Zero Sum, Book One, Kotov Syndrome by Russell Blake

enjoyed watching the crew frantically turning out
the orders and preparing the food, rushing about in a controlled
and well-choreographed pandemonium. They made small talk – she
complaining about her job, he about property taxes being raised on
the boat. They deliberately stayed away from any discussion of
Allied. Jennifer had made it clear she didn’t enjoy that topic, and
at this point, Steven sort of agreed with Jennifer that Allied had
gotten enough of his attention for a while.
    It was a pleasant enough dinner,
although a tension existed between them that was only somewhat
eased by the alcohol. That had been a recurring theme for the last
few weeks, but Steven didn’t know what to do about it. She’d just
turn distant on him, with no explanation.
    Their relationship worked because they
both wanted the same things, or at least they had until recently,
since Jennifer’s younger sister gave birth to a daughter. Ever
since, Jennifer had been probing his sentiment about families and
marriage, but that wasn’t on his radar at the moment. The nesting
noises kept coming up, and he knew he needed to discuss things with
her, but it was bad timing right now, what with all his focus being
on the market and the site. He just wanted to get past this period
and have a more normalized life, and then he’d be in a better
position to consider things with her. He figured they’d work things
out with time. Just not right now.
     
    The beach traffic was dying down as
they returned to the house. Steven pulled into the garage and shut
off the engine, returning the top to its closed position. He kissed
Jennifer softly, but she pulled away from his embrace. The romance
had evidently been put on hold for the evening. Such was life –
he’d long ago given up on trying to predict feminine behavior. They
entered the house, she following him, and she almost ran headfirst
into his shoulder blades.
    He’d stopped abruptly in the hallway
leading into the living room.
    “Steven, what the hell are you...” and
then she saw what had frozen him in his tracks.
    He turned, his hand over her mouth, and
whispered in her ear. “Back out to the car. Now.”
    They moved quickly back into the
garage, and he raised the door and started the engine. He pulled
out, so he could see his front door and garage while parked
diagonally, and dialed 911. Jennifer opened the car door and
quietly vomited her dinner into the street, then sat sobbing
quietly beside him.
    “Newport Beach Police, Emergency,” the
voice on the line declared.
    “I need police at 811 Boardwalk on the
Peninsula immediately. My name is Steven Archer, I live there, and
I’m reporting a break-in and a killing.” Steven’s voice was steady,
with only the slightest quaver to it.
    “Sir, I’m dispatching two cars at once.
What is your location and telephone number, and can you please
describe what’s happened? You’re being recorded.”
    “I’m parked outside the house in a blue
Porsche. I don’t know if the intruders are still inside, or whether
they’re armed or not, but I do know they’ve killed my dog and left
him in the middle of the living room. I’ll stay on the line until
someone gets here.” He choked down some rising bile, caught his
breath. “You should hurry.”
     
    * * * *
     

Chapter 12

    The crime scene van arrived twenty
minutes after the first squad car. According to the police, there
was no sign of a forced entry; and the house appeared undisturbed,
other than the butchered corpse of Avalon lying in a rust-colored
pool of blood on the living room carpet and the heavy metallic
smell of expended bodily fluids sullying the air.
    Avalon’s head had been severed and
placed on the small coffee table in the living room, positioned so
it would appear to be waiting for and watching anyone entering from
the garage. The effect was chilling, and the cruelty and sickness
of it resonated in the room even after the technicians had removed
the remains.
    The police were