The smell hit her. Hard.
She covered her nose and mouth, as much to stifle her sob as to keep her from breathing the odor. Swallowing fear and dread, she gave the door a firmer push. It opened wider to reveal a steep staircase. “Josh?” Breathing swiftly through her mouth, she called again, “Josh? If you’re up there, please come down.”
There wasn’t a sound except for the beating of her heart.
Above her, sunlight shone in through the two windows so she could see to climb the stairs. The higher she got, the brighter the light became. It filled the attic at the top of the stairs with inappropriately cheery light, because the only thing in the space was a black body bag, zipped closed, lying on the floor.
“Oh, Jesus. Oh no!” She slumped against the doorjamb, covered her mouth again to stifle her keening sounds, and stared at the bag. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping against hope that when she opened them, it would be gone.
It wasn’t, of course.
She should alert Shaw.
But she owed Josh this one final penitence.
On rubbery legs she walked to the bag and knelt down beside it. Her hand shook as she took hold of the metal tab and unzipped the bag all the way down, then spread it open.
She screamed. Or would have.
Except that a hand was clamped hard over her mouth from behind and an eerie, overamplified, horribly distorted voice said, “Guess who?”
Chapter 39
As Shaw and Wiley walked from the pier back toward the house, Wiley mopped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “I was afraid we’d find his body or a grave in one of those buildings.”
“Crossed my mind.”
“Your side hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s blood on your shirt.”
Shaw seemed not have heard that. He was distracted, his brow creased with concentration. “You called this in?”
“They’re on their way. We gotta keep them from trampling those tire tracks. If we get a cast, maybe we can type Josh’s car.”
Without breaking stride, Shaw looked toward the house. “See that it’s done quickly, then let’s get everybody out of sight. We should lay an ambush. Didn’t look like he cleared out for good, did it? He left clothes behind. His glasses.”
“Maybe he didn’t leave of his own volition,” Wiley said. “Maybe he was removed.”
“By Panella, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe,” Shaw said thoughtfully. “But nothing indicates that a fight took place.”
“Hard to tell. The place is a shambles.”
“I know, but…”
“What?” Wiley prodded.
“I don’t know. Something keeps bothering me.”
“Heat’s bothering me,” Wiley mumbled, blotting his forehead again. “What’s bothering you?”
“I can’t quite pull it up.” He slowed. Wiley paused with him. Shaw said, “The first time I talked to Panella was on Saturday afternoon. Called him on Mickey’s phone to begin the negotiation of a new deal. That was around two o’clock.”