Passion Over Time
Page 35
Introducing himself, Dustin held his hand out to the uniformed officer stepping from the shadows at the end of the hall. “I’m Detective Pearce, and this is my partner, Detective Jones.”
The officer pointed to the kitchen and began walking them through the house. “Janet’s still upstairs collecting blood samples. Not much else for forensics. Father and daughter live alone. According to the neighbor who called us, both are reclusive by nature. Dad’s been widowed for nearly twenty years.”
“Middle of the night, secluded neighborhood, how’d the neighbor know to call?” Dustin asked.
“Open windows upstairs. Neighbor said she was letting her dog out and heard the screams.”
“Lucky break.” Tyson followed Dustin and the uniformed officer.
Dustin admired the huge painting hanging in the wide corridor leading to the kitchen. Someone had painted the local mountain scene with oils and a delicate, featherlike stroke. A spotlight lit the deep color of the frame blending with the rugged beauty of the mountain.
“Anything missing?” he asked the officer. The Porter’s had money. Lots of it by the looks of things.
Dustin stretched on a pair of latex gloves and handed a pair to Tyson.
“Not that we can tell.” The uniformed officer took a clear plastic envelope and handed it to Dustin. “Found this on the counter.” Sorry I was harsh with you, Dad.
Dustin gave the letter to Tyson, who then returned it to the officer.
“No blood,” Tyson observed. “Nothing appears out of place in here.”
“Upstairs is a real mess,” the officer said with a disgusted sneer on his lips. “It’s been photographed and nothing has been disturbed. Wanted to maintain the integrity of the scene until you had a chance to see it.”
“Let’s go.” They headed back in the direction they came from.
Upstairs, Dustin stopped at the threshold of the door. Tyson grinned. “Hey, Janet.”
“Detectives.” The lead crime scene investigator smiled at Dustin but gave Tyson a cold shoulder.
“I guess she’s still mad,” he said to Dustin.
“Don’t get cocky, Detective Jones. You weren’t that good.” She didn’t look up while she continued to take samples of blood.
Dustin surveyed the interior space of the master bedroom. Centered against the wall, an unmade king size bed with gray satin sheets draping to the floor bore witness to an unspeakable crime. Blood pooled near the edge of the bed and dripped down the side of the mattress. Smudged footprints intersected on the carpet as if someone had repeatedly entered and left the room. The phone lay disconnected covered in bloody fingerprints. “Take the phone and anything else that might have a print,” Dustin told Janet. “Maybe we’ll get lucky in the database. It has to be the perp or the vic.”
“I want the rug.” Janet referred to the ornate woven rug reminiscent of something Native American trampled with blood and debris. “The mattress, too.”
Dustin nodded his agreement.
Tyson wrinkled his nose because of the heavy scent of death and squatted down on his haunches. The muscles of his thighs strained against his tan slacks. “Run DNA on the blood samples even though I’m betting there ain’t a chance in hell this isn’t the good old doctor’s juice.”
“Any sign of the body?” Dustin glanced over his shoulder at Janet.
“No, but I don’t think we’re going to need one.” She grabbed the corner of the mattress. “Put those muscles to some use,” she said to Tyson.
“Fuck!” Tyson lifted the mattress to see the blood had soaked through to the other side. The mattress slapped down on the box spring spattering drops of blood onto both of them. “Sorry.”
Janet wiped her latex covered hands on her slacks now smeared with dark red stains. “Guys, there’s enough blood in here to say for certain that whatever happened ended with a homicide.”
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