Read Online The General's Daughter by Nelson DeMille - Free Book Online
Authors: Nelson DeMille
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never know who’s inside a house, and when the subject is murder, you proceed with caution.
Where the patio met the back wall of the house was a basement window well, which meant these units had basements, which also
meant a tricky descent down an exposed staircase. Maybe I’d send Ms. Gung Ho down there first. In any case, the window well
was covered with a Plexiglas bubble that was bolted to the outside wall, so that no one could get out that way.
To the right of the sliding doors was a door that opened into the kitchen. There was a buzzer there, and I pushed it. I waited
and rang again, then tried the doorknob, which is a good idea before breaking and entering.
I should have gone straight to the Midland city police, of course, as Colonel Kent suggested, and the police would have been
happy to get a search warrant, and happier still to be included in the search of the victim’s house. But I didn’t want to
bother them with this, so I found the house key on Ann Campbell’s key chain and unlocked the door. I entered the kitchen,
then closed the door behind me and relocked it.
On the far side of the kitchen was a solid-looking door that probably led to the basement. The door had a bolt, which I slid
closed, so if someone was down there, he or she was locked in.
Having secured my rear, or perhaps having cut off my line of retreat, I moved unarmed and cautiously went through the house
to the front door and opened it, letting Cynthia in. We stood there in the cool, air-conditioned foyer a moment, looked around,
and listened. I motioned for Cynthia to draw her pistol, which she did, a .38 Smith &; Wesson. That done, I shouted, “Police!
Stay where you are and call out!” But there was no reply. I said to Cynthia, “Stay here and he prepared to use that.”
“Why do you think I’m carrying the fucking thing?”
“Good point.”
Bitch.
I walked first to the coat closet and pulled the door open, but no one was standing there with a tent peg in his hand. I
moved from room to room on the ground floor, feeling a little silly, ninety-nine percent sure the house was empty, but remembering
a case when it wasn’t.
A staircase led from the foyer to the second floor, and staircases, as I indicated, are dangerous, especially if they squeak.
Cynthia positioned herself at the base of the stairs, and I bounded up three steps at a time and flattened myself against
the upstairs hallway wall. There were three doors coming off the upstairs hallway, one open, two closed. I repeated my order
to stay put and call out, but again no answer.
Cynthia called up to me, and I looked down the stairs. She was halfway up and pitched the Smith &; Wesson underhand. I caught
it and motioned her to stay where she was. I flung open one of the closed doors, dropped into a firing stance, and shouted,
“Freeze!” But my aggressiveness did not provoke a response. I peered into the unlit room and saw what appeared to be a spare
bedroom, sparsely furnished. I closed the door, then repeated the procedure with the second closed door, which turned out
to be a large linen closet. Despite all the acrobatics, I knew that if there was anyone up there with a gun who wanted to
use it, I’d be dead by now. But you have to go through the drill. So I spun back against the hallway wall and glanced inside
the door that had been open. I could see a large bedroom and another door that led to a bathroom. I motioned Cynthia to come
up the stairs and handed her the Smith &; Wesson. “Cover me,” I said, and entered the large master bedroom, keeping an eye
on the sliding doors of the closet, and the open bathroom. I picked up a bottle of perfume from the dressing table and threw
it in the bathroom, where it shattered. Recon by fire, as we used to say in the infantry, but again I did not provoke a response.
I gave the bedroom and bathroom a quick look, then rejoined Cynthia, who was in a crouched firing stance off to the
Where the patio met the back wall of the house was a basement window well, which meant these units had basements, which also
meant a tricky descent down an exposed staircase. Maybe I’d send Ms. Gung Ho down there first. In any case, the window well
was covered with a Plexiglas bubble that was bolted to the outside wall, so that no one could get out that way.
To the right of the sliding doors was a door that opened into the kitchen. There was a buzzer there, and I pushed it. I waited
and rang again, then tried the doorknob, which is a good idea before breaking and entering.
I should have gone straight to the Midland city police, of course, as Colonel Kent suggested, and the police would have been
happy to get a search warrant, and happier still to be included in the search of the victim’s house. But I didn’t want to
bother them with this, so I found the house key on Ann Campbell’s key chain and unlocked the door. I entered the kitchen,
then closed the door behind me and relocked it.
On the far side of the kitchen was a solid-looking door that probably led to the basement. The door had a bolt, which I slid
closed, so if someone was down there, he or she was locked in.
Having secured my rear, or perhaps having cut off my line of retreat, I moved unarmed and cautiously went through the house
to the front door and opened it, letting Cynthia in. We stood there in the cool, air-conditioned foyer a moment, looked around,
and listened. I motioned for Cynthia to draw her pistol, which she did, a .38 Smith &; Wesson. That done, I shouted, “Police!
Stay where you are and call out!” But there was no reply. I said to Cynthia, “Stay here and he prepared to use that.”
“Why do you think I’m carrying the fucking thing?”
“Good point.”
Bitch.
I walked first to the coat closet and pulled the door open, but no one was standing there with a tent peg in his hand. I
moved from room to room on the ground floor, feeling a little silly, ninety-nine percent sure the house was empty, but remembering
a case when it wasn’t.
A staircase led from the foyer to the second floor, and staircases, as I indicated, are dangerous, especially if they squeak.
Cynthia positioned herself at the base of the stairs, and I bounded up three steps at a time and flattened myself against
the upstairs hallway wall. There were three doors coming off the upstairs hallway, one open, two closed. I repeated my order
to stay put and call out, but again no answer.
Cynthia called up to me, and I looked down the stairs. She was halfway up and pitched the Smith &; Wesson underhand. I caught
it and motioned her to stay where she was. I flung open one of the closed doors, dropped into a firing stance, and shouted,
“Freeze!” But my aggressiveness did not provoke a response. I peered into the unlit room and saw what appeared to be a spare
bedroom, sparsely furnished. I closed the door, then repeated the procedure with the second closed door, which turned out
to be a large linen closet. Despite all the acrobatics, I knew that if there was anyone up there with a gun who wanted to
use it, I’d be dead by now. But you have to go through the drill. So I spun back against the hallway wall and glanced inside
the door that had been open. I could see a large bedroom and another door that led to a bathroom. I motioned Cynthia to come
up the stairs and handed her the Smith &; Wesson. “Cover me,” I said, and entered the large master bedroom, keeping an eye
on the sliding doors of the closet, and the open bathroom. I picked up a bottle of perfume from the dressing table and threw
it in the bathroom, where it shattered. Recon by fire, as we used to say in the infantry, but again I did not provoke a response.
I gave the bedroom and bathroom a quick look, then rejoined Cynthia, who was in a crouched firing stance off to the
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