Noel walked up to Mom and Dad and dragged them over to the front of the room, where Dawn appeared to be waiting.
“Okay, everyone. Can I have your attention, please?” Noel was standing on a chair over by the fireplace, waving his hands in the air and just generally looking ridiculous.
Dawn giggled and pulled him off the chair so they were standing side by side. Once the chatter in the room subsided, he cleared his throat loudly.
“It’s great to see so many of our closest friends here as well as family. Dawn and I thought there’d be no better time to make an important announcement.” He paused for effect. “Earlier this evening I asked Dawn to be my bride, and she said yes.”
There were raucous cheers, and the crowd tightened around the couple in congratulatory hugs. Mom’s eyes shone with happy tears, and Dad’s chest puffed proudly as he moved forward and pumped Noel’s hand in an enthusiastic shake.
“Don’t look so thrilled,” Zack whispered in Sadie’s ear.
“You wouldn’t get it,” she mumbled into her glass before quickly downing the rest.
“Sure I would. It’s simple. You hate the guy. It’s written all over your face. Oh, and if you grip your glass any tighter, it’ll break and you’ll be bleeding all over your sister’s floor.”
Sadie put her glass down on a side table and shook her head vehemently. “Noel is a nice guy. I don’t hate him.”
“Then why—”
But Sadie had turned away and was making her way through the crowd to disappear down the hall, where it was quieter. She wasn’t at all surprised to see that Zack had followed her.
“Sorry. It’s none of my business,” he said.
“Right,” she agreed. “It’s not.” At the hurt look on his face, she lightened the moment with a quick smile and added, “Hey, it’s just the ex-cop in you that makes you nosy.”
“Not being nosy. Just worried. I care about you, Sadie.”
She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Sure. We’re friends, right?” She looked over his shoulder, instead of up into his serious gaze.
“You hired me when no one else would touch me, so yeah, we’re friends. Except a real friend would probably tell me what’s going on.”
“Look, there’s nobody I’d rather mop guts with, but some stuff I don’t talk about. With anyone.”
He nodded and turned to walk away. Feeling the need to offer an olive branch, Sadie tugged at his sleeve.
“C’mon.” She pulled him into the master bedroom and shut the door behind them.
“Look at this,” she said, lifting a heavy pewter frame from Dawn’s dresser and thrusting it into Zack’s face. “You know who this is, right?”
“Sure.” Taking the picture from her hands, Zack frowned uneasily. “It’s your brother, Brian.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Look at him,” she insisted, stabbing at the photo with her finger.
The photo had been taken when Brian was in his late twenties. He was leaning against the hood of an old Mustang, his pride and joy. The smile on his face didn’t offer a single hint that he would blow his head off in the bathroom of his home a year later.
“Can’t you see it?” Sadie demanded impatiently. “Noel looks just like him. The nose, the hair, the eyes—they could be twins, for God’s sake!”
“Really?” Zack pulled the picture close and squinted at it for a moment before handing it back. He combed his fingers through his thick dark hair and shrugged. “I don’t see it.”
“Really? Sheesh, open your eyes! Noel and Brian are both tall, skinny guys, and they have blond hair that they wear a little long.”
“Sadie, you just described thousands of guys in Seattle and probably at least ten at this party.”
She ignored his remark as she dusted the frame lovingly with her sleeve.
“Brian was the oldest. He looked out for us. Sometimes he was a pain in the ass because he’d scare off any boyfriends we happened to bring around.” She smiled tightly at the memory. “He said if they weren’t tough enough to deal with him, they weren’t good enough for us.” She put the picture frame back on the dresser. “Dawn took it hard when he died. We both did. I thought she was handling it okay until she hooked up with Noel. Then within two months they’re living together and now they’re getting married.” She frowned. “I’ve seen the way she looks at Noel and how they joke around. It reminds me so much of her and Brian together that it’s practically incestuous. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”
Zack was quiet for a minute, then said, “We should get back. They’re probably opening the gifts by now.”
“Damn. I left mine in the car.”
Zack joined the rest of the crowd in the living room while Sadie snagged her jacket.
“You’re not sneaking out, are you?” her mother asked, stepping forward to block the door.
“I’m just going to the car to get Dawn’s gift.”
“We’ll need to discuss the wedding shower.”
“Mom, they’ve been engaged for mere seconds. There’s no need to rush out and buy invitations.”
“You don’t look happy.” Her mather frowned and put a hand on Sadie’s shoulder. “And you’re too skinny.”
Just then a few oohs and ahs erupted from the living room as Dawn opened her first gift.
“I’ve got to get Dawn’s present,” Sadie said and zipped around her mother and outside into the cool February drizzle.
She walked to her Honda Accord, then reached in through the passenger-side door to retrieve the envelope with a tiny red bow on it. It began raining harder, so she quickly tucked it into her coat pocket so it wouldn’t get wet. She’d gotten Dawn a gift certificate for a manicure and pedicure. She planned to suggest they go together, do lunch, and make it a sister day. Now visions of that time being filled with wedding discussions turned her stomach.
As she headed back up the walk, she saw Zack leaving the house.
“Going so soon?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. I want to finish the Carson place early tomorrow.”
Her cell phone rang and she dug it from her pocket.
“Scene-2-Clean,” she answered.
“Hello, my name is Sylvia Toth. I got your number from Detective Petrovich with the Seattle Police Department. He said that you do cleaning. Well, not regular cleaning but, um, crime-scene cleaning?” Her voice trembled with emotion as she got the last words out.
Sadie lifted a hand to stop Zack from walking any farther.
“Yes, Mrs. Toth, my company specializes in cleaning crime scenes. Are you in need of our services?” A silly question—there would be no other reason for Petrovich to give out Sadie’s number.
“It’s my son’s place,” she whispered. “His house is on Taylor Avenue in Queen Anne. The police said they wouldn’t do it. They told me that once they take their evidence, they’re done. I can’t believe that they just leave the place like that and it’s up to the family. I looked up cleaners in the phone book, but they don’t handle this kind of work.” She paused. “I didn’t want to…I mean, I just can’t do it myself.”
“Of course not,” Sadie said soothingly. “This is exactly why we’re here, Mrs. Toth. Could you hold on just one moment?” Sadie held the cell phone to her leg so she could mute her voice and whispered to Zack, “Next of kin calling regarding a situation in Queen Anne. Have you heard of it? Last name is Toth?”
“Toth. Toth,” he repeated with a frown. Then realization dawned. “Right. M.S. case.” “M.S.” was their code for a murder-suicide. “It was in the Times a couple weeks ago.”
The scene had probably only recently been released by the police.
“It was harsh,” he said, shielding his eyes from the rain, which was coming down harder now. “Husband stabbed his wife upstairs, then shot himself downstairs. There’ll be two scenes to clean up in that house.”
Sadie returned the phone to her ear. “Mrs. Toth? We�
�d be pleased to assist you in cleaning your son’s home. If it’s okay with you, I’ll contact Detective Petrovich to see if I have his permission to enter the home. Then I’ll go in and look for the insurance papers in order to make the claim—unless you already have those?”
“Oh no, they’d be inside the house. Do I, will I need to…”
Her voice trailed off.
“No, Mrs. Toth, you won’t need to enter the home,” Sadie said gently. “Just leave it all to me.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, her relief evident.
Sadie got the woman’s phone number, then disconnected with a promise to call her back in the morning.
“Tell me about this one,” Sadie said to Zack. “How long till discovery?”
“I think the paper said it was three days before the bodies were found. The husband owned a sportswear store and the employees thought it was weird that he didn’t show up at the store. Guess they called it in.”
She nodded. Three days. The decomp might not be too bad, then, unless they had the heat cranked high in the house. Still, there would be the usual flies and maggots mingling with blood spatter and tissue.
“Are you going to head over there tomorrow?” Zack asked. “Do you want me to come along while you do the initial walk-through?”
“Nah, that’s okay. We’re almost through at the Carson house. Go ahead and finish up that one. There’ll be time enough for you to meet me at the new scene later tomorrow, after I’ve met with Mrs. Toth to get the contract signed. Provided she wants to go ahead—”
“She will. Her only other choice is to do it herself,” he said dryly.
“Right, so if she wants us to proceed,” Sadie continued, “we’ll start on it after lunch and go late.”
“Why the rush?”
“Didn’t your mom teach you to never put off to tomorrow what you can clean today?”
“Yeah, but she was talking about cleaning my bedroom, not mopping body decomp fluids.”
2
Detective Petrovich didn’t sound at all surprised to hear from Sadie on Saturday morning.
“Figured you’d end up getting the job,” he said.
Seattle detectives would send clients her way, but even if they didn’t, sometimes people would find her company listed in the Yellow Pages under Trauma Clean. Scene-2-Clean was listed with only one other company, Scour Power. Scour took care of drug lab cleans and squalor, while Sadie’s company handled the blood and guts. Advertising in her line of work was a little difficult. She couldn’t exactly send out coupons in the mail.
“So SPD’s all done? The house is cleared for entry?” Sadie asked.
“For all those willing.” He paused. “And the only ones willing would be you and your partner.”
Technically, Zack wasn’t Sadie’s partner. She was the boss and he the employee, but frequently people thought it was the other way around. Apparently, the public felt that if trauma cleanup had a gender, it was male.
Having picked up the keys earlier, Sadie headed her Scene-2-Clean van toward Queen Anne, veering away from the Space Needle, which at the moment was cut in half by low clouds. It was just after nine, and she hadn’t had coffee yet, so she stopped by Coffee Ladro in Lower Queen Anne, where the barista happily made her a latte to go. Sadie warmed her hands on the cup as she stepped outside. Even though the pregnant clouds overhead promised another damp day, all the chairs outside the café were occupied by customers.
Sadie hopped back into her van and drove deeper into the affluent neighborhood. As she sipped her coffee, she slowed, alternately checking her map and admiring the stylish architecture of the older, well-maintained homes in the area. She picked up speed down the tree-lined streets and turned onto Taylor. Sculpted hedges were pruned carefully so as not to block the views. Sadie looked closely at the house numbers as she drove and finally found the right place. She parked in front of a turn-of-the-century home, taking a moment to whistle appreciatively at the view of Mount Rainier, majestic in the distance.
It wasn’t often that she got to work in a home with such a nice view. Of course, the inside wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant.
Sadie grabbed her gear—disposable Tyvek hazmat suit, respirator, gloves, booties, and camera—from the back of the vehicle, then walked around the house to the back door. She geared up on the back deck before entering the house for the first time.
A huge part of the job involved protection from blood-borne pathogens, and it wasn’t something she took lightly. She now completely understood why some men were reluctant to wear condoms. It was difficult for her to feel her way around a crime scene when she was so thoroughly protected. However, she was in no hurry to pick up HIV, hepatitis C, or any of the other dozen possible diseases that could be floating about at a scene, so she wouldn’t cut corners on protection.
From what she knew, the kitchen hadn’t been touched by the crime, so it would be an area they could designate as a safe zone for donning and doffing gear. If possible, she and Zack always liked to have a room at a scene where they could change and have space to store the supplies they needed.
Fully dressed, she felt like an astronaut ready to step onto a new planet (one small step for Sadie Novak, a giant, nasty stride for womankind). She headed for the back door.
The faint coppery scent of blood reached her a few steps away. When she slid the key into the dead bolt, she donned her inner protective gear and slammed shut the gates of her emotions.
The back entrance of the turn-of-the-century renovated Craftsman home swung open into a newly updated eat-in kitchen. Black-and-white checkerboard tiles glistened beneath her feet. Yes, the room would be a perfect safe zone, particularly since a heavy wooden door separated it from the rest of the house. That door was closed, so with camera in hand, Sadie walked through the kitchen and pushed it open, stepping into a formal living room. She spent a moment admiring the sleek hardwood and tasteful antiques. The large granite coffee table in the center of the room probably weighed a ton.
What had once been a stunning ivory brocade sofa trimmed in maple was now part of a macabre death scene. It was a real shame that she would have to cut up that blood-soaked couch and stuff it piece by piece into the large rubber tubs used to dispose of contaminated waste.
The house had two scenes to be dealt with. This one, where the husband had taken his own life, and one upstairs, where he’d slaughtered his wife. Those were all the details Sadie needed—or wanted—to get the job done.
She focused her camera, angled her head, and snapped one picture, then turned and snapped another. She needed the photos both for insurance purposes and for her own personal files. Slowly she walked around the circumference of the living room, taking in the entire main-floor scene and snapping photos from different angles, zooming close on spatter that covered a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf against the wall.
Flies buzzed around her head and she nonchalantly swatted them away. She didn’t need to be told that the husband had sat on the sofa and used a high-powered rifle to end his life. The room told the complete story through its horrific display of blood spatter, dried tissue, and bone fragments.
With detached reason, Sadie examined the blood-soaked sofa. She bent close to the congealed puddle on the hardwood beneath it, where a few maggots still attempted to survive even though their main food source, the body, had been removed.
Sadie snapped close-ups as well as wide shots to take in the entire scene. After a few minutes more, she moved upstairs, pausing briefly to note the scenic view from a window on the top landing. Once cleaned, this house would sell. Maybe not quickly, due to the circumstances, but it would eventually fetch a hefty price tag in today’s hot real estate market.
Sadie made her way to the master bedroom, the next trauma scene. Later, she would check all the other rooms to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. The bedroom walls had high arcs of blood spatter, small flecks of tissue, and a final wide expanse of sticky red in the corner between the bed and the dresser. There wo
uld be no saving the wall-to-wall Berber carpeting.
After snapping half a dozen photos of the room, she folded her arms across her chest thoughtfully, calculating how many forty-gallon bins she would need for hauling out all the contaminated waste, as well as the cleaning supplies and man-hours. She preferred to estimate high to be sure she allowed enough time to get the job done. When she was confident she had a handle on what would be required, she turned to leave.
A scream burned her throat but was muffled by her respirator and mask. There was a man casually leaning against the door frame.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said through a hesitant smile of perfect teeth.
“You didn’t scare me. Just gave me a start.” Sadie shouted to be heard through her disposable respirator and placed a hand over her heart in startled annoyance.
Sheesh, why couldn’t the dead ever knock?
“You get the job of cleaning up, huh?” he asked. “I wondered who’d be doing that.” He shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
He was a gorgeous man—blond, blue-eyed, and buff. Dawn would’ve called him eye candy. He also appeared to be intact. Usually spirits appeared to her in the same bodily condition and clothing they had died in, but occasionally they appeared as they remembered themselves. Maybe it was a last-ditch attempt at denial or vanity.
“The place is a real mess,” Sadie said flatly. She couldn’t pick and choose who visited her, but she was in no mood to make polite conversation with a murderer.
“A dirty job, but someone has to do it, I guess,” he said dryly. “I don’t envy you.”
He’s certainly casual enough about it, Sadie thought with distaste. Annoyance pricked at her. The souls that visited her were usually contrite and frequently remorseful, particularly in a murder-suicide. This guy looked neither. Then again, he could’ve been crazy, probably was to do this to his wife and himself. Sadie believed that crazy didn’t fade much, even in death.
“You’re probably wondering who I am and why I’m here,” he said.
“Not particularly,” Sadie replied, fiddling with her camera.
The Remains of the Dead Page 2