Kop (26 page)

I couldn’t purge brandy-buzzed go-go tunes out of my mind. “What are you saying?”

Paul scratched his head. “You know what I’m saying.”

I dropped onto the couch. What had I done? She needed my help; she begged me for it. She asked me to deliver her from her home, and I shut the door in her face. “It’s my fault. I knew
how desperate she was to get rid of her father. I made her do this. I left her no other choice.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “What do you want to do? Nobody knows about the cameras but us. We can play it however you want.”

“You want to take the opium and the money, don’t you?”

“It’s your call on this one, Juno. I’ll do whatever you say.”

I dropped my face into my hands and tried to concentrate. The upstairs massacre scene dominated my internal vision. A film of Natasha murdering her parents set to go-go music looped continuously before my eyes. I pushed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, creating kaleidoscopic color patterns that drowned out the butchery.

Two paths emerged in my head. One path promised a life free of Paul and his cooked-up schemes. I could live free of Natasha and her wounded psyche. All I had to do was walk out that door. I could leave it all behind—
adios
.

The second path was risky. I’d have to break all the rules. I’d have to sacrifice my conscience….

I didn’t have to think long. “What time is it?”

Paul checked his bargain-basement watch. “We have two hours until sunrise.”

“Let’s do it.”

I put Natasha in the shower and bagged her clothes. I made her scour her body. I even got in with her to scrape under her nails. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Natasha. When the sun comes up, you are going to call the police. You’ll tell them that when you woke up, you saw your parents’ door was open, and you peeked in—just like you told me except you’ll say you found
them when you woke up in the morning. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t hear anything last night. You’re a sound sleeper, and you like to fall asleep watching vids. You were watching vids last night. Think up a couple titles that you could’ve downloaded last night, in case they ask.”

“Why do you want me to lie? Don’t you believe me?” Natasha’s coffee skin was flushed from the steamy water. Her smoldering eyes burned less fiercely; vulnerability was seeping through.

“I believe you, Natasha. But the people that did this might try to blame you. They might say that you’re the one that did it. I’m going to protect you. I’m going to take you away from this. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You have to be strong for this, Natasha. Paul and I will come right after the police get here. We’ll say we were investigating your father, which is true. But we won’t be the ones interviewing you. They’ll have homicide cops talk to you. Paul and I know most of those guys, so we’ll soften them up a little. We’ll let them know you and I are dating. They’ll take it easy on you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Did you finish your hair?”

“Yes.”

“Scrub it again.” I continued giving instructions. “You don’t have any idea who would do this to your parents. You don’t know anything about your father’s business.”

“Okay.”

“Stay in here and keep washing. I’ll come get you when it’s time to stop.”

“Okay.” Her eyes were dull.

I went downstairs and went to work on the kitchen, cleaning
the table and chairs. I remembered to wipe down the undersides, where you put your fingers when you slide your chair in. I worked my way down the hall and then moved upstairs, erasing her bloody tracks.

Paul came up the steps dripping wet. “I got the last of the cameras. They’re a bitch to take down. I’m gonna start in the basement.”

“Yeah, I’ll come down as soon as I’m done here.”

I moved into the Yashins’ bedroom. Natasha had left bloody footprints on the carpet. I didn’t have time to clean them out. I found a pair of Yashin’s shoes in the closet. I shooed geckos away and dipped the soles into his blood. I tied them on my feet and walked in Natasha’s footsteps, superimposing my tracks.

I finished my clean-up job. I got Natasha out of the shower and had her get in bed. “Try to take a nap if you can. That way the bed will look natural.” I bleached the shower walls and poured the rest of the bottle down the drain. I bagged the towels, Yashin’s shoes, and the cleaning supplies.

By the time I made it to the basement, Paul had already worked up a lathery sweat running opium out to Yashin’s car. It took four carloads to get it all over to our stakeout pad. Paul gave the car a thorough wipe-down. I went to check on Natasha. She was sound asleep—at peace.

I took the murder weapon, put it in a separate bag, and threw it in with everything else. I scraped under the corpses’ fingernails just in case one of them had gotten a scratch in on Natasha. I went out the back door, locked myself out, and broke back in, putting my elbow through a windowpane and popping the lock.

Once inside, I made one last run through the place, wiping fingerprints everywhere I went. The sky was starting to lighten. I dashed back into Natasha’s room and stopped by her bed. “Natasha.”

“Mmm.”

“The sun will be up in about fifteen minutes. Do you remember everything I told you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to leave now. Everything’s set. Just remember what I told you.” I kissed her forehead and then left to go meet Paul at the stakeout pad.

We had opium stacked to the ceiling. Paul was counting the money into neat piles on the table.

Paul looked up. “Hey. How’re you holding up?”

“This is quite a stash.”

“You can say that again. What do you want to do with the vids?” He motioned toward the monitor.

“Did you watch it?”

“No. Should I destroy it?”

“No…I have to watch it.”

“You don’t have to do that to yourself.”

I voice-activated the monitor.

Paul sighed and said, “I’ll leave you alone. I’m going to listen to the police bands. I’ll let you know when Natasha calls it in.”

I sat in front of the screen, skipping backward through time until I found the right spot. The camera brought the dark room into perfect focus. The Yashins were sleeping on far sides of the bed, careful not to touch each other. The door opened. Natasha stood in the doorway with a blade in hand. She crept over to the bed, slow high steps, like she was walking on eggs. She hovered over her father, lase-blade raised in a two-handed grip. She held that position for a full minute before she flicked it on.

She wanted him to know who it was—let him die with the knowledge that his own daughter did this.

She waited for him to open his eyes. “Natasha?” he said. Then he jerked back—too late. She plunged the blade down; Gloria Yashin leapt out of bed; Natasha struck her father
again; blood fountained from an artery. Gloria made a frantic dash to her Virgin Mary altar. Pavel Yashin held his hands up in defense. Natasha stabbed through them. He stopped struggling, then he stopped breathing. Natasha continued to stick him, motoring back and forth from chest to groin. She moved off him, staring at his corpse, his flesh bleeding and burning, her smoking eyes in full brilliance.

She wheeled on her mother, who was rubbing her rosaries, whispering to herself with closed eyes. Natasha stalked across the room, crying, “You make me sick! You knew!” Gloria rosary-rubbed right up until the moment Natasha plunged the blade into her back—up to the hilt. Two more violent stabs and the rosaries fell from her mother’s fingers.

Natasha left the blade in its flesh-scorching place. She paced the floor, surveying her handiwork. Pavel was dead still. Gloria kept breathing for a few moments then slouched into her final resting position.

Natasha strode out of the room. I flipped channels until I found her in the kitchen. I watched her call me and talk to my holo. She reached out for my cheek, touching nothing but air. After she hung up, she grabbed a soda from the fridge. She stayed at the table and nursed the soda, wearing a disturbingly flat affect.

I moved the vid forward. She heard the knock—put the partly finished soda back in the fridge and let Paul and me in. When the kitchen lights came on, the camera momentarily went into light overload then compensated swiftly for the brightness, bringing back a clear image.

It hit me like a fucking bolt of lightning. OH SHIT!

Paul and I raced up to Natasha’s house. The call went out twenty minutes ago. There were already cops fucking all over. Paul and I badge-flashed our way in.

Natasha was sitting on the couch with homicide dick Yuan Chen. She ran into my arms, laying on the waterworks. “Juno!”

Paul made quick business telling them how she and I had been dating and how he and I were investigating her father’s drug business.

Yuan Chen caught us up to speed on his investigation so far. “Intruder or intruders, we don’t know which, busted the kitchen window and unlocked the door, then proceeded upstairs and committed the crime, then exited through the kitchen.”

My heart beat at unprecedented speed. “You didn’t hear anything, Natasha?”

“No, nothing. I was sleeping.”

Chen said, “It’s a good thing she didn’t wake up. Who knows what would have happened if she walked in on them.”

Natasha sobbed. “But I could have saved them.”

Chen calmed her. “You can’t let yourself think that. If you had tried anything, they would have killed you, too.” Chen looked at me. “I know you two probably want some alone time, but is it okay if I ask her a few more questions?”

“Natasha,” I said, “can you do that?”

She nodded a watery-eyed yes.

Paul leaned in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Chen, but did you check the basement yet?”

Chen blinked through his glasses. “No. The door was locked.”

“They say Yashin keeps a stash in the cellar.”

Natasha chimed in. “My father is
not
a drug dealer.” Playing the clueless daughter bona fide.

Even though he already knew the way, Paul thought to ask Natasha, “Where is the door to the basement?”

She gave directions to the door and the key. Chen and Paul headed through the kitchen to the basement door.

Natasha and I were alone—coast clear. “Let me get you something to drink, Natasha.”

I went into the kitchen, my nerves on edge. My eyes sought out the refrigerator. Damn—two uniforms were in the kitchen. Neither of them paid much attention to me, so I opened the fridge with my shirtsleeve over my hand. I ran it up and down the handle then I pulled open the door, trying to look natural. I saw Natasha’s half-empty soda bottle on the top shelf—bloody fingerprints all over the glass.

I reached for it. SHIT! I heard one of the unis slide his chair.
Is he watching me?
I panicked and took out a different bottle. I rummaged through the drawers, found a bottle opener, and flipped off the cap.

Paul and Chen entered the kitchen through the basement door, Chen saying, “We have our motive. The basement’s been picked clean. Looks like a robbery/homicide.”

Paul gave me a questioning look. I frowned a negative; the bottle was still in there. They moved back into the living room. I followed with a sparkling clean soda bottle in hand.

Chen went back to questioning Natasha. She did great—had him feeling sorry for her. My heart reached for her. I knew she was putting on that act for me as much as for Chen. She started off wanting me to save her from her father, and now that she had saved herself, she wanted me to save her from the police and the make-pretend monsters that did this to her parents. She needed me to be her rescuer one way or the other.

Chen said to Natasha, “The coroners are here. It would be best if you waited outside while they work. I’ll come out and check on you.” He brought her out through the rain to sit in one of the cars.

I stayed on the sofa. One of my knees bounced up and down with telltale jitters. I crossed my legs to keep it still. Cops were
all over the damn place. I tallied up our violations: illegal surveillance, evidence tampering, accessory to murder, and add a robbery to top it off. That soda bottle would land all three of us in the Zoo.

Hommy dick Yuan Chen was directing traffic from the living room. “Dust every fucking inch of that basement…search the alley for our murder weapon…nobody talks to a reporter—anybody talks, they answer to me.”

I made three trips to the kitchen—always somebody there. I needed that bottle. I sat still, mortified through and through. The lab techs were already moving away from the bedroom, working their way downstairs. They’d be all over the kitchen soon.

Paul caught my attention with a subtle wave. He winked and went upstairs.

Paul had a plan! I leaned forward in my seat, primed to leap into action. I eyeballed the kitchen door, anticipating Paul’s upcoming distraction.

He jogged back down and shouted, “You guys gotta see this! Yashin’s got vids up there of himself doing two girls at a time.” Cops started up the stairs, men and women alike. Paul yelled into the kitchen. “You guys gotta come check this out, come upstairs.”

The unis filed out of the kitchen and followed the crowd up to the bedroom.
Paul, you’re a fucking genius!

I went for the kitchen—just nab the soda bottle and take it to the sink for a quick rinse. I speed-walked through the door and stopped in my tracks. The refrigerator door was open and Deputy Coroner Abdul Salaam was putting
the
soda bottle into a bag. “I found something,” he said, blinking through his glasses.