“Ten minutes ago.”

“What is it?”

“Homicide. First real one we’ve had in twenty years and it’s nasty. It should make you feel right at home.”

DECKER WENT BACK to Sammy’s place and grabbed the car, insisting that Rina stay in Brooklyn and visit Cindy, Koby, and the boys tomorrow. They’d be disappointed if no one made the trip, and he’d most likely be very busy for the next twenty-four hours.

He made it back to Greenbury in two hours and fifteen minutes.

He was famished, although he barely noticed his pangs because as soon as he pulled up in front of the apartment building, his heart began to beat in full throttle. The “crime scene” was a mess and teaming with people who didn’t belong. Nothing was taped off so everyone was tromping around the complex, destroying things like possible shoe prints and tire tracks and trace evidence.

The neighbors were out in droves. Greenbury PD was small. Often, the guys and gals took turns doing uniform duties and detective work. So in a very short time, Decker knew the entire force by name. Stacy Steven, bundled in outerwear to protect her from the frigid temperatures, was guarding the doorway to the building. She was very young and seemed relieved when she spotted Decker. “The captain’s inside. Unit 14.”

“Anyone else here besides you?”

“Yeah, everyone from the department is here. Mike put me in front and told me not to let anyone in or out.”

“When was it reported? The homicide.”

“I don’t know. Mike called all of us down about two hours ago.” She jumped up and down and rubbed her hands together.

“You’ve been out here for two hours?” When she nodded, Decker said, “Let’s see if we can get a change of guard. Actually we should have a few people out here, shooing away the neighbors and putting up some crime scene tape.” No response. “You do have crime scene tape.”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” She paused. “We have traffic cones somewhere.”

“That’ll work. Hang in, Stacy. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes with some help.” He quickly made his way up to the apartment unit, the living room stuffed with police personnel. The windows were wide open letting in the cold night air.

Kevin Butterfield, a ten-year veteran of Greenbury, came up to him. “The body’s in the bedroom. Young and female. Probably a student at the colleges.”

“Is this considered campus housing?”

“It’s a little distant from the main campus, but the colleges have spread out so much over the past ten years, I really don’t know.”

“Anyone from campus police here?”

“Maybe Mike called someone down.”

“I didn’t see any wagon outside. Has anyone from the coroner’s office been here?”

“Mike would know.” He pointed in the direction of an open door. “There’s where all the action is.” Kevin shook his head. “This must be one hell of a welcome for you.”

“Maybe it’s me, Kevin. I just bring sunshine and good cheer wherever I go.”

“ANGELINE MOREAU, TWENTY-TWO, a student at Littleton.” Mike ran his hands through his hair and looked up. “That’s according to the school ID that we found in her desk. It’s kind of hard to make a definite ID because the face is distorted. We may need dental or DNA.”

Decker was looking at the surroundings as the captain spoke. It was a brutal scene. “Did you find a purse and a cell phone?”

“Nope . . . we looked. That immediately brings to mind a robbery, except that she had cash and jewelry in her desk. Maybe he was looking around when she surprised him by walking inside her apartment and all hell broke loose. He took her phone and her purse and made a beeline for the door.”

Decker nodded. “Do you know if the body has been moved?”

“I was here when the manager opened the door and I haven’t left except for a piss. Believe me, no one has touched her. Since it’s a homicide, I’m waiting for a city coroner with homicide experience, not the local doctor who certifies death.”

“Good idea.” Decker’s eyes were on the walls: blood spatter was everywhere. There was ripped bedding and upended furniture—a battle had taken place. “Has anyone started interviewing the neighbors to find out what they heard or saw?”

“I put Jack and Carol on it.”

“And?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Mike, look at this place. It’s a war zone. There had to be plenty of bumps and thumps. We got nosy neighbors in this town. Someone must have parted their blinds.”

“The problem is that the apartment is mostly student rented even though it’s off-campus. It’s a noisy environment—lots of parties with music blasting all the time.”

Decker was still dubious, but he kept it to himself. He didn’t know how the captain would react to being challenged. “This is a huge mess. Do we have tech people who know forensics?”

“We’re working on that as well.” Mike was troubled. “I want to do justice to this girl, Pete. No one wants this screwed up.”

“We all want the same thing.” Decker stared down at the heap that once was a human being. She was already deep in a state of decomposition. “How were you notified? Did someone complain about the smell?”

“Yep.”

“Who opened the windows?”

“I did. It must have been a hundred degrees inside when I got here.”

“Okay.” Decker paused. “Someone cranked up the heat to help the body rot. Did you happen to notice the exact temperature before you opened the windows? If you take into consideration the stage of decomposition and the temperature, it might give us an idea of when she was murdered.”

Mike looked pained. “No, I didn’t. This is what I mean by screwing things up. Can I be frank with you?”

“Always.”

“I can work a homicide. Ben can work a homicide. Kevin can work a homicide. But none of us has done it in years. I’m thinking about calling in reinforcements.”

“Up to you.”

“But then I start thinking, this is my town. I don’t want hotshots walking all over us and telling me how to handle my people. You, on the other hand, are fresh from the trenches. So if you’re up to leading, I think we should give it a go. What do you think?”

“If this were LAPD, I’d say no problem. I could do the whole thing solo. But I am new here . . . neighbors don’t know me well . . . and we’re not exactly high tech.” Decker shrugged. “Give me twenty-four to forty-eight hours to feel everything out and I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough.”

“Right now, we need a police photographer.”

“Jenny photographed every inch of the body that we can see. Like I said, we haven’t moved her.”

“Just make sure that we have doubles and triples of everything and from every angle. It might help us down the line. How long do you think it’ll be before someone from the coroner’s office gets here, Mike?”

“No idea. We’re in New York so it should be them. But we’re closer to Boston. I called both cities. Let’s see who shows up. And I also called CSI and Forensics. If you can think of anything else, I’m listening. Want me to close the windows?”

“No. Keep them open. It’ll slow down the decay.” Decker thought a moment. “She was a student at Littleton—that’s the fine arts college, right?”

“Yes, it is: arts, theater, and acting. You’re thinking about a connection to the cemetery theft?”

“Someone was making phony stained glass. Even if it has nothing to do with the theft, we need to get a team out there to start questioning friends, teachers . . . her classmates. Find out more about who Angeline Moreau was.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “This is going to be an issue, Pete. It’s not that I don’t have faith in my staff. I think we’ve got a great bunch of guys and gals here. And if this was a homicide that had to do with a bar fight or a domestic or even burglary, I’d feel good about assigning any one of our people.

“Problem is, handling the colleges is a delicate situation. We need a seasoned guy. I know you can’t be two places at once, but I can supervise the techs once they get here. I can talk to the coroner. Maybe you should do the interviewing.”