by Alex Kava
She followed the voices down the hall. There was no longer a need to scrounge for evidence. At the doorway to the master bedroom a puddle of blood greeted her, the imprint of a shoe stamped at one edge, while the other edge soaked into an expensive Persian rug. Maggie could see a spatter pattern on the oak door. Oddly, the spatter reached only to about knee level.
Maggie was lost in thought and hadn’t entered the room when a detective in a blue jacket and wrinkled chinos yelled at her.
“Hey, lady. How did you get in here?”
Two other men stopped their work and stared at her. Maggie’s first impression of the detective was that he looked like a wrinkled advertisement for the Gap.
“My name’s Maggie O’Dell. I’m with the FBI.”
The men exchanged looks while Maggie took a careful step around the puddle and into the room. More blood speckled the comforter on the four-poster. Despite the spatter of blood, the covers remained neatly spread. Whatever struggle took place did not make it to the bed.
“What’s the FBI’s interest in this?” the man in the blue jacket demanded.
“Are you Detective Manx?”
His eyes shot up to hers, the look not only registering surprise, but alarm that she knew his name. Was he worried that his superiors were checking up on him?
“Yeah, I’m Manx. Who the hell called you?”
It was time to confess. “I live down the street. I thought I might be able to help.”
“Christ!” He glanced at the other two men. They quietly watched as though observing a standoff. “Just because you’ve got a fucking badge, you think you can barge in here?”
“I’m a forensic psychologist and a profiler. I’m used to examining scenes like this. I thought I could—”
“Well, we don’t need any help. I’ve got everything under control.”
“Hey, Detective.” The yellow-tape officer from outside walked into the room and immediately all eyes watched him step into the puddle. He jerked his foot up and awkwardly stepped back into the hall, holding up the dripping toe of his shoe.
“Hell, I can’t believe I did that again,” he muttered.
Just then Maggie realized the intruder had been more careful. The toe print she had seen was worthless. When she looked back at Manx, his eyes darted away. He shook his head, disguising the embarrassment as disdain for the young officer.
“What is it, Officer Kramer?”
“It’s just…there are a few neighbors out front asking questions. I wondered if maybe I should start questioning them. You know, see if anybody saw something.” Kramer looked desperately for somewhere to place his foot. He glanced up apologetically as he rubbed the sole on the hall carpet.
“Get names and addresses. We’ll talk to them later.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer seemed relieved to escape the new stain he had created.
Maggie waited. The other two men stared at Manx.
“So tell me, O’Donnell. What’s your take on this mess?”
“O’Dell.”
“Excuse me?”
“The name’s O’Dell,” she said. “Is the body in the bathroom?”
“There’s a whirlpool bath with more blood, but no body. In fact, we seem to be missing that small detail.”
“The blood seems to be confined to this room,” the medical examiner told her. Maggie noticed he was the only one wearing latex gloves.
“If someone ran out, but was injured, you’d think there’d be some drips, some scuffs, something,” said Manx. “But the house is fucking clean enough to eat off the floors.”
“The kitchen’s not so clean,” Maggie contradicted him.
He scowled at her. “How long have you been sneaking around here?”
She ignored him and kneeled down to get a closer look at the blood on the floor. Most of it was congealed, some dried. She guessed it had been here since morning.
“Maybe she didn’t have time to clean up after lunch,” Manx continued.
“How do you know the victim is a woman?”
“A neighbor called us when she couldn’t get her on the phone. Said they were supposed to go shopping. See, I’m thinking the guy—whoever he was—must have interrupted her lunch.”
“What makes you think the sandwich was hers?”
“What the hell are you saying, O’Donnell?”
“The name is O’Dell, Detective Manx.” She let him hear her irritation this time. His blatant disregard was a small but familiar and annoying way to discredit her. “The victim’s house is impeccable. She wouldn’t have left a mess like that, let alone sit down to eat before she cleaned it up.”
“Maybe she was interrupted.”
“Perhaps. But there’s no sign of a struggle in the kitchen. And the alarm system was off, right?”
Manx looked annoyed that she had guessed correctly. “Yeah, it was off, so maybe it was someone she knew.”
“That’s possible.” Maggie stood and let her eyes take in the rest of the room. “If he did surprise her, that didn’t happen until they were up here. She may have been waiting for him, or perhaps she invited him up. That’s probably why there’s no signs of a struggle until we get into the bedroom. She may have changed her mind. Didn’t want to go through with whatever they had agreed to. This spatter pattern here on the door is strange.” She pointed to it, careful not to touch. “It’s so far down, one of them would need to be on the floor when this wound was inflicted.”
She walked to the window, feeling the men’s eyes follow her. None of the neighbors’ houses were even visible, all hidden by the foliage and trees. No one would see an intruder come or go back here. But how would he maneuver the steep ridge and the stream? Had she overestimated the strength of that natural barrier?
“There really is not much blood,” she continued. “Unless there’s a lot more in the bathroom. Perhaps there’s not a body simply because the victim left on her own.”
She heard Manx snort. “They had a nice little lunch, he beat the shit out of her because she decided not to fuck him, but then she left willingly with this guy? And in the meantime, the whole goddamn neighborhood didn’t notice?” Manx laughed.
Maggie ignored his sarcasm. “I didn’t say she left willingly. Also, this blood is much too congealed and dry to have happened a few hours ago during lunch. I’m guessing it happened early this morning.”
“She’s right about that.” The medical examiner nodded in agreement.
“He probably fixed the sandwich for himself. You should bag the sandwich. If you can’t get a dental imprint, there may be some saliva for a DNA test.”
When she finally turned to face him, Manx stared at her. She recognized his stunned look. It was the same look that often followed her on-the-spot, blunt profiles. At times, that look made her feel like a cheap fortune-teller or a psychic. But always beneath their skepticism lay just enough respect to vindicate that initial reaction.
“Mind if I check out the bathroom?” she asked.
“Be my guest.” Manx shook his head and waved her through.
Before Maggie got to the bathroom door, she stopped. On the bureau was a photograph. She recognized the beautiful blond-haired woman who smiled out at her, one arm wrapped around a dark-haired man and the other around a panting white Labrador. It was the same woman she and Tess McGowan had met.
“What is it?” Manx asked.
“I’ve met this woman before. Last week. Her name’s Rachel Endicott. She was out jogging.”
Just then, she saw more blood. Only this was smeared on the bottom of the bed ruffle. Was it possible that whoever had been bleeding was still under the bed?
5
MAGGIE stared at the bloodied ruffle, then slowly walked to the bed.
“Actually she was walking,” she said, keeping the excitement from her voice. “She had a dog with her, a white Lab.”
“We haven’t found any fucking dog,” Manx said. “Unless he’s out in the backyard or the garage.”
Maggie got dow
n on one knee. There was blood in the grooves of the hardwood floor, too. Here the intruder must have taken the time to mop it up. Why would he do that, unless some of it was his own?
The room grew silent as the men finally noticed the blood on the hem of the bed ruffle. Maggie felt them standing over her, waiting.
She lifted the ruffled material, avoiding the bloodied area. Before she could get a closer look, a deep-throated growl caused her to jerk her hand away.
“Shit!” Manx spat, jumping back with such force he sent a nightstand scraping into the wall.
Maggie saw the glint of metal in his hand and realized he had drawn his revolver.
“Move out of the way.” He was next to her, shoving her shoulder and almost knocking her over.
She grabbed his arm as he took aim, ready to fire at anything that moved under the bed even though he couldn’t see it.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled at him.
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”
“Calm down, Detective.” The medical examiner took hold of Manx’s other arm and gently pulled him back.
“This dog might be your only witness,” Maggie said, getting down on her knees again but staying back a safe distance.
“Oh, right. Like a dog’s gonna tell us what happened.”
“She’s right.” The M.E.’ s voice was amazingly calm. “Dogs can tell us a lot. Let’s see if we can get this one under control.”
Then he looked to Maggie as if waiting for her instructions.
“Most likely, he’s wounded,” she said.
“And in shock,” the M.E. added.
“Check the closet and grab a couple of jackets,” she told him. “Preferably thick, something like wool and something that’s been worn and not laundered. Maybe there are some clothes on the floor.”
She found a tennis racket leaning against the wall. She rummaged through the bureau’s drawers, then noticed a tie rack on the back of the closet door. She snatched a silk pinstripe and knotted one end of the tie to the handle of the racket. She made a slipknot at the other end.
The medical examiner came back with several jackets.
“Officer Hillguard,” he instructed. “See if you can find some blankets. Detective Manx, get at the end of the bed. We’ll have you lift up the bedspread when we’re ready.”
Maggie noticed Manx’s impatience did not extend to the doctor. In fact, he seemed to regard the older man as an authority figure and willingly took his post at the end of the bed.
The medical examiner handed Maggie one of the jackets, an expensive wool tweed. She sniffed the sleeve. Excellent. There was still the faint scent of perfume. She pulled the jacket on backward, pushing the sleeves over her bare arms but keeping enough at the end to ball up in her fists. Then she grabbed the racket and kneeled about two feet from the bed.
“Are we ready?” The M.E. glanced at all of them. “Okay, Detective Manx. Lift the bedspread up, but slowly.”
This time the dog was prepared, teeth bared, the growl deep and low. But he didn’t lunge at them. He couldn’t. Underneath the bloody mess of fur that was once white, Maggie spotted the main wound, a gash just above the shoulder and barely missing the throat. The matted fur must have temporarily stopped the bleeding.
“It’s okay, boy,” Maggie told the dog in a quiet, calm voice. “We’re going to help you. Just relax.”
She scooted closer, extending a part of the sleeve. He snapped at it, and Maggie jerked backward, almost losing her balance.
“Jesus!” she muttered. Had she completely lost her mind?
Maggie steadied herself. She needed to stay focused. She tried again, more slowly this time. The dog sniffed at the dangling sleeve, possibly recognizing the scent of his owner. His growl turned into a whine and then a whimper.
“It’s okay,” Maggie promised in a hushed tone. She inched closer with the tennis racket in her other hand, moving in while the dog watched and continued to whimper. She let the dog sniff the tie. He didn’t resist when she slipped it over his snout. Gently, she tightened the knot.
“How’re we gonna get him out from under there?” Officer Hillguard was now on his knees on the other side of Maggie.
“Let’s unfold one of those blankets and get it next to him.”
But as soon as Officer Hillguard’s hands got close, the dog snarled, struggling against the makeshift muzzle. He jumped toward the officer, and Maggie grabbed the dog’s collar from behind. She yanked him forward onto the blanket, all the while keeping the muzzle tight. The dog yipped, and immediately Maggie worried that she had opened one of the wounds.
“We got him.” The M.E. stood and waved Officer Hillguard over to his side. The two men tugged on the blanket and pulled the dog out from under the bed. “We can use my van to transport him to Riley’s Clinic.”
“Shit.” Manx was back to his belligerent mood. “That means all the blood by the door and in the bathtub is probably the fucking dog’s blood, and we don’t have a damn thing.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Maggie said. “Something violent happened here, and the dog’s owner may have suffered the brunt of it. I’m guessing this guy—” she pointed to the dog “—tried to stop whatever happened. He may have gotten in a couple of good bites. There’s a chance some of the blood, especially here by the bed, may be the intruder’s. Your forensics people should be able to get a sampling even though it’s been wiped up.”
“You think you can allow me to do my own investigation?” Manx shot her a look of contempt.
Maggie wiped strands of hair off her forehead. Jesus! Couldn’t this guy give her a break? Just then she realized she had blood on her hands and now had blood on her forehead. When she glanced at the medical examiner, he was giving Manx a warning look as though he, too, was fed up with his arrogance.
“Yes, of course, the investigation is all yours,” Maggie finally said, and grabbed a corner of the blanket to help the men move the swaddled dog. “I’m sure the whole neighborhood will sleep soundly tonight, knowing you’re on the case.”
“Just keep your big FBI badge and your pretty little butt out of my investigation,” he said to her back, determined to get in the last word. “You got that, O’Donnell?”
She didn’t bother to look at him or answer, the ungrateful son of a bitch. He wouldn’t have even found the dog if it weren’t for her. Now she wondered if he would bother to take blood samples, simply because it had been her suggestion.
She held her corner of the blanket tight and followed Officer Hillguard and the medical examiner. As they reached the landing Maggie turned to look at Manx, who had stayed in the doorway.
“Oh, Detective Manx,” she called to him. “You might want to check out this mud here on the steps. Unless, of course, you’re the one who contaminated your own crime scene.”
Instinctively, Manx lifted his right foot, taking a look at the sole before he realized his defensive reaction. The M.E. laughed out loud. Officer Hillguard knew better and confined himself to a smile. Manx’s face went red again. Maggie simply turned, concentrating on keeping their patient steady and calm while they hauled him down the stairs.
6
TESS McGowan stuffed a copy of the closing papers into her leather briefcase, ignoring its cracked handle. A couple more sales and maybe she could afford a new briefcase instead of this hand-me-down from the thrift store.
She switched off her computer and slipped on her jacket. The other offices had gone silent hours ago. She passed by the copier room but stopped when she heard shuffling. Her eyes darted to the end of the hall, making certain nothing obstructed her path in case she needed to run. She leaned against the wall and peeked around the door.
“Girl, I thought you went home hours ago.” Delores Heston startled Tess as she stood up from behind the machine and shoved a tray of paper into the mouth of the copier. She looked at Tess and her face registered concern. “Good Lord! I’m sorry, Tess. I didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”
“I’m fine. I thought everyone else was gone. What are you still doing here?”
“I’m catching up on some paperwork.” Delores punched some buttons, and the machine whizzed to life with a soft, almost comforting, hum. She had started Heston Realty nearly ten years ago and had made a name for herself in the area; quite an accomplishment for a black woman who had grown up poor. Tess admired her mentor who, after a full day of work, still looked impeccable in her custom-made suit. Delores’s silky hair was swept into a bun, not a strand out of place.
In contrast, Tess’s suit was wrinkled from too many hours of sitting. Her thick hair frizzled from the humidity. She was probably the only woman alive who dyed her blond hair a nondescript brown in order to buy herself more credibility and to avoid sexual advances.
“So, girl, what are you doing here so late? Don’t you have a handsome man you should be home snuggling with on a Friday evening?”
“Just wanted to finish all the paperwork on the Saunders house.”
“That’s right. I forgot you closed this week. Excellent job, by the way. I know the Saunderses were in a hurry to sell. How much of a beating did we take?”
“Actually, it turned out well for everyone. We beat their two-week deadline, so on top of our commission we’ll also be receiving the selling bonus.”
“Ooh, I love to hear that. There’s no better advertising than surpassing a customer’s expectations. But that bonus is all yours, dearie. You deserve it.”
For a minute Tess didn’t know what to say. The bonus was almost ten thousand dollars. That was almost six months’ pay back when she had been bartending. She managed a weak smile.
“It’s an awful lot of money. Are you sure you want to—”