"He'll be less fearful if he sees a woman," Nancy said. Grimsbo nodded and Nancy pressed the doorbell.
She wore a jacket to conceal her holster. There had been some respite from the heat during the day, but it was still warm. She could feel a trickle of sweat work its way down her side.
Nancy rang the bell a second time and the volume of the TV lowered. She saw a vague shape moving down the hall through the semi-opaque curtain that covered the glassed upper half of the front door. When the door opened, Nancy pulled back the screen door and smiled.
The gangly, loose-limbed man did not smile back. He was dressed in jeans and a stained T-shirt. His long, greasy hair was unkempt. Waters's dull eyes fixed first on Nancy, then on the uniformed officers. His brow furrowed, as if he were working on a calculus problem. Nancy flashed her badge.
"Mr. Waters, I'm Nancy Gordon, a detective with the Hunter's Point P.D."
"I didn't do nothin'," Waters said defensively.
"I'm certain that's true," Nancy answered in a firm but friendly tone,
"but we received some information we'd like to check out. Would you mind if we came in?"
"Who is it?" a frail female voice called from the rear of the house.
"That's my mom," Waters explained. "She's sick."
"I'm sorry. We'll try not to disturb her."
"Why do you have to upset her? She's sick," Waters said, his anxiety growing.
"You misunderstood me, Mr. Waters. We are not going to bother your mother. We only want to look around.
May we do that? We won't be long."
"I ain't done nothin'," Waters repeated, his eyes shifting anxiously from Grimsbo to Turner, then to the uniformed officers. "Talk to Miss.
Cummings. She's my p.o. She'll tell you."
"We did talk to your probation officer and she gave you a very good report. She said you cooperated with her completely. We'd like your cooperation too. You don't want us to have to wait here while one of the officers gets a search warrant, do you?"
"Why do you have to search my house?" Waters asked angrily. The officers tensed. "Why the hell can't you leave me be? I ain't looked at that girl no more. I'm workin' steady. Miss. Cummings can tell you."
"There's no need to get upset," Nancy answered calmly. "The sooner we look around, the sooner we'll be out of your hair."
Waters thought this over. "What do you want to see?" he asked.
"The basement."
"There ain't nothin' in the basement," Waters said, seeming genuinely puzzled. '-Then we won't be here long," Nancy assured him.
Waters snorted. "The basement. You can see -all the basement you want.
Ain't nothin' but spiders in the basement."
Waters pointed down a dark hall that led past the stairs toward the rear of the house.
"Why don't you come with us, Mr. Waters. YOU Can show us around."
The hall was dark, but there was a light in the kitchen. Nancy saw a sink filled with dirty dishes and the remains of two TV dinners on a Formica-topped table.
The kitchen floor was stained and dirty. There was a solid wood door under the staircase next to the entrance to the kitchen. Waters opened it. Then his eyes widened and he stepped back. Nancy pushed past him.
The smell was so strong it knocked her back a step.
"Stay with Mr. Waters," Nancy told the officers. She took a deep breath and flicked the switch at the head of the stairs. There was nothing unusual at the bottom of the wooden steps. Nancy held her gun with one hand and the rickety railing with the other The smell of death grew stronger as she descended the stairs. Grimsbo and Turner followed. No one spoke.
Halfway down, Nancy crouched and scanned the basement. The only light came from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. She could see a furnace in one corner.
Odd pieces Of furniture, most with a broken look, were stashed against a wall surrounded by cartons of newspapers and old magazines. A back door opened into a concrete well at the back of the house near the alley.
Most of the corner near the door was in shadow, but Nancy could make out a human foot and a pool of blood.
"Fuck," she whispered, sucking air.
Grimsbo edged past her. Nancy followed close behind. She knew nothing in the basement could hurt her, but she was having trouble catching her breath. Turner aimed a flashlight at the corner and flicked it on.
"Jesus," he managed in a strangled voice.
The naked woman was sprawled on the cold concrete, swimming in blood and surrounded by an overpowering fecal smell. She had not been "killed" or murdered." She had been defiled and dehumanized.
Nancy could see patches of charred flesh where the skin was not stained with blood or feces. The woman's intestines had burst through a gaping hole in her abdomen.
They reminded Nancy of a string of bloated sausages. She turned her head aside.
"Bring Waters down here, Grimsbo bellowed.
Nancy could see the tendons in his neck stretching. His eyes bulged.
"You don't lay one hand on him, Frank, Turner managed between gasps.
Nancy grabbed Grimsbo's massive forearm.
"Wayne's right. I'm handling this. Back off."
A uniform bustled Waters down the steps. When Waters saw the body, he turned white and fell to his knees. He was mouthing words, but no sound came out.
Nancy closed her eyes and gathered herself The body wasn't there. The smell wasn't in the air. She knelt next to Waters.
"why, Henry?" she asked softly.
Waters looked at her. His face crumpled and he bleated like a wounded animal.
"Why?" Nancy repeated.
"Oh, no. Oh, no," Waters cried, holding his head in his hands. The head snapped back and forth with each denial, his long hair trailing behind.
"Then who did this? She's here, Henry. In your basement."
Waters gaped at Nancy, his mouth wide open.
"I'm going to give you your rights. You've heard them before, haven't you?" Nancy asked, but it was clear Waters was in no condition to discuss constitutional rights. His head hung backward and he was making an inhuman baying noise.
"Take him to the station," she ordered the officer who was standing behind Waters. "If you, or anyone else, asks this man one question, you'll be scrubbing toilet bowls in public rest rooms. Is that understood? He hasn't been Mirandized. I want him in an interrogation room with a two-man guard inside and another man outside.
No one, including the chief, is to talk to him. I'll call from here to brief o'malley. And send Michaels in. Tell him to call for a full forensic team. Post a guard on the stairs. No one else comes down here unless Glen says it's okay. I don't want this crime scene fucked up."
Grimsbo and Turner had drawn closer to the body, making certain to stay outside the circle of blood that surrounded it. Grimsbo was taking short, deep breaths.
Turner willed himself to look at the woman's face. It was Patricia Cross, but barely. The killer's savage attack had not been limited to the victim's body.
The young uniformed officer was also riveted on the body. That is why he was slow to react when Waters leaped up. Nancy was half-turned and saw the action from the corner of her eye. By the time she turned back, the cop was sprawled on the floor and Waters was bolting up the stairs, screaming for his mother.
The officer who was watching the cellar door heard Waters's scream. He stepped in front of the entrance to the basement, gun drawn, as Waters barreled into him.
"Don't shoot!" Nancy screamed just as the gun exploded. The officer stumbled backward, crashing into the wall opposite the cellar door. The shot plowed through Waters's heart and he tumbled down the stairs, cracking his head on the cement floor. Waters never felt the impact. He was dead by then.
"It was on the late news. I can't believe you caught him," Nancy Gordon heard Peter Lake say. She was alone in the task force office, writing reports. Nancy swiveled her chair. Lake stood in the doorway of the office. He wore pressed jeans and a maroon and blue rugby shirt. His styled hair was neatly combed. He looked happy and excited. There was no indication that he was thinking of Sandra or Melody Lake. No sign of grief.