to be pinned to a wall. Rigas was smart – not just about what she saw, but what she didn’t see. He had nothing to hide about what had happened; he was defending himself and his sister. But he still wasn’t sure what to do about Helen, and he didn’t want to be forced into a decision trying to answer her questions.
“I’d still be smashing his head now if I thought he weren’t dead. Do you think I should have stopped to see if he was okay? Maybe get some bandages and ice for him?” Josh tried to hold his anger at her tone in check.
He looked at Crawford and felt nothing. She followed his stare. “Did you know him?” Out of the blue. Was this a standard question or had she seen something? It was slow motion for Josh again as he decided how he wanted to answer.
“No, I’ve never seen him.”
“You sure?” She didn’t sound like it was a standard follow-up question. There’s no such thing as a real polygraph; lie detectors are bullshit. But cops were different. They seemed to know when they were being lied to. He could see in her eyes that she wondered.
“He’s not anyone I know or have seen before. He’s not the mailman, or the pool guy, or someone who’s delivered plants to the house. I’ve never seen him before.” This time his anger was a little forced, at least Josh felt that way, and he wasn’t sure if she could tell.
“So you’re sure. He’s pretty messed up, the blood and the caved-in head and all. Maybe if we cleaned him up he’d be familiar?”
The beating had made it hard to recognize Crawford’s face, which Josh realized when Allison was looking at him earlier. She wouldn’t recognize him from the neighborhood that day Helen had taken the picture. He was dressed differently, too – slacks and wool shirt instead of the odd suit.
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Can we get out of here now?” She didn’t buy that Josh was upset by looking at him. She took her time getting up.
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