by L. T. Ryan
I grabbed a chef's knife from the block, then moved into the living room. The recliner was toppled over. The television lay flat on the floor. The coffee table had been smashed in the middle. Magazines and newspapers littered the floor. No bodies, though. And no blood.
I climbed the stairs. Approached the first landing cautiously. Left arm ready to defend. Right prepared to attack with the knife. I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and whipped around to the next set of stairs.
The bottom half of a leg protruded from the top floor, hanging over the first couple steps, toes pointed down. I could tell by the brown leather shoe it was Herbie. Once eye level with the floor, I saw the rest of his body, lying face-down in a pool of his own blood. I stepped over his lifeless body and continued straight down the hallway. At the end of the corridor, the door to their bedroom stood open a couple inches. A bloody handprint started about halfway up and slithered to the floor in a thick, meandering red line.
I pushed the door open with my foot. It swung without resistance. The body I expected positioned behind it wasn't there. It didn't take long to find her, though.
Ingrid lay stretched out on the bed, resting on a pillow. Looked like she was sleeping. A single bullet hole in her forehead told a different story. I figured the blood on the door was Herbie's. Ingrid had been there, knelt at his body. Perhaps she caught him as he fell. She tried to flee to her room as the assailant pursued, and tripped at the door.
I lifted her body forward. The bullet had gone through, but there was no indication she'd been shot in bed. A small pool of blood had saturated the pillow, but the splatter I would expect to see did not coat the wall. She hadn't been killed in the bed. In fact, it looked as though she'd been cleaned off before being placed there. I scanned the room, found the spot where she was murdered near the window. She'd tripped and fell past the door. Bloody handprints littered the carpet. She had managed to get to her knees, then feet, and perhaps went for the window to escape or call for help. The assailant gained her attention and opened fire when she turned around.
Or when they forced her to turn around.
But why not leave her there on the floor where her lifeless body collapsed?
I didn't have to think about it too long. The killer knew her. Which meant they knew Herbie, too. At least in passing. But the way the bodies had been left indicated they had a connection with Ingrid. So much so that they felt compelled to lay her to rest gently, going so far as to remove the blood and brains that had surely coated her face.
"Ingrid," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. You tried to tell me. I heard you, but I didn't listen to what you were saying."
Chapter 16
I searched the house for clues and anyone hiding out. Found neither. Several thoughts raced through my mind. Who did it, and why? What were the final moments like for Ingrid and Herbie? Had anyone heard? But the idea that brought on a cold sweat was the possibility that someone had remained outside, where I couldn't see them. They could've waited for me to arrive and then called the cops.
They would've been here by now. The town wasn't that big. The station was a couple minutes away. Hell, even if they were on a call, they'd have dumped it and come to get me. Murder takes precedence.
I debated whether to leave then, or call the cops myself. Not sure how they'd react, I called Reese instead.
"Billie," she answered.
"It's me."
"What's going on?"
"I need you to come over."
"Where?"
"You know where."
"Have you seen the weather?"
"Ree—," I paused, corrected myself in case anyone snooped on her calls. "Billie, listen to me. Forget the weather and get over here."
"You think I'm taking my car out in this?"
"I don't have time for this." I split the blinds and checked outside. Rain poured heavy. The street remained deserted. "Find a way to get over here as soon as you can."
There was a break in the storm a few moments after hanging up. Reese showed up not too long after. She came in through the backdoor dressed in sweats, her hair matted from the rain during her short jog from her car to the door. I was standing in the kitchen, backed up against the fridge.
"The hell, Jack?" Her gaze swept past me and froze on the living room. Her furrowed brows lifted. Mouth dropped open. Angry eyes grew concerned.
I turned, headed into the room. "Follow me."
"Dear God," she said, stepping through the threshold from the kitchen to the living room.
"It gets worse." I climbed six steps, stopped on the landing, looked back at her. "It's bad, Reese. Probably as bad as anything you saw in the city."
"I can handle it."
"You sure?" It was one thing to strip away human emotion when you were looking at just another homicide. Sure, there'd be some that would stand out more than others. But when it came to people you knew, it was almost impossible to ignore it.
She nodded, pushed past me. At the first step she hesitated and whispered Herbie's name. I followed her up, trying to see everything for the first time again. Perhaps I missed something due to the shock and surprise of the situation.
There were no bloody footprints on the carpet. No torn clothing left behind, at least not anything clearly visible. No casings. They probably wore gloves.
Reese stopped in front of the bedroom door, reached out and let her hand hover in front of Ingrid's bloody print. I remained behind, near Herbie's body. The detective in her had to process what she was seeing without my interference. First, she had to get past what she knew she was bound to see.
She pushed the door open, took a step inside, froze. Her head turned to where I could see her profile. Tears streamed down her cheek. Her gaze was fixed on Ingrid's lifeless body.
I broke my plan to stay behind and joined her in the bedroom.
"She was murdered over there." I aimed a finger toward the window. "I figure she was with Herbie when he was murdered, judging by that bloody handprint on the outside of the door. Or she managed to get upstairs shortly afterward, while the killer was still there. She ran to the room, stumbled and hit the door, crawled along the floor there where there's blood stains, then tried to get to the window to escape or call for help."
Reese glanced back at the bed. "She was shot in the front."
"Right," I said. "She faced her executioner. She looked into the son of a bitch's eyes, probably pleading by name for him to let her live."
"But he didn't," she said. "He took her life, and then put her to bed."
I nodded, said nothing.
"They knew her." Reese looked at up me, tears still welling in her eyes. The detective was losing the battle with her emotional side. "I mean, everyone in this town knows each other, but this person knew her well enough to want her corpse to rest comfortably. In some way, they loved her. They didn't show Herbie that same consideration."
I continued nodding.
"Christ," she said.
"That's right," I said.
"We have to call Vernon." She already had her cell out. The screen flashed on.
I knew it had to be done, and it was probably best that I be there both when the call was made and when the cops showed up. No doubt I would be on the suspect list, given that I'd been staying at the house and no one in the town knew who the hell I was. With the exception of Reese. Vernon already made it clear how much weight that held.
She paused before pressing the send button, looking at me for direction.
"Go ahead," I said. "We need them out here to start working this. The damn storm's gonna make it impossible to get anything from outside."
Reese placed the call. It was quick and professional, with the exception of her having to repeat the main reason for Vernon to get out there as fast as his cruiser could carry him. The shock affected them all.
"You didn't see anything?" she asked.
"I saw lots of stuff," I said. "Doesn't mean I know anything about why this happened or who did it."
"Tel
l me everything that happened on your way here from my place."
"You interrogating me?" I said.
"No," she said. "But Vernon is likely going to. And I want to hear your answers to make sure you don't incriminate yourself."
"I'm pretty good in the interview room."
"I know. I've interviewed you before. But these people down here, they do things differently. They make it work in their favor, not yours."
"I can handle it."
"Jack, just play along." She grazed my chest with her fingers. "What did you see?"
"I saw that same GMC truck from the garage. I saw the same older guy driving it, and Flagpole Linus sitting in the front seat. Then I backed up a block to avoid them, and came across a group of kids. Ten- and eleven-year-olds, I guess. They were messing with something on the ground. Didn't want me seeing it. One of them got up in my face, and then they ran off with the evidence."
"That could be related." Her cop-brain was working overtime.
"You think a group of pre-teen boys came in here, trashed the living room, killed Herbie, then executed Ingrid? And then, instead of running home or off somewhere to hide, they stand around in plain sight making a fuss over who knows what. And when questioned by an adult, a large one that they'd never seen before, they stand up to me. That makes sense to you?"
"Well, no, not when you put it like that." She ran her hands through her hair. Her shoulders hiked up tight a couple inches as she paced toward the bed and back. "But, I don't know, maybe they saw something?"
"Maybe, but what? I mean, they didn't seem like they witnessed a murder. You and I've both been there. It affects you. Imagine how a kid would take it? Christ, I know I didn't handle it well when Molly was murdered. I wasn't much older than those kids I ran into."
She nodded slightly as she processed it. Then she looked up from the floor. "You know what I want to know?"
"What?"
"Why didn't we hear anything? You should be able to hear a gunshot, let alone two shots, from anywhere in town."
"You know a suppressor would cut down on that."
"Would it?"
"Sure as hell it would, Reese. It's not going to silence the shot like in the movies, but it'd quiet it down to nothing more than a penny clanging into a tin jar. You're not gonna hear that outside."
"Who here would have access to that?"
"Anyone and everyone here could get one. Christ, they could probably make one if they had the right materials. No different than back in New York. If the desire is great enough, there's nothing going to stop them from getting what they want."
Reese walked to the door, stepping wide over the blood stains on the carpet. "There's lots of desire in this town. Too much, perhaps."
Chapter 17
Vernon's cruiser pulled up outside the house the same time we made it back to the kitchen. Staying upstairs any longer would have been a recipe for incrimination. Especially if the killer had been as meticulous as I believed.
Red and blue lights bounced off the walls. Vernon cut the siren, but left the strobe going. He barged through the backdoor. His face was pale. His hands shook. It took a few seconds for him to ask what had happened, and even then, he stammered through the simple question. No doubt homicide was not a skill he'd grown into.
Reese asked me to give the rundown since I'd been the one to make the discovery. I proceeded cautiously, avoiding saying anything that I thought might incriminate myself. I felt my report was textbook. Reese nodded her agreement when I finished.
"You got some investigative experience?" Vernon said.
"A bit," I said, trying to play it off. I didn't want to give him anything to dig with. "Military."
He nodded, glanced over at Reese. "Good enough, I guess."
Through the window I spotted another cruiser. It pulled up alongside Vernon's, blocking the road. Two officers I hadn't seen before stepped out. They looked to be in their mid-thirties. Vernon gave them a quick rundown. Grabbed one to go upstairs with him, and told the other to remain with Reese and me.
"Don't you two go nowhere, OK?" Vernon said.
Reese answered for both of us. "We'll be right here if you need us."
Ten minutes passed. I followed the sound of their footsteps through the investigation. They were in the bedroom now. An unmarked patrol car arrived, driven by an officer in plain clothes. He walked into the house, ignoring me and nodding at Reese. She offered a half-hearted smile in return. A silent ambulance pulled up right after.
"They're gonna move the bodies," I said. "The hell are they doing?"
"They don't have much experience at this," Reese said.
"We have to stop them. Forensics needs a chance to work this."
She laughed. "What forensics?"
"Damned if I know. The highway patrol, then. Something. Somebody has to process the scene before they butcher it."
"We're in a world trapped fifty years in the past, Jack."
"Then I'm going up to stop them."
She grabbed my arm. "Stay here. You'll just make it worse if you go up there. Let them do what they need to do. Not like all that other stuff is gonna make a bit of difference here."
My cheeks and ears burned. But like she said, there was little that could be done. I sensed that Reese wanted to get away from the house, but that wasn't the reason she held me back. I'd only make things worse for myself. After all, I had no doubt that soon I'd be the number one suspect. That's why we changed our story slightly and told Vernon that she came to the house with me after I told her how upset Ingrid had been. Reese wanted to talk to the woman, make sure she was OK, and that nothing serious was going on. It was nearly foolproof, so long as they didn't find those kids. Outside of them, it had been deserted with the storm pressing down.
Vernon came down the stairs, stopping in the threshold between the kitchen and living room. He leaned against the wall, his face pale, brow sweaty. Perhaps he was about to pass out. He brushed silver strands of hair away from his forehead. His hand continued around the back of his head.
"You OK, Vernon?" Reese said.
His head bobbed up and down twice, and then he exited the house. A cool gust of wind blew in. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
"Ingrid was his mother's best friend," Reese said.
"Christ," I said.
"His mom passed away fifteen years ago, but Vernon made it a point to check in on Ingrid and Herbie every few months, at least. If they needed anything, or had trouble with anyone, he took care of it."
"So he cared for her."
Reese nodded.
"Did he care about Herbie?"
"Jack." If she could've exhaled fire, I'm sure she would have roasted me right there. "What are you saying? He did this? You honestly think that? He's a cop for Christ's sake."
The ties ran deep. Didn't matter how long she'd been off the force. Didn't matter we were in a small town in Texas. Vernon was a cop. In Reese's mind, he deserved every last benefit of the doubt.
"You know that doesn't mean a damn thing," I said.
Our hushed conversation drew stares from the remaining officers. They knew enough to consider us possible suspects until we were cleared, so they moved closer in an attempt to listen.
"We can't talk about this now." She glared at the plain clothes officer. "Just keep quiet until we're out of here."
Vernon came over and stood back a few feet from us. He said nothing, stared up at the ceiling. Outside, low, dark clouds raced past. I wondered if the storm had more in store for us. How would that affect the investigation?
"Billie," Vernon said, "is it OK if your cousin stays with you for the time being?"
She nodded.
"Good," he said. "Won't be able to stay here anymore, and I'd prefer if he were somewhere I can find him when I'm ready to talk."
"I'm standing right here," I said. "You can talk to me now."
Vernon shot a cross look in my direction. "I'll come get you when the time is right. Don't go nowhere. And I mean nowhere
. You only leave that apartment with Billie. In fact, I want you by her side and only her side for the next forty-eight hours."
"How do you know she won't leave?" I said.
"Because you won't let her," he said.
"And how do you know that?"
"I can tell you're the kind of guy that doesn't want an innocent woman getting slapped with an accomplice tag. You'll do everything in your power to keep her from doing something stupid." He moved in front of me. I could smell today's lunch on his breath. Chili dog and a beer, maybe two. "Besides, why run unless you have something to hide?"
"Because sometimes it doesn't matter if you did it or not," I said. "If someone wants an outcome bad enough, nothing is going to stop them from reaching for it."
Vernon nodded slowly. "Get out of here so we can finish up what we have to do. I'll be in touch soon."
Reese grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door. The screen door banged against the side of the house. We stepped out and took the most direct route to her place. The clouds thickened behind us. Streaks of lightening raced across the sky. The next storm was minutes from hitting.
A few blocks into the drive, Reese spoke up. "Jack, you should get out of here. I've never seen Vernon like that. The way he stared at you, it was like he could see you with the gun that killed them."
"You know if I go they'll arrest you. You'll be guilty by association."
"They won't. It's not me they want."
"We already gave them a story that we went to the house together. They're either gonna figure I was trying to hide my tracks after killing them, or that you helped me kill them and we were stupid enough to admit to both being at the scene together."
"I'll tell them that you slipped out in the middle of the night. You can take my car, get someplace you can hop on a bus or train and disappear again. They'll be trying to follow a bullshit identity. It's just gonna lead them to a dead end, right?"
She had allowed her feelings and passion to cloud her judgement. Her words stared logic in the face and laughed at it. For whatever misguided reason, she believed Vernon wouldn't come down on her. How could I get her to understand?