Cut to the Bone(19)

“All right, all right,” Bloch grumbled.

Fifteen seconds.

“Pull up the Jockeys and walk toward the light. Slow and steady. If you reach for the insulation or make any other sudden moves, we will shoot you.”

“I don’t have any weapons. Honest. I didn’t do anything,” he whined.

“Sure, Dev, you’re hiding in this itchy mess for laughs,” Annie said. “Now walk.”

Bloch put one foot in front of the other, balancing on the ceiling joists. “OK, I’m taking the first step.”

“Not too fast,” Annie warned.

“Sure, Officer.”

“Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant, sure, absolutely, goin’ nice and slow. I’m taking the second step. Now the third. Now the fourth. Now the - yaaaaagh!”

Marty and Branch leaped out of the way as dirt, insulation, Sheetrock, wood chips, nails, shingles, Christmas decorations, TV antenna, shirt, pants, and Bloch blasted onto the floor.

Emily was too slow, and disappeared in the whiteout.





9:27 p.m.

“Quit fighting!” Emily roared as she grappled Bloch for control. It wasn’t easy. He was so sweaty from the 130-degree attic it was like wrestling a greased pig - grab, slip, smear, slide.

“Where are you? We can’t see through this dust!” Marty yelled.

“Under the sink!” she said, her head banging off the plywood door.

“Let go of me, ya psycho bitch!”

She drove an elbow into a particularly sensitive nerve.

“Ow! Police brutality!” Bloch hollered.

“Quit whining, you sissy,” she heard Marty say.

Hands poked in and hauled them apart. Annie pinned Bloch to the linoleum - raising another filthy cloud - and shackled him wrist and ankle. Another SWAT searched Bloch’s shoes, groin, and cheeks. “No weapons,” he reported.

“You surrender?” Marty said to the coughing, flattened form.

“Uhhhnnn,” Bloch said.

“Check him out,” Branch said.

Two Naperville Fire Department paramedics peered into his eyes and read his vitals.

“He’s fine,” they declared. “Just shaken up.”

“Me, too,” Branch said, slapping Sheetrock off his clothes. “You all right, Detective?”

“I’ll . . . be . . . fine,” Emily coughed.

Branch handed her his canteen, then nodded at the paramedics to check her, too.

“Lieutenant Bates,” he said at their thumbs-up, using her rank instead of “Annie” to avoid diminishing her to the suspect. “Make our guest comfortable so we can talk.”

Two SWATs grabbed Bloch at the armpits and dragged him to the living room, Annie kicking a path through the trash. Branch followed with the others. Emily heard the couch groan, followed by Bloch’s explosive cursing at being gouged by a spring.

Annie ducked back in the kitchen.

“Banana,” she said.

“What?” Emily said.

“My daiquiris. Banana. With really expensive rum.”

Emily stuck her tongue out as Annie disappeared.

“You gotta wash out that plaster dust or it’ll scald your eyes,” Marty said, sticking his hand in the water stream to ensure it wasn’t too hot. “Don’t touch the sink, it’s full of boogers ‘n’ stuff.”

She turned her head sideways under the tap, let the water do its thing. It tasted like iron, stank of rotten eggs.

Marty’s cell phone rang.

“Martin Benedetti,” he said, moving her head around with his free hand to rinse off all the crumble. “How can I help you?”

Ten seconds later Emily’s head banged the side of the chipped enamel.

“Ow!” she said, grabbing her left ear. “Easy there, cowboy! What are you doing?”

He didn’t reply.

“What?” Emily said, pulling free and wiping her face to look at him. His face was stone, his eyes hooded, nostrils flared. He stared like his dead wife was oozing from the receiver. He mumbled that he was busy, and he’d call back later, then didn’t close the phone.

Alarmed, she grabbed his arm and shook him hard.

“Huh?” he said, snapping out of it.

“What’s wrong? Are you OK?”

His eyes were darting. His breathing was fast. His face was ashen, his lips tight.

“Yeah,” he said, recovering. “Fine.”

“Who was that on the phone?”

Several seconds passed. Each felt like a century.

“Snitch,” he muttered, thumbing the power button.

“Marty-”

“Snitch,” he repeated. “Causing a problem I’m gonna have to tend to.”

He’d never used his “back off” tone with her, and she felt her anger rise. She turned away and splashed handful after handful of water on her neck and collarbone.