Murder Thy Neighbor Read online

  The crimes in this book are 100% real. Certain elements of the stories, some scenes and dialogue, locations, names, and characters have been fictionalized, but these stories are about real people committing real crimes, with real, horrifying consequences.

  Copyright © 2020 by James Patterson

  Cover design by Jonathan Bush

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  ISBN 978-1-538-75243-2

  LCCN 2020937305

  E3-20200806-DA-PC-ORI

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Murder Thy Neighbor

  Part 1 Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part 2 Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Part 3 Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Murder in IRL Prologue

  Part 1 Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part 2 Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Part 3 Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Discover More

  About the Authors

  More by James Patterson

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  Murder Thy Neighbor

  James Patterson

  with Andrew Bourelle

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  March 25, 1997

  At a quarter to nine in the morning, Judge Stacy Moreno sits in her chambers at the Allegheny County Courthouse in Pittsburgh, reviewing the file of the case she is about to hear.

  Moreno’s office is austere, with no file out of place, no disorganized stack of papers to be seen. The shelves are lined with law books. The judge’s robe hangs from a hook on the back of the door.

  The case she is reviewing is an appeal of an earlier ruling.

  Both the city’s building and health departments have levied fine after fine against a homeowner named Roy Kirk, who bought one half of a row house in an up-and-coming neighborhood known as North Hills Estates, in the Oakland section of Pittsburgh. Apparently, the long-abandoned house needed a lot of work, but the work never got done. In fact, according to complaints from the neighbors, the house is in a greater state of disrepair now than when Kirk bought it.

  A woman named Ann Hoover, who owns the adjoining house, has pushed again and again for the city to do something about the problem. She is scheduled to appear in court to testify against Kirk.

  Hoover’s property and Kirk’s share a yard, a porch, and a roof. She is the most affected, but there are other neighbors involved, many claiming that Kirk’s property is an eyesore that is bringing down the home values of the whole neighborhood. Judging from the photographs in the file, the judge can see why everyone is upset.

  The place is a dump.

  The siding is in desperate need of a paint job. Some of the windows are broken and boarded up. The roof is missing so many shingles that bare patches of plywood are clearly visible. And the lawn is not only overgrown with weeds, it’s also full of garbage bags, as if Kirk has been using it as his own personal trash heap.

  Kirk’s appeal today claims that he is making a good-faith effort to restore the property, and that fines will only hinder his ability to get the work done.

  Judge Moreno checks her watch and sees that it’s 8:59. She rises from her cushioned chair and fastens her judge’s robe around her. At nine o’clock on the dot, she steps through the door at the back of her chambers, which takes her directly to the raised bench overlooking the courtroom.

  “All rise!” the bailiff announces. “The Honorable Judge Stacy Moreno now presiding.”

  Everyone in the courtroom rises.

  “Thank you,” Moreno says. “Please be seated.”

  From her elevated position, she can see everything in the courtroom clearly: the court reporter seated close to the bench, ready to take notes; the jury box, empty for the purposes of this hearing; the bailiff’s dais, off to one side. The gallery is unusually full of spectators—presumably neighbors, all interested in the outcome of the hearing.

  And front and center, of course, the tables where the plaintiffs and defendants—and their lawyers—are meant to sit.

  A lawyer from the solicitor’s office represents the city. But the lawyer for Roy Kirk sits alone. There’s no sign of his client.

  Kirk’s lawyer rises, looking embarrassed, and asks if they can have a short recess as he tries to get in touch with his client.

  “Your Honor,” the assistant city solicitor interjects, “I support the motion for a short recess. Mr. Kirk’s neighbor, Ann Hoover, is also not here. She is a key witness for the city.”

  Judge Moreno purses her lips, thinking. It’s highly unusual for neither the defendant nor the key witness to show up.

  “Aren’t these two next-door neighbors?” she says.

  A woman in the second row of the gallery stands up an
d catches the judge’s attention.

  “Your Honor, if I may,” the woman says. “I live in the neighborhood. We went by Ann’s home on the way to the courthouse this morning. We’d made arrangements to all come together.”

  She gestures to a man seated next to her—another neighbor, apparently—who nods his head in agreement. Both the man and the woman look concerned.

  “There was no answer at her door,” the woman continues. “I’m worried about her. I think something might have happened.”

  Judge Moreno thanks her and asks her to be seated. All eyes in the courtroom stare back at her.

  “Bailiff,” she says, turning to her longtime court official, “contact the Pittsburgh police and ask them to send someone to check on the whereabouts of Ann Hoover and Roy Kirk.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Judge Moreno turns back to the courtroom.

  “Let’s get to the bottom of this,” she says. “Attorneys, please contact me in my chambers if you hear from either Mr. Kirk or Ms. Hoover. We’ll be in recess until we hear something.”

  With that, she smacks her gavel down on its block, and the bailiff once again says, “All rise!”

  Judge Moreno walks back to her chambers with a sinking feeling. She can’t explain it, but she feels certain the courtroom will not be called back to order today.

  Chapter 2

  Ten months earlier

  As Ann Hoover’s fingers dance over the keys of her Steinway piano, the notes of Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2 float through her home. The hardwood floors and decorative brick walls make for good acoustics, one of the many things she loves about her house, where she’s lived for the past decade.

  She takes a break from playing, plucking her half-full wineglass off the smooth surface of the piano, and walks down the hall to the front of the house, then steps out on the porch to enjoy the sunset. The humidity of the day seems to be breaking, and the temperature isn’t quite as suffocating as it’s been. The warm glow of dusk fills the neighborhood.

  Ann watches a teenage girl walking a dog, a man pedaling by on a bicycle, and a couple taking a stroll together, sharing an ice cream cone they bought down the street.

  Ann loves this neighborhood.

  The houses are affordable because most of them need some work. That was the case with hers. After she bought it, she had to put some serious effort into repairing it. As a capable single woman in her midthirties at the time, she did a little bit of the work herself—patching drywall, painting, even installing tile in the bathroom—but mainly she relied on friends or hired contractors to do the work. She learned a lot about what it takes to restore and maintain a house like this. It wasn’t easy, but she loves the results.

  The house is two stories tall, with additional space in the basement, and she’s renovated and decorated it to be exactly the way she wants it.

  There’s only one thing she doesn’t like about the house.

  It’s also the only thing she doesn’t like about the neighborhood.

  The house next door.

  Ann’s home is a row house, meaning it’s half of a single building. When she purchased her property, it didn’t look much different from the one next door. But there haven’t been any buyers interested in the other side, which has continued to fall into disrepair. The FOR SALE sign sitting out front is hardly visible from all the weeds growing in front of it.

  The house itself looks unappealing. Paint is flaking off all the exterior siding. The roof is full of bald spots where shingles have blown off in windstorms. The wooden supports holding the porch are rotten. Bricks have come loose from the foundation.

  Just standing next to the place is spoiling her mood.

  She takes her glass and heads back inside. She debates whether to crack open a new bottle and decides to indulge herself. She heads to the basement, where she keeps a small wine cabinet.

  The wooden steps creak underfoot as she descends, and the temperature drops ten degrees, like she’s walking into a cave. The basement is dark, with cobwebs hiding in the exposed floor joists above her. She hurries across the concrete floor to the cabinet, which abuts the brick foundation wall her home shares with the neighboring property. She plucks out a bottle of cabernet and heads back upstairs.

  At the top of the stairs, she glances at a series of signatures written in permanent magic marker adorning the basement door. These were all the friends who helped her renovate the house after she bought it—she’d asked them to sign the door when she’d hosted a housewarming party after the work was finally finished.

  After she pours herself a new glass, Ann walks back to the piano and sits down, her fingers poised over the keys. She takes a deep breath.

  But as she’s about to play the first notes, she stops herself. She cocks her head. Did she hear something?

  She rises from her seat and heads back to the front door. She peeks out the sidelight and sees that a truck has pulled up in front of the neighboring property. A young man, probably in his midtwenties, is unloading tools from the truck bed.

  She can’t believe it.

  She steps out onto the front porch as the man comes up the walk, holding a circular power saw in one hand and an extension cord in the other.

  “Excuse me,” she says. “Are you from the realtor’s office?”

  She’s been trying to get them to repair the roof. The house needs work all over, but the roof is her main worry. She’s afraid it might start leaking onto her side of the property, causing damage inside the walls.

  “Nope,” says the man, grinning broadly. “I own the place. I just bought it.”

  Ann can’t help but smile.

  “Oh, wonderful,” she says. “I’m your new neighbor.”

  The man tucks the extension cord under his arm, freeing up his hand to offer it to Ann.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he says. “I’m Roy Kirk.”

  Chapter 3

  I love your place,” Roy says to Ann, looking admiringly at her side of the row house. “I’m sure you’re tired of living next to this eyesore,” he adds, hooking his thumb to his own property.

  “It just needs a little work,” she says, downplaying it.

  “Hopefully it won’t be long before it looks as good as yours,” Roy says.

  They talk for a few minutes. Ann likes Roy right away. He’s outgoing and energetic. Though he does seem a bit young to be tackling such a large renovation project, and she wonders if he really knows what he’s getting himself into. Will he be so enthusiastic a month or two from now?

  But Roy’s big, innocent smile wins her over. She doesn’t expect them to be best friends. After all, her forty-fourth birthday is just around the corner and she doubts he’s even thirty yet. But Ann thinks they’ll get along just fine, which is a relief to her. She’s heard horror stories about bad neighbors in row houses.

  Roy asks her what she does, and Ann explains that she works in marketing and gives piano lessons on the side.

  “Music is my passion,” she says. “I raise money for the Pittsburgh Symphony. You better be careful—I might hit you up for a donation.”

  Ann says it as a joke, and Roy laughs and pats his hand against the brick front of his home.

  “Sorry,” he says. “All my money is going into this baby.”

  “Of course,” Ann says, smiling. “I definitely don’t want to interfere with your renovations.”

  Ann asks what Roy does for a living, and he tells her that he has a home-repair business, which helps calm her fears about his being up to the renovation project.

  “I used to deliver pizzas, but now I’ve got my contractor’s license,” he says, nodding toward his property. “The city’s trying to get rid of its tax-delinquent houses. You can get places like this for dirt cheap.”

  Roy explains that he lives just down the street, and that he hasn’t decided whether he’ll move in here or sell this house after his renovations are complete. Ann can’t help but feel a little disappointed. She’s just met Roy, but he se
ems like he’d be a good neighbor. She hopes he doesn’t end up selling the place to someone she won’t like.

  “This is a great neighborhood,” Roy says. “So much potential.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Ann says.

  She tells him about the neighborhood association she’s a part of, which has formed to help improve the area. So far they’ve held some community cleanups and a neighborhood yard sale, but there’s been talk of trying to do more. The members want to organize community events, such as holiday parades, and find a way to build a promenade along the nearby Monongahela River. A community garden has been discussed. There are a few empty lots in the area that would make perfect locations for a public park, where they could hold picnics or other events.

  Ann, who has a lot of experience with fund-raising through her work with the symphony, knows what a long shot it is to hope for some of the items on the group’s wish list, but she’s heartened by Roy’s enthusiastic reaction.

  “I bet in five years this neighborhood is going to be something special,” Roy says.

  He looks out at the twilight and says he better get to work. He wants to unload his equipment tonight before it gets dark. The house doesn’t have any electricity.

  “It was nice meeting you, Ann,” he says, extending his hand again.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Roy,” Ann says, shaking it again. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  Ann walks back into her house. As she’s sipping her wine, she feels happy. Roy seems like a friendly young man, and discussing the future of the neighborhood has left her excited. Her new neighbor’s enthusiasm is infectious. She can’t help but think of all the possibilities for the community around her—as well as for next door. It will be so nice to have that run-down place finally renovated. It’s sat empty for so long that it hasn’t always been easy for Ann to stay optimistic.

  She sits back down to her piano and begins to play. But Ann’s so excited, she can’t concentrate. She heads back to the front door to tell Roy something that’s occurred to her. Night is falling, and it’s becoming too dark for him to work, but she catches him just as he’s climbing into the cab of his truck. She shouts his name to stop him before he leaves, then hurries down the sidewalk. He rolls down his window and throws an elbow out.