Page 122 of Hard Heart

“I guess we know how they got in, but how the hell did they leave?”

“The answer’s in the video,” Ari said. “Somewhere.”

Watching the video was like sifting through a haystack for the needle. I still had no idea how Ari had spotted that rope.

“You have cubbies built into every wall—are you sure nobody built a secret door?”

“We would have noticed,” Jerry told me.

“Are you sure?”

She took a breath, ready to snap back, but then she deflated. “In truth, I’m not sure about anything anymore. But the cameras would have picked up anyone who exited the building, unless they tunnelled out, and nobody was down in the basement scooping out dirt with a spoon.”

A trio of crime scene techs showed up, three women clad in Tyvek suits who began combing through Grey’s bedroom with practised efficiency. I had no idea how Jerry could arrange a forensic search or a freaking autopsy, and I’d given up asking because she just evaded my questions anyway. They vacuumed the carpet, dusted for prints, and bagged up a bunch of stuff to take with them.

And while they worked, we each took a section of the video and watched. Then we switched and watched again. Heidi ran out of gummy worms, and Alexa’s assistant, a blond Adonis named Chase, was dispatched to hunt for supper. He returned with crudités and chocolate.

“Can we swap yet?” Heidi asked, leaning over to look at Ari’s screen. “At least you have people. Couldn’t we have gotten those guys back to check out Grey’s room more thoroughly?”

She was reviewing the final segment, and the original crime scene techs had all been male. Inclusion and diversity had improved in the past decade, but I knew from my work in the CPS and especially with Bester & Block that there was still a long ways to go.

“This footage is a decade old,” Ari said. “If they weren’t married then, they probably are now.”

“And they’re also in middle-aged spread territory,” I added.

“You think? I’d rate that guy as an eight, but I’d give him a nine if he was taller.” She turned to Jester, who was catnapping on a couch. The bikers were taking turns to rest while we worked. “Don’t worry; you’re a nine and a half, honey.”

“What the fuck did I lose a half for?”

“Your pants squeak sometimes.”

He muttered a curse to the heavens and closed his eyes again. I’d wondered if the bikers were house-trained, but surprisingly, he put the toilet seat down after he used the bathroom and removed his boots before he put his feet on the couch.

Ari was staring at the screen, transfixed.

“What?” I asked.

“Eight-out-of-ten has glutes. Where the hell did those come from?”

“Maybe he has a gym membership?”

“No, no, no. I mean I watched four crime scene techs walk into the house. One was tall and thin. Another had a man bun and unusually large feet. The other two had potbellies. Where did Eight-out-of-ten come from?”

On screen, he chatted with a cop, his back to the camera. The cop offered him a light, and a cloud of smoke drifted behind him as he headed out of view, several large paper evidence bags in his hand. Why was he taking evidence bags with him on a smoke break? Why was he even smoking at a crime scene?

Jez began laughing, but there was no mirth in it. “Fuck my life.”

“Four went in, five came out.”

Ari’s words sank in, the full, horrifying weight of them. Four went in, five came out. The killer had masqueraded as a crime scene tech? He’d brought a Tyvek suit and plastic booties and simply…walked out with the cops? I couldn’t even begin to fathom the balls it must have taken to do that. The patience. The planning.

I had to call Raelene. We had to file another petition. This video wasn’t new evidence, but it clearly showed a key point had been missed during Levi’s trial, and who knew how many other people Eight-out-of-ten had harmed during the years since. Because the way he murdered Ruby—the calculation, the crime itself, the way he’d coolly exited the house afterwards… That wasn’t his first rodeo, and it wouldn’t have been his last.

Alexa spat a string of curses. “Five days? He was in our home for five days? I feel sick.” She shoved her chair back and walked out, and a moment later, the cloakroom door slammed.

“She’s gone to puke,” Ari explained, as if I couldn’t hear the retching.

“He’s an operator,” Jerry said. “Has to be. Do you see the way he moves?”