Free The Liar's Lullaby by Meg Gardiner Page B

dodging oncoming pedestrians. “Who’s got their thumb on your neck, Amy?”
    “You want the list alphabetically, or in order of political throw-weight? The White House wants this to go away. K. T. Lewicki called the mayor to express the administration’s support for our investigation. In other words, the president’s chief of staff wants us to turn off the gas and snuff this story out. Get me something we can use, or we’re going to get squashed.”
    “Still nothing on the search for the bullet?” Jo said.
    “The Tooth Fairy is more likely to put it under your pillow than I and the department are to find it.”
    “The Warren Commission found a magic bullet on a hospital stretcher in Dallas after JFK was assassinated.”
    “Beckett.” Tang’s next words were barked at her in sharply inflected Mandarin. “Don’t you dare inflict that conspiracy garbage on me.”
    “Political paranoia is as American as apple pie and obesity. We dine on it as a nation.”
    “The departmental powers want me to clear the case by the end of the week. Get me something solid, Jo. I need progress by tomorrow so I’ll at least have dog chow to feed to the brass.”
    “On it.”
    “Have you gone to Tasia’s house yet?”
    “Next stop.”
    “Step lively, chickie.”
     
     
    N MP— YOU ARE not Noel Michael Petty, you are NMP, the big bad bastard, the sword of truth —gazed down the hillside. He was invisible in the thick brush, hovering like an angel.
    A man was inside the house below. A man in a shiny blue blazer who had parked in the driveway and jogged to the door, sorting keys in his hand.
    Hours of surveillance were about to pay off. Hours of silent hovering, of waiting for the chance to get inside the house without breaking in, because break-ins brought the police, or left forensic evidence, and— Don’t tell, precious love, promise me —NMP was no fool. And now, finally, the property manager had shown up.
    To Tasia’s house. The battle was about to be joined.
    Blue Blazer Man, quick and skinny, scurried inside the house and shut off a beeping alarm. He opened a window to let in fresh air. He came to the sliding glass patio door and opened it a crack, thank you very much. Then he disappeared.
    NMP waited. Inside that house lay proof, and the truth, and NMP was going to get it, because the truth will set you free.
    A minute later, the front door slammed. Blue Blazer Man got back in his car and sat there, making phone calls.
    NMP slipped down the hillside and ran across the backyard. Noel Michael Petty might have lumbered, or tripped and fallen, but not NMP. He glided inside through the sliding glass door.
    He stood there, dizzy.
    It looked like Tasia. It smelled like Tasia. Slowly he turned his bulk to take in the panorama. In the living room was a grand piano. Sheet music lay on top of it. He balled his fists and pressed them to his mouth.
    Don’t squeal. Don’t gasp. He saw the photos on the walls. Oh, the photos! So many famous people, all lined up to get their picture taken with Tasia.
    He crept along the wall and examined each in detail. He recognized many of them from TV and magazines. Red carpet shots. Awards ceremonies. Tasia singing the national anthem at the Indianapolis 500, wind blowing her hair across her face like a shroud—a portentous shot. To finally see those famous photos firsthand felt like coming home.
    See, Tasia: I know you. I’ve been this close to you, from the beginning.
    This hallway, this house, validated everything. All the hours, the days, the year NMP had spent gaining familiarity with Tasia’s background. Learning about her early life, her school days, her early forays into entertainment; they all showed here. The weekends NMP had spent at the library, the online all-nighters tracing her life through articles and links, images and videos, music downloads, chat room discussion threads about her, snarky comments by know-nothings . . . he had followed her lifeblood, from her beating heart