FiFty Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

HARRY

The ride only took an hour from Bloch's house in Edgewater to Franklin Street, but Harry was already regretting his decision to drive. A twenty-year-old convertible with a soft roof is not the ideal car for a long drive on a cold night. A light snow began to fall and a steady drip of water started to flow onto Harry's left thigh from a leak in the roof. At his age, Harry felt the cold more assuredly than most. His scarf and long overcoat were pulled tight around him, collar up, gloves on, and still he shivered.
The conversation wasn't much warmer. Bloch had wanted Harry to drive. She had to concentrate, think things over. Harry didn't object, but he wished he had now.
Harry had barely gotten a dozen words out of Bloch. Her address. 'Wait here,' when they arrived at her house, and then, 'Let's go,' when she got back into the car. That's it. They were now only a few minutes from Franklin Street.
'Don't park outside the house. Drive by. Park in the next street,' said Bloch.
They drove past the house where Frank Avellino had been so brutally slain. It was in darkness. Cold as the night. Harry did as she asked, and parked a block away.
'I swear to God it's warmer outside,' said Harry as he stepped onto the sidewalk. Bloch unfolded herself from the little green sports car. She stretched her back, and looked down at the car with disapproval.
'It's a classic,' said Harry.
'It's a shitbox,' said Bloch, retrieving a bag from the front seat.
They made their way in the light snowfall to the house. There were few
people on the street, and no one in Franklin Street save for the occasional passing car. Harry took a beanie hat from his coat pocket and put it on his head, pulling it down over his ears as far as it would go. Bloch didn't seem to mind the cold, and if she did, it didn't show.
She put on a pair of green leather gloves and opened her bag as she approached the front door of the house. She took something from the bag and climbed the three steps leading to the door. She stood there, making it look as though she was fumbling for the keys to the lock with cold hands. Harry stood behind, blocking the view of any passing cars as best he could while he listened
 
to the whirr and buzz from what sounded like a small drill.
They were at the door for thirty seconds, no more, when he heard the lock
engage and the door swung inward.
No words passed between them as they stepped inside and Bloch closed the
door behind Harry.
She gave him a small flashlight, no bigger than a pen, and said, 'Keep the
light away from the window.'
'Don't you think Dreyer would've let you and Kate come back here to inspect
the place after you filed your appeal?' asked Harry.
'And how long would that take?' she asked.
It wasn't a question so much as an end to the matter. Technically, this was
breaking and entering. Not the first time he's been on the wrong side of the law. It was surprisingly difficult being friends with Eddie Flynn and staying on the straight and narrow. Sooner or later Eddie led everyone astray – for the right reasons, of course.
At least the house was warm. The heating was on a timer, to keep the pipes from bursting in the cold. He followed Bloch into the kitchen. It was different to the last time he'd been here but at first Harry couldn't quite figure out why. Bloch opened the fridge, slowly, just an inch or two. She didn't want to flood the place with light. She dipped her head toward the open fridge door, and Harry came over to take a look. Inside it was empty. They'd even taken the shelves. It was then that he realized what had changed. The last time he was here some of the cupboards had glass panes, displaying crystal wine glasses, high-balls, and whiskey glasses. Now, there was nothing behind those decorative panes. Harry opened a drawer. No cutlery.
A quick sweep of the kitchen revealed every mug, cup, glass, bowl, plate, pan, knife and fork had been removed for testing. Everything that could've been used to eat, drink, or cook was gone. They had even ripped the dishwasher out and taken that with them, too.
'And not a trace of Haloperidol on any of it,' muttered Harry.
Bloch said nothing. Instead she moved upstairs. She was taking the same path that Harper had taken in the video. Looking at the same things, trying to see what she had seen.
Sighing, Harry followed her to the top floor. To Frank Avellino's bedroom.
The double doors leading to the bedroom lay open. Bloch stood on the threshold, her flashlight angled into the room. Her eyes followed the beam as it slowly swept, first the floor, and then every corner. She took a step forward, and then another, all the while the torch moved slowly, her focus absolute.
'See anything?' said Harry.

Bloch didn't reply. He wasn't even sure she had heard him. Harry moved into the room, keeping a respectful distance behind Bloch, not wanting to fall beneath her flashlight beam. The floors were solid. Not a single creak no matter where you stepped. Harry kept his flashlight on the floor, and as Bloch came to the bed, and zeroed her attention on the bloodstained mattress, Harry moved toward the en suite bathroom. Most of the blood had soaked into the bed, there was little on the floor. It was rich, thick pale carpet. The stains stood out. Spatter only. No pools of blood. Both women had heavy bloodstains on their clothes, which they said came from holding their father to see if he was still alive. Hard to disprove that assertion. Harry had seen the photographs, and anyone who came into contact with Frank Avellino in that bedroom would've been a bloody mess.
There was a nightstand table with no books on it. Just a lamp and some tissues. A chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room looked untouched. A mirror rested on top of it, and the blood spatter had not reached this far. Harry pointed his flashlight at the ceiling. There was nothing there. No stains. And apart from some streaks on the wall above the bed, there was no staining on the walls either.
Bloch took her time, getting close to the bloodstains, the only real physical evidence that remained in the house. Harper had spent time doing the same. Harry watched, but after a while he could no longer tell exactly what Bloch was looking for. He turned off his flashlight, opened the door to the en suite and went inside. There were no windows in the bathroom, and Harry closed the door and flicked on the lights. There was no shower – just a toilet and small sink. It had probably once been a closet. There was a large and luxurious bathroom next to Frank's bedroom with a Jacuzzi tub and shower big enough to fit a basketball team.
A combination of the cold and time meant Harry needed to use the bathroom. He lifted the toilet seat, and bit the finger on one glove when he heard something. He stopped dead, a chill running over his skin.
'Harry!' came the shout, again.
It was Bloch.
'There's no windows in here. I needed to put the light on to use the john.
Sorry, I'm an old man.'
'Harry!' came the shout again, more urgent this time.
'What is it?'
'Come out,' said Bloch.
Harry turned one hundred and eighty degrees and took two steps forward. He
reached for the handle. Grabbed it, turned it slowly. The metal catch groaned as it was turned.

'Stop,' said Bloch.
'What?'
'Are you turning the handle?'
'Yes. Don't worry about that noise. The mechanism squeaks. It's just me.'
As much as Harry liked Kate, he wasn't warming to Bloch so much. She
hardly spoke, and had as much personality as the john behind him. Still, he knew she was smart and spoke when she had something to say, irrespective of how she said it. If Harry was on a case, he'd want Bloch with him, but he knew that he wouldn't want to share a beer with her after hours. At his age he didn't think he could survive too many of Bloch's conversations.
He turned the handle, slowly. The handle stopped once it had fully turned, and Harry flicked off the light and opened the door. He came out to see Bloch staring at him, a strange look on her face.
'I know why Harper was killed,' she said.
Harry's lips moved, and a sound even came out, but it wasn't a word. He just mumbled until he'd recovered enough to get control of his tongue.
'Y-Y-You what?'
Bloch's lips parted, she breathed in, about to tell him what she'd discovered while Harry was in the john, but she never got started. Instead, her eyes flared wide. Both of them stood still.
There was a noise.
A door closing.
The front door. A metallic slam and jangle as keys were dumped on the
marble kitchen top. Someone was downstairs.
Bloch put her index finger to her lips. Harry stood very still. He took shallow
breaths, and held Bloch's gaze. If the cops were downstairs, they were in serious trouble. If it was Sofia, they had a lot of explaining to do.
'Under the bed. Now. Quietly,' whispered Bloch.
Harry got down on his hands and knees, then lay flat on the floor. The bed was tall enough for his purposes, and he shuffled his body beneath it. Bloch came in from the other side. They could see the open door to the bedroom. No lights on in the hallway. Not yet. They were trapped up there. Bloch took out her phone and began typing.