Free Pretty Girls by Karin Slaughter Page A

ex-wife he was trying to win back and now he was being stitched up at the hospital because of something horrible that had happened inside her home.
    Helen asked, “But you still need Claire to go through the house to see if the burglars took anything?”
    “Yes, eventually. I know this is really bad timing, but what we need from Mrs. Scott right now is to know where the set-up is for the security cameras.” He pointed to the black globe on the corner of the house. “We’re pretty sure that one got them coming and going.”
    “I’ll take you to it.” Claire didn’t move. They were all staring at her, waiting. There was something else she needed to do. Lots of something elses.
    The list. She felt her brain flip back on like a light switch.
    Claire turned to her mother. “Can you ask the caterers to donate the food to the shelter? And let Tim know we’ll take care of the hospital bill. I’m sure it’s covered under our homeowner’s policy.” Where was the paperwork? Claire didn’t even know who their agent was.
    “Mrs. Scott?” There was another man standing beside Captain Mayhew. He was a few inches taller and dressed slightly better than the rest of the group. His trench coat was nicer, his suit was better tailored, and his face was clean-shaven. His easy manner should’ve put Claire at ease, but there was something about him that felt deeply unsettling, not least of all because he was sporting a nasty-looking black eye.
    The man indicated his bruised eye with a chuckle. “The wife doesn’t like it when I talk back.”
    Helen said, “Domestic violence is so funny.” She noted Claire’s wary expression. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
    The black-eyed man tried again. “Sorry, Mrs. Scott. My name is Fred Nolan. Maybe we can talk while you take us to the guts of the security system?”
    He was standing close enough that Claire felt the need to step back. “This way.” She started walking toward the garage.
    “Hold up.” Nolan put his hand on her arm. His thumb pressed against the soft underside of her wrist. “The control board for the security system is in the garage?”
    Claire had never taken such an instant, visceral dislike to another human being. She looked down at his hand, willing the skin to freeze to the bone.
    Nolan got the message. He released her arm.
    “As I said, it’s this way.”
    Claire suppressed a shudder as she continued walking. Mayhew walked beside her. Nolan followed closely at her heels. Too close. The man wasn’t just unsettling, he was creepy. He looked more like a mobster than a cop, but he was obviously good at his job. Claire hadn’t done anything criminal—at least not lately—but he’d managed to make her feel guilty anyway.
    Nolan said, “Usually all the security stuff is in the main part of the house.”
    “Fascinating,” Claire mumbled. She could feel a headache working into her temples. Maybe the burglary was a godsend. Instead of spending the next four hours entertaining Paul’s mourners, she would spend half an hour with this asshole before she kicked them all out of the house and took a handful of Valium to bed.
    For complicated reasons Paul had tried to explain, all the security mainframes were in the garage, which was a two-story detached structure built in the same style as the house. Paul’s office on the top floor had a kitchenette, two walk-in closets, and a full bathroom. They had laughed about the space being nicer than a hotel if she ever kicked him out of the house.
    “Mrs. Scott, do you mind my asking why the alarm wasn’t on?” This was from Mayhew. He had taken out a notebook and pen. His shoulders were hunched as if someone had asked him to mimic a character from a Raymond Chandler novel.
    Claire said, “I always leave the alarm off for the caterers. The gate was closed.”
    His mustache twitched. “The caterers have the front gate code?”
    “And a key to the main house.”
    “Anyone else have a key?”
    The