Page 47 of Lies He Told Me

“Oh, no need for a police report,” says David.

Huh? That doesn’t make sense. “Well, for insurance, if nothing else —”

“Nah, I won’t bother with insurance. To clean up some spray paint? The hike in premiums isn’t worth it. You guys have been great.” David starts to backpedal. “Really, thanks for everything. I can take it from here.”

And with that, David disappears through the backyard.

“Weird, right?” Ginny says to Kyle.

“Very.” Kyle looks at his two officers. “What, did they force entry? That damage alone is worth insurance —”

“If they forced entry, it was a pick,” says Ginny. “No damage.”

“And they spray-painted.”

“Yeah, they spray-painted,” says Hatch. “But what I think? What Ginny and I think?” He looks at Ginny. She nods. “We think he knew the alarm code. We think he picked the lock, disarmed the code. Then he reset it when he left.”

“Why do you think that?” Kyle asks.

Ginny this time. “An alarm’s going off, you know youdon’t have much time inside, right? The cops will be coming quickly. And he took the time to write a note in spray paint. That doesn’t seem like something you do if you’re in a hurry to take off.”

“Oh, they wrote a note? They didn’t just spray around?”

“No, they didn’t. It was a note. But here’s the thing, Sarge. He disarms the alarm and leaves a note, spray-paints it on the wall. Right?”

“Okay …”

“Yeah, but then before he leaves, he resets the alarm —but leaves the back door wide open.”

Oh. Right. Kyle’s tracking their thinking now. “He resets the alarm but keeps the door wide open. So after a brief grace period — like thirty seconds, a minute, whatever — that alarm is set, and it will detect the open door and go off again, full bore.”

“Right, and the cops will come. Just like we did.”

“Whoever did this,” says Hatch, “we think he wanted us to come.”

“But … why would he want the cops to come?”

They both raise their shoulders. It doesn’t make sense.

“Okay, well — what does the note say?”

Ginny smirks. She pulls out her phone. “I’ll text you the picture I took,” she says.

FORTY-FIVE

TOMMY MALONE SITS AT a restaurant a mile away from the Bowers house. His earbud is in as he listens to the sounds from the police scanner. Listening in a town like Hemingway Grove is a lot easier than listening to the chatter in a place like Chicago.

“All units, we have a home-alarm distress signal at 343 Cedar, patio door. That’s 343 Cedar.”

“Unit 14 responding.”

“Copy that, 14.”

Tommy takes a sip of his soda, pulls the lettuce out of his turkey BLT.

“Unit 14 to Dispatch. The patio door is open. We’ve announced our office with no response. We’re heading inside.”

“Copy that, 14.”

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