The Rising(47)

He needed to select the right agency cautiously, careful not to duplicate any already on scene. That ruled out local police and the sheriff’s department, left him with something federal. The FBI, maybe, but he’d need a pretext for that. No matter. Local cops were inevitably deferential to law enforcement officials higher than them on the totem pole. Perhaps resentful at the outset, but normally cooperative, albeit reluctantly.

FBI it was.

Raiff looped the proper ID over his head and stepped from the car. He passed a number of uniformed cops milling outside Dancer’s house, shaking their heads. A few plainclothesmen, police badges dangling from their lanyards, were smoking cigarettes. Raiff watched the wisps of smoke climbing up through the air toward the sky, where secrets abounded none of these men, and a few women, would ever comprehend. His own ID flapped against his chest and he held it steady and forward, out for inspection. It spoke for itself and he need add no words until he was inside. Climbing the steps now, approaching the door, open to let in the late night chill and help mitigate the smells of death that had been present within.

Veering right once inside brought him into the living room. The bodies of Dancer’s parents had been removed, but their placement was marked clear enough by flags and blood soaked into the rug.

Lots of blood.

Clumsy work. Amateurish, but not surprising.

It was the smell Raiff noticed next, a burned odor like wires roasted by a power surge. He always put colors to smells, for some reason, and this one was dark, black, even. More bitter and corrosive the deeper he got into the room, as if it were stuck to the air by some cosmic glue. Raiff took a deeper whiff and half expected the sharp and vaguely sweet scent of adhesive to find his nostrils.

But it didn’t and he surveyed the scene for the officer who was in charge, spotting a plainclothes cop with a lieutenant’s badge dangling on a lanyard and coming to rest upon a stomach that protruded well over his belly.

“Hey, you,” the lieutenant cop called to him, before Raiff had a chance to say anything. “Stop right there.”





46

DANCER’S HOUSE

RAIFF STOOD STILL AND waited for the cop to reach him. He glanced about the room, still crowded with forensic techs snapping pictures, taking measurements, and collecting blood samples.

“What have we got?” Raiff asked, making sure his FBI identification was in clear view while pretending to study the lieutenant’s.

Lieutenant Grimes, according to his ID, paid it only cursory regard. He had prominent cheekbones slathered with flesh that was flushed red, the rest of his face so pale that it seemed those cheeks had sucked up all the blood. Raiff wondered if he’d detected the burned odor clinging to the air. He let Grimes see him running his eyes around the toppled furniture and broken fixtures.

Grimes led him into the recesses of a corner the lamplight only grazed. Kind of place families like this put their Christmas trees.

“Home invasion is one possibility,” he said.

“Give me another.”

“It’s too preliminary.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“The son of the murdered couple has been missing from the hospital for hours. Nobody’s seen him.”

“What was he in the hospital for?”

“Head injury.”

“Oh,” Raiff noted, trying to sound like this could be a major piece of the puzzle. “I hear head injuries can have strange and unusual symptoms.”

“I think you’re getting my drift here. And, get this, the kid’s doctor was found dead too—at the hospital not long after the kid disappeared.”

“You keep saying ‘kid.’”

“The Chins’ son, Alex,” Grimes specified. “His parents dead and him missing? You do the math.”

“You think the boy killed his parents.” Raiff nodded.

“I think it’s a possibility worth investigating, that’s all.”

“Looks more like a war. Two victims?”

Grimes nodded. “Husband and wife. An and Li Chin. Chinese couple.”

Something was bothering Raiff about the scene but he couldn’t put his finger on it yet.

“What’s the FBI’s interest in a home invasion?” Grimes asked him.

“Are we back to home invasion again?”

“Never left it. Just a matter of considering all the possibilities.” Grimes hesitated uneasily. “You see it some other way?”

“If I did, you know I couldn’t tell you.…”

“Goddamn feds,” Grimes said under his breath, just loud enough for Raiff to hear.

“You didn’t let me finish, Lieutenant. What if this fit the pattern of a bunch of other, similar incidents, cutting across a whole bunch of states?”

“You mean, like a ring?”

“Or a very busy gang.”

“And very thorough, Agent. Forensics tells me the only prints they’ve been able to make so far are the victims’, and two others’.”

“What else do you know about the Chins’ son?” Raiff asked, getting to the point at last.

“Besides he’s missing, the fact that he’s some kind of high school football star. Ended up in the hospital after a vicious collision last night. A day later his doctor’s dead, he comes home and, boom! his parents are dead too.”