Autumn's Game

by Mary Stone

  If he hadn’t been such an asshole and bastard, she would have enjoyed learning from him, but his every word put her teeth on edge.

  Adam grinned, though the expression had a pompous tilt that made her want to punch him. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her trousers instead.

  He made a slow circle, canvassing the area before stopping and facing the house. “I’ll be interested to hear whether anyone saw his vehicle nearby. The streetlights here are lower in height but more frequent than they were in the Webster’s neighborhood, and are designed to not be as bright. More picturesque. An unfamiliar vehicle would stand out, I would think.”

  Autumn nodded. “I’m sure the sheriff is already having her deputies canvass the area to talk to neighbors and the like.”

  The pompous smile sagged just a bit. “Of course, he could be switching vehicles to commit the murders. It would be risky to use the same car. How else is he getting in and out without being noticed and identified?”

  Autumn found herself nodding in agreement. She didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but it was a good question.

  A second deputy appeared around the side of the house and waved at them. “Let them through.”

  The first deputy moved aside the caution tape. “Follow him, and don’t walk anywhere he doesn’t walk and do what he tells you.”

  Autumn smiled her thanks to the harried looking deputy while Adam brushed by him, rushing around the side of the house. Autumn followed more slowly, studying the yard as she went, taking it all in. At the back entrance, they were given booties to put over their shoes, with instructions to, “Not touch anything.”

  “This is all going suspiciously smoothly,” Autumn murmured as she pulled on the protective coverings. “How many murders does Sawmill have a year, anyway?”

  “Loggers.”

  Autumn stared at Adam blankly as her mind whirled through her eight years of school. Nothing came forth, so she was forced to ask for clarification. “Loggers?”

  “Oregon is one of the country’s most heavily logged states, and the logging industry just so happens to be one of the most dangerous industries to work in.” The smug smile was back as he took on a lecturing tone. “The police are required to investigate all deaths, so every time a logger has an accident, they have to investigate. I’m sure they have solid procedures in place.”

  Autumn didn’t bother to remind him about his attitude from the day before, when he implied that the sheriff’s department wasn’t competent enough to investigate such a case without help. Still, she tucked the nugget of knowledge away, always eager to gobble up new information that could help her perform her job better.

  As the deputy led them through the kitchen and into the dining room at the front of the house, he gave a bit of background on the couple, Andy and Marla Langford. Their ages, occupations, length of marriage. And most important, the fact that they were getting divorced.

  A photographer was patiently taking photographs of blood spatter at the bottom of the stairs, carefully marking each spot with an evidence tag. Manila folders had been taped down in several spots with masking tape. Autumn hadn’t seen folders used in such a way before, but she commended the crime techs for using whatever was available in their area to get the job done.

  “How did the perp enter the residence?” Autumn asked.

  The deputy lifted a shoulder. “There’s no evidence of tampering on any of the doors or the windows, and they’re still looking for signs of footprints and other evidence.”

  Autumn lifted an eyebrow. “Were the doors unlocked?”

  The shoulder went up again. “Most people around here don’t lock their doors until they’re ready to go to bed, if that.” He indicated the foyer area. “It looked like Mr. Langford was packing, so the door could have also been left open for when he was ready to transfer these suitcases out to his car.”

  Autumn eyed the array of suitcases and boxes sitting in the area. Before she could ask another question, Adam held up a hand. “Was the porch light out?”

  “Yes, sir. The neighbors said it has been out for some months, though, so it wasn’t the killer who did it. Initial report is that the killer came inside, and when Mr. Langford came downstairs, he was jumped. You can see blood splatter at the bottom of the stairs, and an indentation where Mr. Langford’s head or face hit the wall, if you’ll look there.”

  They both studied the damage to the wall, and Autumn tried to imagine the force it would take to dent sheetrock in such a way.

  “How tall is Mr. Langford?” Adam stepped as close as he could to the indentation without contaminating the scene.

  “Five-nine.”

  “So, our perp enters the house and hides there.” Adam pointed toward a small coat closet at the bottom of the stairs. He made broad gestures that threatened to hit everyone in the small room. “He waited for Langford to descend, and when the victim was within reach, our perp grabbed him, swung him around almost in a full circle, and used the man’s own momentum to slam him into the wall, more than once. The streaks of blood are from a bloody nose, I think.”

  “Yes, sir.” The deputy kept his voice neutral, looking neither impressed nor annoyed. “That’s what Sheriff Morton thinks. She said to show you. After that, he manhandled Mr. Langford up the stairs. You can see the blood trail there. You can also see the manila folders that have been taped down. Those areas have already been lifted for latent prints and footprints, vacuumed for hair and fibers, and swabbed for blood. Please only step on the folders and follow me.”

  They began to climb, careful to follow the trail of folders to avoid the dried blood trail running up the center. At the top of the stairs was more blood on the hardwood floor, which showed signs of several rugs having been removed.

  The deputy pointed toward an open door. “They’re in this bedroom. Use the folders to walk to the area in the back of the room that’s been taped off. Remain there until you’re escorted out.”

  Adam took one step into the room, halting on top of a manila folder in the doorway. Autumn nearly ran into his back but managed to stop quickly enough.

  “Damn,” her boss breathed. “It’s the same. Almost exactly the same.”

  Trapped in the doorway behind him, Autumn couldn’t see anything but the back of his suit jacket. She could smell it, though. The room smelled like a mountain of rotten teeth mixed with spoiled liver and feces. The bodies hadn’t been moved, but even when they were, Autumn knew that it would take a good long while before this particular scent was gone.

  “Is that the psychologists?” Autumn recognized the voice as Sheriff Morton. “Step out of the way, Dr. Latham. You make a better door than a window.”

  Adam’s shoulders tensed, but he moved along the path of manila folders and over to a taped area near an antique wardrobe. Rich Brower was already there, holding a legal pad and making notes. Autumn followed Adam across the room as Rich gave her a nod.

  Autumn must have been looking at him quizzically because Carla grinned. “Twisted his arm and made him let me deputize him temporarily. We need the help.”

  They certainly did, but Autumn couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good idea. Rich’s missing niece was part of the case. That could cause some problems.

  Of course, that hadn’t stopped Winter from hunting down her brother, and if truth be told, Autumn would have done the exact same thing if one of her family members were involved.

  Carla gestured toward an older man, who was peering at the bodies with a pair of magnifying glasses perched on his thin nose. “This is Eddie McNabb, medical examiner from Portland. He was in town to assist with the Webster investigation. Lucky for us, he agreed to assist with this investigation too.”

  Dr. McNabb raised a hand but didn’t take his eyes from Marla Langford’s body.

  Bracing herself, Autumn focused on the pitiful scene before her.

  Andy Langford lay next to his wife on the queen-sized bed. She was on her back while he was on his front. They both had died with
their eyes open, gazing at each other. Andy’s feet had been tied together with blue nylon rope, and his hands were tied behind his back in what Autumn had learned was a handcuff knot. From where she stood, she couldn’t count the number of stab wounds the man had taken. His shirt was soaked with blood as was the bedding and pillows under and around him.

  Marla Langford had been tied on top of the bed, also with matching blue nylon. Her throat had been cut and had fountained blood all over her nightgown and the bedclothes.

  Beside her, Adam made a humming noise. “Retail value of this home just went down at least twenty-five percent.”

  Saliva flooded Autumn’s mouth and her gag reflex was nearing its breaking point, and she wished she could vomit on Adam’s eight-hundred-dollar shoes as she turned her head to stare at him. She wasn’t the only one glowering in his direction. Her boss’s depersonalization of the situation was making her skin crawl.

  On one hand, she understood the need for gallows humor within the law enforcement ranks. It was a coping mechanism that allowed them to continue their grisly work, day after day.

  But neither she nor Adam had earned the right to that emotional defense. She knew it, and every person aside from Adam Latham knew it too.

  She was embarrassed and appalled enough for the both of them. They deserved an apology.

  She wouldn’t do it with words, though. Words were seldom enough. She’d help catch the bastard who had so brutally murdered four people in this small town.

  Later, after the suspect was in jail and Gina was safely found, she’d go home and talk to Mike Shadley, her other boss, about Adam’s behavior—toward her and toward the sheriff’s department.

  Adam, completely unaware of anything other than the corpses in front of him, pointed at the woman’s head. “She was also hit in the face. See the bruising on her forehead? That happened before her death. And I think she had a concussion, but that’s just a guess.”

  Dr. McNabb turned to face the psychologist, peering over his glasses. “How many hours prior to death did the bruising take place?”

  Adam stared at the older man. “Um…I’m not certain.”

  “And do all head wounds indicate a concussion, or do you have special eyesight that allows you to see inside the human brain?”

  Autumn wished she had been able to video Adam’s expression. Red was spreading up from his shirt collar, and she was pretty sure it wouldn’t stop until it reached his ears.

  Adam’s nostrils flared. “No, I do not, but I don’t see the harm in offering hypotheses or even voicing our thoughts and opinions.”

  The medical examiner snorted. “Now is not that time, and not with me in the room. When you start yapping off like that, it plants seeds that I might not be able to escape from while I’m autopsying these poor folks. Those seeds could push me in the wrong direction, and I could miss something important. If you must talk, murmur to yourself, or better yet, study the entire scene in its entirety then compare notes later.”

  Adam opened his mouth, but the ME turned back to his work, and Autumn pondered on the older man’s advice. He was right. She needed to focus instead of discuss. She needed to absorb instead of leak her opinion…for now, at least.

  Why the bedroom for the murders?

  Why this particular couple?

  Why the intricate knots in the ropes?

  Kyle Murphy had been a boy scout. He was also very active outdoors.

  He and Gina Webster spent time in the same foster home and had been close ever since.

  And both were missing.

  As thoughts and questions swirled through her head, looking like pieces of puzzles searching for the right place to land, Sheriff Morton stepped forward and began taking pictures of her own.

  When Adam pulled out his phone, and she noticed him tap his camera app, Autumn was stunned. She knew that being at a scene of a crime wasn’t a place Adam Latham had found himself in many, many years, but surely, he knew proper protocol.

  Placing her hand on his arm, Autumn gently shook her head. Having the sheriff use the official camera to take shots for them to pore over later was one thing, but they needed to manage the crime scene closely. Didn’t Adam know that?

  “You can’t do that,” she whispered and was going to explain why when he shot her a glare and moved away. But, thankfully, he tucked his phone away without snapping a shot.

  Autumn was proud of her firm and the work they did. She didn’t want anything else to tarnish Shadley and Latham’s good name. Especially Latham. His behavior was concerning. Embarrassing. Did Mike Shadley, her other boss, know any of this? She certainly hoped not.

  When Carla was finished with her photos, she motioned to the others. “Let’s let these fine people finish their work.”

  It was a relief to go downstairs, and an even bigger relief to get outside and breathe in the cool January air. They agreed to meet back at the station where they could discuss the scene.

  Adam immediately turned on her. “You embarrassed me. Why did—”

  Sheriff Morton strode up, putting herself almost between them. “Autumn, could you ride with me? I had Laura Jane order us some sandwiches, and I could use a little help picking them up.”

  Adam turned on his heel and walked away before Autumn could either agree or disagree, so she shrugged and went with the sheriff. Both women were quiet, each deep in her own thoughts, as they drove to a little mom and pop restaurant, where as promised, a tray of sandwiches and other goodies awaited pick up.

  Back at the station, Autumn nibbled on a pimento cheese on wheat while Carla printed off the photos she’d taken. Then, she helped the sheriff tack the newly printed photographs up on the wall.

  It was terrible, but nothing Autumn hadn’t seen before in her work with the bureau.

  There were five boards now, three groups of photos from the crimes committed outside of Sawmill. Then, the Websters. Now, the Langfords. Autumn looked around the small room. How many more boards would it fit?

  Such a depressing thought. But it also filled her with an energy she didn’t have before. She was here for a reason. She was here because Aiden Parrish believed she had what it took to assist these good people in finding a madman who preyed on those with unhappy marriages.

  The thought pissed her off. No one really knew what happened behind the door of any home, so how did this person feel he had the right to be judge, jury, and executioner?

  She took a bathroom break before the meeting started, using cool water to splash her face and bring her a semblance of calm.

  Once everyone was seated with fresh cups of coffee in hand, Sheriff Morton stood, the bones in her knees popping with the movement. “What jumped out at you all?”

  “The husband was on the bed instead of the floor,” Adam offered.

  Carla wrote the observation on the whiteboard.

  Autumn remembered the dented sheetrock on the main floor. “He separated the victims in order to control them better, then led them both to the staging area.”

  Rich’s head whipped in her direction. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

  It wasn’t until she said them aloud that another thought popped into her mind. “This isn’t just a murder, it’s a performance. No matter what it looks like, these crime scenes are carefully staged.”

  Carla wrote that on the board as well. Beside it, she wrote: ATOD. “Eddie told me before you two got there,” she nodded at both Autumn and Adam, “that the approximate time of death is between eight last night and eight this morning, although he can narrow that down better when he gets them on the table. Andy Langford left work at four forty-five, and nobody saw him since then. The son left home around six pm, driving back to his dorm room at college, so—”

  “The son!” Adam barked, making Autumn jump. “He could have done it before driving back.”

  Carla exhaled through her nose. “We have officers trying to talk to him now.”

  Adam threw up his hands. “Trying?”

  Carla nodd
ed and popped the cap of her marker back on. “Per his roommate, Bryan was upset when he returned to school because his parents had broken the news of their divorce about an hour or so before he left to head back to Portland. So, Bryan did what most college students do when they get bad news…he drank himself into a stupor. Roommate had to carry him back to their room, put him to bed, make sure he didn’t choke on his vomit, yada yada. Still trying to sober him up enough to do an interview.”

  Autumn jotted that down on her timeline, then stilled.

  Adam must have had the exact same thought. He turned his chair until he was facing her more fully. “So…before you spoke to the suspect earlier today, he wasn’t just planning to kill again. He’d already taken two more lives.”

  Autumn remembered Nancy Gaines’s words. “On the one hand, we’d need at least one more local killing to confirm the pattern…”

  They had their confirmation, all right.

  “He’s escalating,” Autumn said.

  Adam snorted. “You think?”

  She ignored the taunt. “The question is why the sudden urgency? The murders in the other parts of the state were spread out over a couple months, and now we have two within a week. What has set him off?”

  Carla tapped the marker on her chin. “The Websters is the only attack in which our suspect also took a hostage.”

  Adam threw up his hands. “If…and that’s a great big if Gina Webster is indeed a hostage and not part of some grisly killing team. Have you considered that she might be the key to the escalation? Two can kill faster than one.”

  But Autumn was already shaking her head. That didn’t feel right.

  “How many children did the Langfords have?”

  “Just the one.” Carla recited the facts from memory. “Bryan Langford, nineteen.”

  Rich flipped through a folder. “I’ll work on his transportation back.”

  “That’d be a godsend, Rich.” Carla rubbed her temples with her fingers. “I don’t look forward to interviewing that poor boy.”