“Yeah.”

“Is there a basement?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“Just a crawl space. Empty except for crap the builder shoved under there. And a whole generation of spiders.”

“Garage?”

“Clean.”

“Where’s his car?”

“Uptown.”

“Is it included in the warrant?”

“No.” Slidell’s jaw muscles bulged, relaxed. We both knew. If this search came up empty, there would not be another.

“May I look around?”

“Don’t touch nothing.”

Slidell looked so glum, I let the grating command pass without comment.

After retracing my steps, I turned left at the foyer. The hall led to a pair of bedrooms, each with an en suite bath.

I entered the one at the front of the house. Here the theme was green. The furnishings included a bed, a side table with lamp, a desk. Their boho styling screamed Restoration Hardware. Two bookshelves by the desk looked more Staples or Costco.

I believe bathrooms reveal a lot about a person. I started there.

The medicine cabinet was open, its mirror coated with fingerprint powder. Ditto the glass shower stall. Both were empty. No soap, no shampoo, no washcloth or loofah. The sink was pedestal, zero place to stash anything. The room was sterile. Not a hint of personality.

I returned to the bedroom.

The shelves held sets of professional journals. I crossed to observe them up close. Emergency Medicine Journal. The Journal of the American Medical Association. The New England Journal of Medicine. Annals of Emergency Medicine.

I shifted to the desk. Centered on it was the most recent issue of JAMA, closed, with a small plastic ruler marking a page. I wondered what Ajax had been reading. Remembered Slidell’s warning and didn’t look.

Stapler. Tape holder. Letter opener. Leather cup with pens and pencils. A small stack of envelopes that looked like bills.

Nothing in the wastebasket. Probably the work of the CSS techs.

The room was clearly Ajax’s office. Yet he went elsewhere to use the bathroom. At least for more than toilet needs. Habit? Eliminating the need to clean more than one?

I crossed the hall to the bedroom opposite. It was marginally larger and done in shades of blue. Same RH vibe but different finish and detail work on the wood. A more urban-chic style. As before, I started in the bathroom.

Unlike its counterpart, this one was used. Black flannel pajamas hung from a hook on the door. The shower stall held one bottle each of shampoo and conditioner, a bar of Ivory soap, and a long-handled brush.

The medicine cabinet contained Advil, Afrin, ChapStick, CVS-brand plastic bandages, Degree antiperspirant, a Gillette disposable razor, a can of Edge shaving gel, Oral B dental floss, and a tube of Crest.

The sink was set into a black wooden vanity. Open drawers revealed a brush and comb set, tweezers, scissors, a home barber kit, and a battery-operated nose- and ear-hair trimmer. Linens, toilet paper, and backups for all toiletries were stored in a tall slatted cupboard that matched the sink. When Ajax shopped, he bought to last months.

I thought of the array of products in my bathroom. Of the state of hygiene in my cabinets and drawers. Slidell was right. The place was extraordinarily clean. An obsession? A covering of tracks?

Back to the bedroom.

A book of crossword puzzles was propped against the lamp on the bedside table, a pen clipped to its cover. A reprint from the European Journal of Emergency Medicine. I twisted sideways to read the title. “Reducing the Potential for Tourniquet-Associated Reperfusion Injury.” Yep. That’ll get you to sleep.

Three framed photos sat equidistant from one another on the dresser. I crossed to study them.

And felt my skin goose up into tiny bumps.

CHAPTER 33

NONE OF THE photos looked recent. One was posed. A woman, seated, a baby on her lap and a toddler at her side. A red velvet band held long black hair back from her face. The woman looked straight at the camera with large brown eyes. Sad eyes.

The other two pictures were snapshots. One captured the woman walking hand in hand with two little girls. They looked about three and five. In the other, the trio was seated on a wall. Same kids but older, maybe six and eight.

Both girls had the woman’s dark eyes and hair. On both occasions, their hair was center-parted, braided, and tied off with bows.

My mind popped a series of flashbulb images. Leal. Donovan. Estrada. Koseluk. Nance. Gower.

I hurried back to the kitchen. Slidell was peering into the fridge. “Did you check out the photos in the bedroom?”

“Probably the wife and kids.” Slamming the door.

“Did you see the resemblance—”

“You telling me how to do my job?”

Cutting, even for Slidell. Knowing pressure from Salter and friction with Tinker were combining to make him overly defensive, I let it go. “Are you getting any feel for who Ajax is?”

“Bollywood freak.” Far from apologetic but more tempered.

“The DVDs?”

Slidell nodded. “Lousy dresser. Eats healthy. Likes baseball.” I cocked a questioning brow. Wasted, since Slidell wasn’t looking at me. “He gets the major league package on cable.”

I scanned the countertop beyond the island. Not a crumb or smudge. No canisters or cookie jar. Only a portable phone in a charger.

Slidell turned and saw where I was looking. “Yes. I hit redial. The last call went to Mercy.”

“Any stored numbers?”

“No.”

“Any messages?”

“No.”

“You’re right about the place being spotless.”

“The worm’s got every spray and polish ever put in a bottle.” Jerking a thumb at a pantry I hadn’t noticed before.

“Does he use a cleaning service?”

“None of the neighbors ever saw anyone but him come and go. Hell, they hardly ever saw him.”

“Yard service?”

“No.”

“What about mail?” I noticed a small white box on the wall beside the back door.

“Utility bills. Circulars. Catalogues. Nothing personal.”

“No indication he maintained contact with his family?”

“They’re in India.”

“They have phones and mailboxes there.”

“No shit.”

“Catalogues might mean he shopped online.” The box had a sticker.

“I don’t shop online, and I get the same crap.”

“Was the security system activated when you came in?” The sticker had a logo. ADT.

“Yeah.”

“Ajax gave you the code?”

“I persuaded him that sharing was in his best interest.”

“So he sets the alarm when he’s away.”

“Where you going with this?”

“If ADT keeps records, they could tell you when Ajax entered and left the house.”

“They could tell me when someone entered and left the house.”

“So this was a bust,” I said.

“You kiddin’? Double score.” Slidell stripped off his gloves. “First, this house ain’t a crime scene.”

Slidell’s phone buzzed. He yanked it from his belt. Checked the screen. Sighed and raised it to his ear. “Slidell.”

A tinny voice. Female. Strident.

“Yeah?”

The voice boiled again.

“Musta been a misunderstanding.”

More boiling.

“On my way.” Hooking the device back into place. “Salter’s putting me up for cop of the year.” Slidell looked at me, eyes bloodshot from worry and unrest. Then strode toward the door.

“And the second?” I asked.

“What?” Turning.

“What’s the second thing you learned?”

“The prick keeps another crib for his dirty work.”

While Slidell reported to Salter, I went to the MCME.

Larabee’s bones weren’t as straightforward as he’d hoped. Though far from complete, the skeleton was obviously human. A male, middle-aged, edentulous, probably white. Cortical flaking, discoloration, and adherent fibers suggested the man had occupied a coffin for many years.