Rhapsody

26: nickel in the jar

The wailing starts late the next morning. Breaking the news to victims' families is the worst part of being a homicide detective, and no matter how much Maverick does it—it never gets easier.

After running her DNA, Maverick discovered that the victim from last night's crime scene was a single mother by the name of Gabriella Johnson. Waitressed at a local spot. No criminal record. And no ties to St. Peter's. Which means Dr. Sorken is either expanding his portfolio of victims, or he's not the killer at all.

There was only one recent change of address a few years ago when she decided to move back into her family's townhome with her son. The place in question is a quaint brownstone on a quiet street in Harlem. A brief overnight snow left a fine layer of slush on the porch, which crunches under Maverick's boots as he shifts his weight. The Johnsons have lived here for nearly twenty years, and in those twenty years, had not so much as a single noise complaint brought against them.

Twenty years of quiet, until now.

He listens to Gabriella's mother wail in grief. There is no amount of "I'm sorry" that will ease her pain, so he chooses to remain silent, hoping his eyes say enough. Gabriella's father approaches the door, tears streaming down his own weathered cheeks, and wordlessly whisks his weeping wife away.

All that's left is Gabriella's younger sister, Natalie, and her older brother, David. Tears well in Natalie's eyes, and David clenches his shaking fists in quiet rage.

"Who did this?" he demands.

Maverick swallows. "That's what I'm trying to find out. Your sister's body wasn't the first. I hope to God she's the last—but I need to know what you know. I'm sorry. I know it's not easy, or timely, but..."

"No." Natalie shakes her head. Another tear falls down her cheek, and she glances at David. "We have nothing to hide. Whoever did this—we want to see them caught."

David nods and moves to the side, gesturing with one arm. "Detective Carson, you said it was? Come in."

Maverick shakes the last of the cold from his shoulders as he steps inside. Light streams into the old brownstone through the windows, softening up the space with a golden glow. A large sectional designates the family room and is covered by soft blankets and plush pillows. Warmth emanates from the kitchen to the left, where the stove hisses and a bowl drips unused batter onto the tile countertop.

Pancakes, Maverick realizes. They were making pancakes.

Natalie splits away to clean up the mess. Meanwhile, David closes the door and leads Maverick further into the living area. Plants sit on the window sill, soaking up the ample light. Beside them, funky little succulents squat in eccentric pots. Hanging vines cascade down from high shelves, framing bookshelves lined with classic literature and religious texts. Other knick knacks decorate the walls. Vacation souvenirs. Family photos. Vibrant crayon drawings.

Maverick's heart aches. Gabriella left behind an eight-year-old son, Jacob, who will have to live with the horrible memory of this morning for the rest of his life.

As he takes a seat on the couch, he notices a lunar chart hanging haphazardly near the fireplace. Yesterday's date is circled in red.

"I'm sorry to drop in so soon after the full moon," Maverick starts. "I uh... I understand it can be a bit exhausting."

David shakes his head. "We manage. We returned early this morning. Don't worry about it. Please, sit."

He obliges. From the kitchen, Natalie asks, "Can I get you anything?"

"No, no thank you," Maverick says. "I don't want to take up too much of your time—I just want to understand." He glances around. "Your family seems close."