Lloyd?"
She didn't respond. Of course she wasn't all right, and he knew it. Why assure him that she was fine when she wasn't? The only reason she wasn't kicking and screaming was that she lacked the energy that hysteria required. She was too numbed by shock to weep, too shocked to do anything really except stare vacantly through the car window and try to sort through what she'd been told had happened, but which she could not grasp. Impossible. It could not be.
To everyone else this was just another day. Mothers were hustling their children off to school. Professional couples were hurriedly coordinating schedules before kissing one another goodbye. Retirees were sharing the morning newspaper or watching the news shows on TV.
Everyone except her was going about their routine, unscathed and unconcerned. She resented their disregard for her personal tragedy. Her life had just undergone a shattering, irreversible event. From this point forward, nothing would ever be the same. The loss of her sister, her twin, was permanent. It would last forever. Didn't anyone realize that? It seemed inherently wrong that the rest of the world hadn't paused to observe this tragic, life-changing episode.
Besides resenting anyone to whom this was a normal day, she envied their innocence. She desperately wished she could roll back the clock to a time when a scheduling snafu, or a snagged stocking, or a broken fingernail was the crisis of the day. She wanted to return to yesterday, to last night, to an hour ago, when she had been sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the tragedy about to befall her.
But she was lapsing into wishful thinking again. This was all too real, as evinced when they turned the corner onto the block where a murder had taken place. Several emergency and official vehicles were parked haphazardly in the street. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung around the entire perimeter of the house with the smart white shutters and glossy black door. Uniformed men and women were either going about their various tasks or milling around trying to look busy. Along the sidewalks on both sides of the street, neighbors had clustered in small groups. Some were already being questioned by police.
"No witnesses so far," Lewis informed her, noticing the direction of her gaze.
Because of the congestion on the street, the squad car was reduced to a crawl, then Caltrane brought it to a complete stop. "Can't you honk your horn or something?" she asked impatiently.
"Sorry, Ms. Lloyd. It's unfortunate, but a crime scene always attracts a crowd."
When a kid on a bicycle shot out in front of them and popped a wheelie, her tolerance level maxed out. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she shouted, "Let me out of here."
Lewis must have sensed that she was losing control. He motioned Caltrane to pull as close to the curb as possible. Immediately after he got out and opened the rear door, she pushed past him and ran the remainder of the way to the house, ignoring the curious stares of onlookers.
When she ducked beneath the tape, several officers rushed toward her, shouting for her to stop. Heedlessly, she sprinted across the lawn. She made it through the front door and into the entry hall. There, three officers grabbed and restrained her from going farther.
"I must see her.... Let go of me!"
Huffing, Lewis ran in. "This is the victim's sister."
"Twin!" she corrected in what sounded to her own ears to be the ragged scream of a deranged woman. "I want to see her. Please let me go in. I must see her."
"Truly, you don't want to, Ms. Lloyd. Not now." A plain clothes man approached and flashed her his badge. "Senior Corporal Lawson, Homicide Division."
"Let me through, please. Please."
"I understand your need to verify that she's dead, Ms, Lloyd. Believe me, I do."
"Then let me see her."
He shook his head decisively but kept his voice even. "The experts are collecting evidence. The fewer people in there," he said, using a quick motion of his head to
She didn't respond. Of course she wasn't all right, and he knew it. Why assure him that she was fine when she wasn't? The only reason she wasn't kicking and screaming was that she lacked the energy that hysteria required. She was too numbed by shock to weep, too shocked to do anything really except stare vacantly through the car window and try to sort through what she'd been told had happened, but which she could not grasp. Impossible. It could not be.
To everyone else this was just another day. Mothers were hustling their children off to school. Professional couples were hurriedly coordinating schedules before kissing one another goodbye. Retirees were sharing the morning newspaper or watching the news shows on TV.
Everyone except her was going about their routine, unscathed and unconcerned. She resented their disregard for her personal tragedy. Her life had just undergone a shattering, irreversible event. From this point forward, nothing would ever be the same. The loss of her sister, her twin, was permanent. It would last forever. Didn't anyone realize that? It seemed inherently wrong that the rest of the world hadn't paused to observe this tragic, life-changing episode.
Besides resenting anyone to whom this was a normal day, she envied their innocence. She desperately wished she could roll back the clock to a time when a scheduling snafu, or a snagged stocking, or a broken fingernail was the crisis of the day. She wanted to return to yesterday, to last night, to an hour ago, when she had been sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the tragedy about to befall her.
But she was lapsing into wishful thinking again. This was all too real, as evinced when they turned the corner onto the block where a murder had taken place. Several emergency and official vehicles were parked haphazardly in the street. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung around the entire perimeter of the house with the smart white shutters and glossy black door. Uniformed men and women were either going about their various tasks or milling around trying to look busy. Along the sidewalks on both sides of the street, neighbors had clustered in small groups. Some were already being questioned by police.
"No witnesses so far," Lewis informed her, noticing the direction of her gaze.
Because of the congestion on the street, the squad car was reduced to a crawl, then Caltrane brought it to a complete stop. "Can't you honk your horn or something?" she asked impatiently.
"Sorry, Ms. Lloyd. It's unfortunate, but a crime scene always attracts a crowd."
When a kid on a bicycle shot out in front of them and popped a wheelie, her tolerance level maxed out. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she shouted, "Let me out of here."
Lewis must have sensed that she was losing control. He motioned Caltrane to pull as close to the curb as possible. Immediately after he got out and opened the rear door, she pushed past him and ran the remainder of the way to the house, ignoring the curious stares of onlookers.
When she ducked beneath the tape, several officers rushed toward her, shouting for her to stop. Heedlessly, she sprinted across the lawn. She made it through the front door and into the entry hall. There, three officers grabbed and restrained her from going farther.
"I must see her.... Let go of me!"
Huffing, Lewis ran in. "This is the victim's sister."
"Twin!" she corrected in what sounded to her own ears to be the ragged scream of a deranged woman. "I want to see her. Please let me go in. I must see her."
"Truly, you don't want to, Ms. Lloyd. Not now." A plain clothes man approached and flashed her his badge. "Senior Corporal Lawson, Homicide Division."
"Let me through, please. Please."
"I understand your need to verify that she's dead, Ms, Lloyd. Believe me, I do."
"Then let me see her."
He shook his head decisively but kept his voice even. "The experts are collecting evidence. The fewer people in there," he said, using a quick motion of his head to
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