Pescoli eyed the pieces of her put-it-together-yourself burger. “Just ketchup.”
“I’m good,” Alvarez said, and Misty, slanting a look at Pescoli’s belly, turned to a table tucked near the swinging doors to the kitchen, where rows of condiments were lined like tiny plastic soldiers getting ready for a twenty-mile march. She retrieved a squirt bottle of ketchup and dropped it onto the table as Pescoli began placing the sliced onion, lettuce, and tomato on the open face of her cheeseburger.
Pescoli asked, “No DNA?”
“No. And due to decomp, not much we could find on the body, like blood from the assailant if there was some. The only reason we got the bits of latex is that it doesn’t decompose quickly, even though it’s biodegradable.”
> “Long shelf life.”
“Yeah.” Alvarez drizzled a little dressing onto her salad and dug in.
Once her sandwich was stacked and the French fries covered with ketchup, Pescoli took a bite and nearly sighed in relief. The burger tasted like heaven. As for the fries, she might taste them all afternoon, but she didn’t care. For now, she could quiet the rumbling in her belly, satisfy her hunger, and regroup before the next interview.
* * *
The Justison residence was one of a dozen or so imposing houses that had been built along the ridge overlooking the river, all with views of the falls for which the town was named. Most of the homes had been built before the turn of the last century, and from the street they stood, constructed of brick and stone, their mullioned windows sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
“What do we know about this kid, other than that he dated the victim, graduated from the local high school, and was a wrestler?” Pescoli asked.
“Is. He still wrestles for the University of Montana.”
“So not that far away,” Pescoli said. “A road trip to Missoula, weather permitting, takes less than an hour.”
“Uh-huh. He lives near campus during the year, but, as I understand it, he’s home for the summer. He’s had a few minor brushes with the law, but Mom and Dad have worked hard to make sure all charges have been dropped.”
“What’s he doing this summer?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.” She pulled into the drive.
The Justison home was a boxy Georgian building constructed of red brick, paned windows, and a wide front porch flanked by gas-lit sconces. Black shutters framed floor-to-ceiling windows, a wrought-iron balcony rail stretched overhead and matched the fence surrounding the yard. A huge chandelier was poised to illuminate the porch, and a fountain splashed and bubbled in the center of the lawn. All in all, the home was imposing, a mansion by Grizzly Falls’s standards.
Alvarez parked in front of a building that appeared to be a carriage house that had been converted into a garage. Out with the horses, in with a Ford Minivan or Ferrari or Prius, depending on one’s taste. The mayor, who had once proclaimed to want a simpler life, had apparently done very well for herself since her move to western Montana.
A dusty four-by-four was parked in front of the garage. A Jeep Wrangler. The same rig had been parked at Reservoir Point the night before and, as they’d already discovered, was registered to Donald Justison Junior.
So, unless Donny had gone off with a friend or his mother, he was home.
Good.
Alvarez and Pescoli headed to the grand porch with its front door—actually, two huge doors—flanked by narrow beveled windows and guarded by flowerpots overflowing with blooms of red, white, and blue. The sidelights offered a glimpse into a marble-floored foyer with a sweeping staircase. Alvarez poked the doorbell and heard the peal of chimes from within. Then silence. No footsteps. They waited on the brick stoop, Alvarez noting a few honeybees buzzing through the hedge of lavender that grew beneath the windows of the first story, Pescoli tapping the toe of one boot impatiently.
Still no sign of life from inside the house.
Selena exchanged a look with Pescoli, who, swearing under her breath, hit the bell and held it down for a full five seconds. She was sweating, now shifting from one foot to the other, as the chimes rang. “He’s here,” she said. “The little coward. Probably saw us pull up.”
Selena wasn’t so sure.
Pescoli shook her head in frustration. She was due to have the baby within the month, her leave of absence slated to begin next week, all things being equal. Which they weren’t. But now, despite the impending birth, she knew she wouldn’t want to leave the department until the case was solved.
“Screw this,” Pescoli muttered and took a swipe at the perspiration beading her brow. “He’s not home or not answering . . . or—wait a sec.” Holding up a finger, she cocked her head, and that’s when they both heard the familiar slap of a basketball hitting concrete, then the accompanying thwang of a hoop as a ball bounded against it. With a hitch of her head toward the corner of the house near the garage, Pescoli said, “Let’s go.”
They skirted the house, followed the driveway to the backyard, then stepped through an open wrought-iron gate, which had been cut into a ten-foot-high hedge of arborvitae. Inside, they saw Donald Justison Junior, shirtless, in basketball shorts, shooting hoops at a private sport court that, Alvarez noted, appeared to be multipurpose, if someone preferred tennis over basketball.
Only nineteen, he was definitely a man, and a big one at that, several inches over six feet. With a mop of brown hair, now covered in sweat, and sculpted muscles that gleamed beneath hair that grew not only on his legs but on his arms and the backs of his hands, he moved quickly around the court. His chest was shaved, but growing back to shadow his pecs and arrow down into his shiny silver shorts, which hung low on his waist.
He must’ve caught sight of them from the corner of his eye as he launched an arcing shot that hit the rim, robbing him of his expected three points. He swore under his breath, then jogged after the ball, which was bouncing toward a corner of the court. He grabbed it, spun, tried for a short jumper; missed. Another quiet oath under his breath. No wonder he was a wrestler rather than on the basketball team.
“Donald Justison Junior?” Pescoli asked.