who left precisely at four, immediately followed by her secretary, Thelma, who wouldn’t call anybody for her anyway. Damn. She wanted to slap herself upside the head. She’d been in such a hurry and such a state of shock when she’d rushed out of the office. Now she thought of all the work that had to be done between now and 9 a.m. tomorrow. ‘I’ve got to get back, too, Rick. I’ve got that trial to prep for,’ she said, dry-mouthing two Tylenol she pulled from the depths of her purse to calm down the stress headache that was already in full swing. The two men began to talk about other cases and people that Julia knew nothing about. She feigned interest for a moment then stepped away, moving over to the pale yellow wall that held all the family pictures she’d first seen when she came up the stairs.
An old black and white photo of someone’s grandma and grandpa. A little boy she now knew had to be Danny, his tiny hands clutching a couple of Hot Wheels racecars.
Pictures were such funny things, she thought, as her eyes slowly trolled the smiling faces – faces that were becoming more real for her with every passing second. Snapshots were only a single split-second caught in time, but for most people they were meant to capture so much more than just a moment. A night out. A whole vacation. Life with a new baby. A time in college. The high-school years.
Emma Louise dressed as a winged fairy on Halloween one year. A very pregnant Jennifer wearing a Santa hat. David, holding Danny and Emma at Disney, fireworks erupting over their heads, a luminescent, purplish-pink Cinderella’s castle the perfect backdrop to the perfect vacation.
The smiles all looked so real, but in this case they couldn’t be, could they? If all these veteran detectives were right, how could such a monster – a man who would later go on to butcher his family one by one in the middle of the night – how could he stand there next to them all and smile like he really meant it? Like he really loved them? The truth was, she knew he couldn’t.
David Alain Marquette. Class of 1994, Northwestern University, Feinberg School of Medicine.
Definitely handsome, with well-defined cheekbones, tousled light-blond hair and an easygoing smile, David Marquette had a soft, round, well-scrubbed face that would surely make a patient feel at ease. Particularly women, Julia thought for some reason. And the lightest, most unusual gray eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that seemed to transcend the glossy photo paper, as if they were staring right at her. His boyish good looks made him seem instantly trustworthy, which was definitely unsettling. Evil, she thought, should somehow lookhideous. ‘ Ya gotta be trusted by the people that ya lie to ,’ Uncle Jimmy had said once. ‘ That’s what makes a really good liar really good .’
‘Alright,’ Ricksaid, heading backover to the stairs. ‘We’re out of here. Ready, Julia?’
She nodded. They hadn’t made it to the stairs when the Nextel at Latarrino’s side chirped to life. ‘Lat? You there? Come in.’ Steve Brill’s voice, complete with its distinctively guttural New York accent, echoed through the hall.
‘Yeah, Steve, go ahead,’ Lat said into the phone, but leaving it on speaker.
‘Are you still upstairs?’
‘Yeah. Try walking up a flight next time. It might do wonders on that beer belly.’
‘Fuckyou, you steroid-loving piece of crap. Oh shit. Are you still with Bellido and that prosecutor chick?’
‘They’re right here. Want to say a quickhello? Or should I just send a tech over to extract that foot from your mouth?’
‘Maybe you should come down, then, ’cause I just can’t say this without a little color,’ Brill said, sounding annoyed.
‘What’s that?’
‘The motherfucker just woke up.’
14
Julia sat backin her chair at her desk, exhaled a deep breath, and stared at the phone in her hand. It was still yelling at her.
‘Don’t fuckin’ tell me that I gots to come down
An old black and white photo of someone’s grandma and grandpa. A little boy she now knew had to be Danny, his tiny hands clutching a couple of Hot Wheels racecars.
Pictures were such funny things, she thought, as her eyes slowly trolled the smiling faces – faces that were becoming more real for her with every passing second. Snapshots were only a single split-second caught in time, but for most people they were meant to capture so much more than just a moment. A night out. A whole vacation. Life with a new baby. A time in college. The high-school years.
Emma Louise dressed as a winged fairy on Halloween one year. A very pregnant Jennifer wearing a Santa hat. David, holding Danny and Emma at Disney, fireworks erupting over their heads, a luminescent, purplish-pink Cinderella’s castle the perfect backdrop to the perfect vacation.
The smiles all looked so real, but in this case they couldn’t be, could they? If all these veteran detectives were right, how could such a monster – a man who would later go on to butcher his family one by one in the middle of the night – how could he stand there next to them all and smile like he really meant it? Like he really loved them? The truth was, she knew he couldn’t.
David Alain Marquette. Class of 1994, Northwestern University, Feinberg School of Medicine.
Definitely handsome, with well-defined cheekbones, tousled light-blond hair and an easygoing smile, David Marquette had a soft, round, well-scrubbed face that would surely make a patient feel at ease. Particularly women, Julia thought for some reason. And the lightest, most unusual gray eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that seemed to transcend the glossy photo paper, as if they were staring right at her. His boyish good looks made him seem instantly trustworthy, which was definitely unsettling. Evil, she thought, should somehow lookhideous. ‘ Ya gotta be trusted by the people that ya lie to ,’ Uncle Jimmy had said once. ‘ That’s what makes a really good liar really good .’
‘Alright,’ Ricksaid, heading backover to the stairs. ‘We’re out of here. Ready, Julia?’
She nodded. They hadn’t made it to the stairs when the Nextel at Latarrino’s side chirped to life. ‘Lat? You there? Come in.’ Steve Brill’s voice, complete with its distinctively guttural New York accent, echoed through the hall.
‘Yeah, Steve, go ahead,’ Lat said into the phone, but leaving it on speaker.
‘Are you still upstairs?’
‘Yeah. Try walking up a flight next time. It might do wonders on that beer belly.’
‘Fuckyou, you steroid-loving piece of crap. Oh shit. Are you still with Bellido and that prosecutor chick?’
‘They’re right here. Want to say a quickhello? Or should I just send a tech over to extract that foot from your mouth?’
‘Maybe you should come down, then, ’cause I just can’t say this without a little color,’ Brill said, sounding annoyed.
‘What’s that?’
‘The motherfucker just woke up.’
14
Julia sat backin her chair at her desk, exhaled a deep breath, and stared at the phone in her hand. It was still yelling at her.
‘Don’t fuckin’ tell me that I gots to come down
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