The Big Exit Read Online Free Page A

extra money he makes above and beyond
     his current salary to help support her family in Nicaragua. He agrees, it makes a lot of sense, but he just isn’t the type
     of guy who sees himself hustling for consulting or private-eye gigs, which means he’ll be stuck at home having his wife hassle
     him about getting extra work so they can send more money to her relatives. And he’ll feel guilty if he doesn’t.
    “You’re always complaining about the politics, the silly problems,” she keeps reminding him. “Why do you stay? For what?”
    For this
, he thinks, as he exits the neighbors’ home and is greeted by a barrage of flashing red, blue, and white lights. With the
     help of the fire department and the Atherton police, they’ve closed off the end of the block and set up a wide perimeter.
     The line extends around the neighboring houses, designated part of the crime scene because the killer could have entered and
     exited the property from any direction and left trace evidence yards away from the body. From the MPPD, all four on-duty patrol
     officers, plus three detectives are at the scene, along with half the fire department and two ambulances. And more folks are
     on the way. While they haven’t had a murder in Menlo Park in over a year, one thing Madden can count on: whenever there is
     a killing, it’s all hands on deck; everyone wants a piece of the action.
    The victim’s house is on a street called Robert S Drive, a cul-de-sac lined with very pricey homes. A block to the north,
     on the other side of Valparaiso, is the even wealthier enclave of Atherton, where plenty of properties fetch $5 million and
     higher. But Menlo Park’s Robert S rivals Atherton in terms of affluence and exclusivity. For years the same families lived
     on the block and turnover was rare. But the Great Recession reached even this moneyed patch and Madden had heard that a couple
     of homes had gone up for sale in the last few years. This must have been one of them.
    The McGregor-Hill property, like some of the neighboring homes, has a gate that controls access to the driveway. Madden has
     ordered that it be kept shut and that no one be allowed through the door to the right of the driveway without his approval.
     Passing through the little checkpoint at the door, he reminds the officer at the gate, a freckled, red-haired guy named John
     Frawley, to keep off his radio. The longer they can keep the media away, the better.
    The McGregor-Hill home has a bit of French country flair to it, with a stucco exterior, small balconies on the upper-floor
     windows, and a high-pitched gray slate roof. Even at nighttime, Madden can see the property is heavily landscaped. He hadn’t
     really considered the house’s size before, but now he guesses it’s probably a good six to seven thousand square feet, and
     that doesn’t include the detached three-car garage (with a second-floor guest room), where they’d found the body.
    The garage isn’t right next to the house, but a bit behind it and off to the side. Down at the end of the driveway, standing
     in front of a twelve-foot-wide blue privacy shield that’s been erected in front of the entrance to the garage, he sees Greg
     Lyons looking down at his Black-Berry, tapping out a message with latex gloves on his hands. He’s in his late thirties, a
     fit-looking guy who wears his longish blond hair in a ponytail.
    Madden always marvels that if you were to see Lyons sitting at a coffee shop your first thought would be that he’s some sort
     of artist, a guise perpetuated by his smoking habit. You’d never guess he was the San Mateo County chief deputy coroner in
     charge of the Investigations and Pathology unit.
    “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Minimum Wage Madden himself,” Lyons greets him in his navy blue windbreaker with the Coroner’s Office
     logo on the front. “Looks like you folks caught yourself a big one. The hits, they just keep coming, don’t they?”
    “Apparently so,” Madden