Chapter 1
The smell of death seizes the room the instant I cross the threshold, sharp, raw, and consuming. It overwhelms everything, thick with the stench of decomposing flesh, bile, feces, and blood, so pervasive there’s hardly any air left for anything else.
I step carefully around the hanging body. A dark, viscous pool of blood has seeped into the carpet fibers, sticky and congealed, forcing me to watch every step. The body is contorted, limbs askew, fingers curled.
The eyes are haunting: bloodshot and wide open, the whites marbled with red, as if every vessel has ruptured from within. His tongue bulges, swollen and dark purple, protruding between cracked, bruised lips stained with dried spittle. Flies gather in a frenzy, swarming the mouth, crawling in and out of his nostrils, clustering in the matted tangle of hair.
He died in agony, gasping for air, the cord digging mercilessly into his neck, pulled so tight it bites deep into raw flesh, slicing clear through the skin into muscle. Wrists sliced open, no blood on the rope, tight and fraying, tied to the ceiling fan.
“This is terrible,” Zvi says, stepping away from the body and covering his nose with a tissue. He looks pale, almost green. “How can we possibly cover this up as a suicide?”
“It’s been sitting here all weekend, and then Monday through Tuesday… Four to five days,” I say, moving closer to examine the skin around the wrists.
“He hasn’t decomposed enough to help us. The cuts on his wrists are too deep to be self-inflicted. Blood loss that severe would’ve made it impossible for him to get to the rope, let alone stay upright on the chair and tighten the cord,” Zvi says, shaking his head. “You’ve got to do something, Noa. This is going to be all over the news by the end of the day, if it hasn’t already. This is Asher Blau—we’re not talking about some nobody. He was one of the richest men in the country.”
“Eretz went too far this time. Killing Blau, knowing they’re investigating us? This is the last straw,” a voice says from behind me. I turn to find Hallel standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “The café explosion was bad enough, but now this? How are we supposed to spin this into a suicide? The FDLE is already circling us like vultures. They’re watching every move we make.”
“Why did she kill him?” Zvi asks, glancing back at the body. “Eve Blau is still alive. Did she fail her mission?”
“I don’t know. She must have. I haven’t heard anything from her,” Hallel says, stepping beside me and crouching. “Have you been able to reach her?”
I shake my head. “This isn’t Eretz’s style. She wouldn’t go this far. But yes, it does seem like she failed her mission. I haven’t heard a word from her since last week.”
“The Alefbeit? Is this their work?”
I shrug. “Seems like something right up their alley.”
“Then… does this mean Eretz is dead?” Zvi looks at me, his eyes wide.
Silence thickens in the room. I can’t bring myself to answer. Instead, I stand and straighten my coat, stepping away from the corpse. “We need to wrap this up before more officers show. Can you handle it?” I ask Hallel.
She sighs, pulling out her gloves and slipping them on with all the enthusiasm of someone preparing for an execution. “Not really, no.” She grabs her camera and starts snapping photos of the scene. “There’s no way we can tamper with this one. It’s on Assaf’s hands if you can convince him. That is, if they’ll even let us in on the investigation.”
“Great.” Zvi lets out a sharp breath but stops short when we hear footsteps approaching, followed by a gag.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sergeant Hanna bursts into the room, one hand clamped over his mouth and nose. “I could smell this motherfucker from the third floor, how did no one notice—oh, forensics is here already,” he says, glancing between Zvi and Hallel. “Good. Noa, I need you at the station.”
“What’s going on?” I ask him as we step out of the room, trying to sound casual.
“Garcia wants everyone in for a meeting,” he replies, leading us down the corridor beyond the yellow tape. “This guy was someone big. Not exactly liked, it seems, but still, big. The media’s already having a field day with it. His dad died in a car accident just over a year ago, so they’ll be looking into every possibility. They’re going to be all over the department.”
“Of course they are.” I let out a sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “On with the conspiracy theories and paranoia. This is going to be a shitstorm.”
Hanna grimaces. “At this point, even I am starting to believe in these conspiracies.”
“Oh, come on—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Rich people dying left and right? You don’t find that fishy at all?”
“You watch too much Netflix.”
He shrugs. “We called in his sister for questioning—she’s the last one standing in the family now. Eve Blau, eldest child. She might know something about what happened. Maybe even have an idea why he killed himself.”
“Not a suspect?”
“She inherited everything after her father. It makes no sense for her to kill her brother. If she were the one dead, on the other hand… that would definitely have raised eyebrows. But, no, nothing on her so far.” He leans back against the elevator wall, arms crossed. “Perfect alibi, too. Not that we believe she’d have the strength to pull this off in the first place.”
“To be fair, I would have killed myself too, if I were to be born into one of the richest families in the country, but left with nothing except a ruined company teetering on the brink of bankruptcy.”
He snorts, but there’s little humor in it. “That’s bleak, even for you.”
“You think so?”
“Do you really want to know what I think?”
“Don’t start.”
“Try doing the paperwork for these people. Their drama fills half the evidence boxes.”
The elevator doors slide open, and we walk out into the lobby, following Hanna through a sea of journalists crowded outside. He ignores them all, shielding us as we make our way to the patrol car. The crowd clambers for attention, flashes firing in every direction, a cacophony of questions rising above the commotion.
“What can you tell us about Asher Blau’s death?”
“Any evidence of foul play?”
“How long has he been dead?”
“Can you confirm you found the body?”
I roll my eyes and shut the door behind me, fastening my seatbelt as Hanna pulls away from the chaos and onto the street. “They’re like flies, buzzing around shit, looking for something to pick at,” he grumbles. “Just wait until we get to the station, they’ll be waiting for us there too.”
“And here I thought today would be a nice day off,” I mutter.
“You’re lucky you even get days off at all. You know how many cases I have on my desk? I can’t even remember what day it is anymore,” Hanna sighs. “How long does it take to train and hire more officers? We need people in our department.”
“Youngsters nowadays don’t see value in law enforcement. Not when it’s so easy to make a living just sitting on your ass,” I reply, earning an enthusiastic nod from Hanna. I can’t help but smirk at that. How pathetically easy. “Honest, brave work isn’t for everyone, it seems. It’s a shame, really.”
“And so little appreciation for the ones keeping them safe. At least I can say I did my time working for the good of the people, and I’m grateful for that,” he nods again. “If only they knew how much danger there is in this world, the horrors we witness every day…”
“If only they knew,” I echo, glancing out the window as we pull into the parking lot in front of the police station. I watch the reporters clustered outside, bracing myself.
“Ready?” Hanna asks, taking off his seatbelt and stepping out before putting on his hat, steeling himself to face the crowd. I follow suit, pulling my coat closer as I step out into the crisp air.
The reporters immediately surge towards us, bombarding us with more questions as we push through the crowd. Hanna leads me inside, holding the door for me before shutting out the chaos behind us. I let out a breath of relief as the noise dims, rubbing my hands together to coax some warmth into my fingers before glancing up, noticing a tall man leaning against the reception desk. He wears a grim expression and an ill-fitting black beanie, despite the tailored suit. I can clearly see white gauze peeking from beneath the edge at the back of his head.
“Ms. Blau’s driver,” Hanna whispers, nodding toward him.
“In desperate need of fashion advice,” I murmur as we walk past. “Where’s the Chief?”
“Garcia is speaking with her now.”
“How did she react to the news?”
“Let’s both find out, shall we?” Hanna flashes a brief smile, opening the door to the pair of side-by-side mirror rooms usually reserved for suspects. “Microphone’s off. Shame.”
I step inside, my eyes immediately landing on the woman seated at the table. Her shoulders are stiff, face drawn and pale. She clasps her hands tightly on the tabletop, staring at the mirror—at us—as if she can actually see through the glass, clearly not listening to a word Garcia is saying to her.
I’ve seen her before, many times. She’s not the type you’d forget. Not with those looks. Always impossibly elegant, the image of wealth and control. But now she looks hollowed out, as if all her strength and power have drained away.
And I have a suspicion it isn’t grief for her brother—the same brother who ordered her killed—that’s gutting her.
Eretz, she really is dead.
And only then do I notice the woman standing off to the side, arms folded, leaning against the wall like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, every strand in place. Her striking features are made even bolder by olive skin set against piercing silver-blue eyes. She looks sculpted from marble. Sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, all hard lines and cold beauty.
Crisp white button-up, neatly pressed and tucked into tailored black pants. Her stance rigid, her gaze intense as she studies Eve. Dangling from her belt, a sleek golden badge.
FBI.
