The 56th Man Read Online Free PDF

killer or killers still at large, unpleasant
possibilities lurked in every dark corner. While common consensus
was that the perpetrators must be far away by now, there loomed the
risk that they were known to their victims. That they could even be
neighbors.
    It was not a good time for a stranger to be
taking up residence, Ari thought, especially when that stranger was
replacing a family so popular, and so gruesomely displaced.
Especially when that stranger was undeniably foreign, bearing a
striking resemblance to the late Gamal Abdel Nasser, dark
complexion, pencil moustache and all.
    More to the point was the time of murder. The
coroner placed it in the wee hours, a little before or after
midnight. But Howie had told Ari it had happened in broad
daylight.
    Of course, it could have been an
exaggeration. Ari's English was excellent, but he occasionally
misinterpreted figures of speech. Perhaps 'broad daylight' could be
interpreted as 'in a safe and friendly neighborhood like this.'
    The keyboard became greasy from Ari's Fritos.
The snack had been inside one of the five shopping bags on the
kitchen counter. Most everything else looked inedible to him. Even
the milk in the refrigerator seemed bland.
    He plugged his charger into the same
electrical strip used by the computer and slid his cell phone into
the cradle.
     
    After a night spent on the bare wood floor,
Ari set out next morning in search of real food. Fortunately, he
found an Indo-Pak grocery on Hull Street that was heavy on the
cuisine of Northern India which he often favored. Unfortunately,
the store did not take credit cards. A small container of paneer
cubes, some roti wrapped in cellophane, a box of chick peas, a
variety of chaats, and an overabundance of sticky-sweet gulab jamun
all but wiped out his ready cash.
    He next stopped at a Food Lion and
hunted for anything that could be concocted into French cuisine,
for which he had also acquired a taste. But while all the necessary
ingredients were present, he really had no idea how to prepare a
proper coq au vin . He resigned
himself to buying a roaster chicken, some tea bags and a few more
bags of Fritos, which tasted similar to the roasted corn he had
wolfed down as a child, then as a teen, then as an
adult.
    He stopped at a Goodwill and used his credit
card to buy a thin mattress, a thick blanket and a pillow.
    He drove around his new neighborhood a little
bit, investigating the streets, thinking about his new job,
brooding on what Howie had told him about the Riggins family. There
was a harsh separateness about these suburban houses that made the
discreet death of an entire family all too plausible. Sought-for
privacy incurred an unsought isolation. While most of the homes
peppering the south shore were not screened off by thick skirts of
trees and hedgerows, like those of Beach Court, the sense of
inviolable territory was unmistakable—as was emphasized by the
Neighborhood Watch signs that festooned nearly every block and
conceivable entrance. Ari cooked up an inferred greeting for each
door he passed: "Hello! How are you doing? Why are you here? What
do you want? Welcome! Go away!"
     
    He sat before the computer, staring at a
floor plan of this very house, posted by the newspaper several days
after the killings. Employing miniature body outlines similar to
those used at crime scenes, it pinpointed the location of the
bodies as they had been found by the police. Ari clicked on the
image to enlarge it, then printed it out. Hefting the Fritos in the
crook of his arm, he took up the two pages (main and upper
floors--the basement wasn't included) and embarked on a more
informed tour of his house.
    The lead article did not speculate as to whom
had been shot first, but logic would suggest that would be the
chief protector of the household. Ari was culturally inclined to
assume that would be the male. He went downstairs into the living
room. After studying the printout, he stood next to a phantom easy
chair, facing