Page 167 of The Woman Left Behind

“You got it, Harry,” Polly replied, wading into the bullpen.

Harry returned to his office to lock his computer screen and put away anything anyone shouldn’t see if his office was needed.

Sean knocked on the door. He had a carefully composed expression on his face that Harry knew was him keeping a lock on losing his mind at what these women had been forced to endure. He also had a woman hovering behind him.

Harry nodded and walked out, closing the door.

His phone vibrated in his hand.

He looked at the screen.

It was Wade.

He took the call.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Did the usual drive-by Farrell’s house, got flagged down by a neighbor. She asked me to check something out. Harry, I need another unit and permission to enter his garage under exigent circumstances.”

Harry walked swiftly toward the back of the station. “What are the circumstances?”

“Something’s dead in there, Harry. I’m standing at the door, and even outside, I can smell it.”

Fuck.

“Wait for me. I’m on my way. We have a situation at the station, everyone here is busy. Call dispatch to send a unit out to you.”

“Got it.”

“Be there soon.”

“Later, Harry.”

He disconnected.

Harry pushed out the back door, jogged to his cruiser, pulled himself in, took the time to text Rus what was going on.

And then he headed to Roy Farrell’s house.

FORTY

I’m Going to Find You

Harry

Harry stood in Roy Farrell’s living room, letting the feeling of dread that had been creeping since he gagged his way through walking up to a very dead Farrell in his car move over him.

The living room was clean. Not just tidy, clean.

Floors vacuumed. No dust on the furniture. Even the fucking pillows were fluffed.

The kitchen, an entirely different story.

Dirty dishes in the sink. A full dishwasher that hadn’t been started. Crumbs and spills on the counter. Coffee forming mold in the coffeemaker.

Same with the bedroom and laundry room.

Unmade bed. Dirty clothes on the floor. Overflowing hampers in the laundry room.

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