by Dana Killion
I drew in a few breaths and tried to focus. Tried to remember my training. What else had I seen or heard that my mind might have brushed to the back recesses of my memory after the shock of discovering Elyse?
I was drawn to a technician dusting for fingerprints on a stool lying on its side on the floor. Knocked over in the struggle? Wait, the bloody handprint. I turned my head toward that first sign I had noticed inside the house. I looked at it hard, trying to memorize its shape and position. Left hand, small, the print low and clearly made by someone trying to leave the room. Elyse’s? I burned the image into my memory and followed the blood trail back toward where I had found Elyse’s body. I shuddered again. There was so much blood.
Gathering strength, I forced the image of her back into my mind. Forced myself to see, to remember the details I missed in my initial reaction. She had still been in her work clothes, the same silk blouse and gray pencil skirt she had worn earlier at our meeting with Victor. Only her jacket was missing. She hadn’t even removed her shoes yet, so that suggested she hadn’t been home long. A new question filled my mind, an even more terrifying one: How long before I arrived had the killer left?
Blood had covered Elyse’s chest, her neck, her face, and her hands. Given the gusher at her chest, I could safely assume this was the primary wound site. A gunshot? No—it would have done even more damage, possibly killing her instantly. Perhaps a knife to the gut or the chest? There was no pool of blood at the back of her head, only blood that had dripped down the sides of her face and into her hair. The flesh of her face around her mouth had been exposed, cut, but I doubted that been the wound that killed her.
But what had been done to her mouth?
The questions formed in my mind instinctually. I looked around the room for signs of blood spatter, something to confirm my initial theory. The pattern of blood on the floor showed signs of a struggle, possibly a fall or marks suggesting she had been dragged—or had even dragged herself, trying to get away. Technicians were marking blood droplets on the sides of the island and the stools, but I saw nothing marking the upper cabinets. That meant her killer was close. He hadn’t used broad, sweeping motions where blood would have flown or sprayed backward from the violence of his thrusts. He hadn’t been frenzied. He’d been controlled and close, likely with a strong, direct jab or two.
The crime scene technicians would photograph the scene, carefully documenting the shape of the blood droplets, calculating the angle of the trajectory to determine as best they could where Elyse might have first been attacked. Much could be learned from blood splatter that could determine the likely position of attack and defense. And bloody footprints could determine the dance between killer and victim as one of them fought to the death.
But why? Beyond the broken glass and the struggle in the kitchen, the home appeared normal. Elyse’s purse sat on the countertop, seemingly untouched. How long had it taken her to die? Who would mourn her this evening? I knew nothing about her family other than Gavin.
A technician came over to take samples from my hands and to confiscate my shoes, questioning me again about whether I needed medical treatment.
“No, I’ll be okay,” I said, wondering if I was being honest or whether I’d be in dire need of a sedative hours from now. In reality, my only injuries were things that a bandage could not fix. An officer came over, this time the younger one, asking me for a formal statement. I reiterated what I had done and seen before the EMTs’ arrival while a technician cleaned the blood from my hands.
As the officer grilled me, I felt a strong, tender grip on my shoulder. I turned my head to see Michael kneeling next to me. I let out a sob and fell into his chest, letting loose raw emotion yet again. I stayed there, allowing the trauma to wash through me and feeling Michael’s embrace. He mumbled something to the officer, who then walked away. When the panic left my body, and I was able to control my breathing, I sat back. Michael’s eyes were wracked with fear.
“I’m okay,” I said, hoping to reassure him and myself. His eyes said he didn’t believe me. But more than anything, I wanted to bury myself in his arms and not leave for days.
“You sure have a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Karl Janek stood behind Michael, looking down at me, his face expressionless, but his eyes held a hint of concern. Janek was Michael’s partner and the detective who had saved my life nearly a year ago. Gruff and methodical on the exterior, a bulldog when he needed to be, there were no other men I’d rather have protecting me. I gave him a weak smile.
“What were you doing here?” Michael asked, his eyes not leaving mine.
“As you know, I’m covering Gavin Wright’s trial,” I said. “I met with Elyse earlier today. She said she had some information to show me. She implied that her ex-husband had been involved in a prior embezzlement scheme and asked me to come over tonight, said it was information I needed to see in person. And that he had threatened her. When I got here, it appeared someone had broken into the home. I found her bleeding to death on the floor.”
“Did you see or hear anyone else? Maybe someone on the street before you walked in?” Janek asked. The look Michael shot his way told me exactly how close I might have come to walking in on the act. I shook my head, but the aftermath of the question chilled me.
“Did she indicate what she had to show you? Account statements? Maybe emails?” Janek asked.
“She told me Gavin had threatened her via email, but since her attorney didn’t take the threats seriously, I assumed it was just more divorce anger and that she was exaggerating. As far as the embezzlement accusation—the prior incident, I mean—she was pretty evasive. To me, it sounded more like she wanted to get back at him. Maybe more concerned about her own reputation. She seemed more attention seeking or manipulative than anything else.” I shuddered. “Anyway, I figured it was worth hearing what she had to say, even if it went nowhere. Oh, I have the email she sent me.” I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket, pausing when I saw the blood staining my sleeve. Immediately I took off the coat, unable to tolerate the sight. The urge for a long, hot shower swept over me. I took a deep breath, opened my mail app, and scrolled down until I found Elyse’s note. “I found it,” I said, running my eyes over the text, refreshing my memory. The note she’d sent was communication about her address and the time we’d agreed to meet. But a single word jumped out at me in a way that hadn’t had the same impact earlier. I read the note again, slowly this time.
“What is it?” Michael asked. He was still crouched at my side, his arm on my shoulder reassuringly but I could see the worry in his face.
“Something I guess I overlooked or didn’t take seriously at first.” I handed Michael my phone. “She said when we spoke on the phone that Gavin had threatened her physically. This is the second time she mentioned it. Could he have done this? Could he have murdered his wife?”
11
I walked into the Link-Media office midmorning, my head pounding. I’d been at Elyse Wright’s home, speaking with CPD until nearly midnight, and then bumbled around my own home, unable to rest for hours after. It had been a night filled with more questions than I could count, and Elyse Wright’s pleading eyes had burned an indelible image into my brain. I couldn’t imagine the horror she had felt during those last moments of her life, sprawled on her kitchen floor and likely knowing she was about to die. Had she known her killer?
The cuts on her mouth suggested intimacy or a perhaps a threat. A metaphorical and physical silencing.
Try as I might, sleep had been impossible, and lying in bed, unproductive, left me feeling impotent, consumed with fear and grief. Not knowing what to do with myself, I’d spent much of the early hours of the morning pacing in my apartment helplessly, while Walter followed me from room to room, waiting for a moment when I would sit so he could curl next to me. Whether that was for my comfort or his—who knew what went on in that little brain—regardless, he knew something was wrong.
I finally found sleep around 6:00 a.
m., just as daylight was breaking but only after physical and mental exhaustion took over. But the two and a half hours of rest had done nothing to rejuvenate me physically or emotionally.
Despite several attempts, I’d been unable to get ahold of Ryan this morning to move our ten o’clock meeting, so I’d forced myself into the office. Rescheduling again would not make him happy, but wasting half a day being grilled by the man on head count and job titles wasn’t on my top ten list, either, after last night’s ordeal.
All eyes in the newsroom turned my way as I walked through the large, open loft to my office. Faces full of shock and curiosity looked back at me. I prayed my coworkers would give me the space to compose myself before descending on me with questions. Borkowski had assigned someone to cover the new development, making me a source, but I needed a few minutes of breathing room first.
I had been checking my news feed for hours, listening for developments as CPD worked the case, but thus far, I knew more than the talking heads were revealing. I’d already put in two calls to Michael, one last night after they had allowed me to leave and again this morning before I left home, but unfortunately both calls had gone to voicemail. Already my impatience was building, having been the last person to see her alive. Having been the person who held her hand as she took her last breath, I needed to know what had happened to her. I needed—no, I deserved to know everything as the investigation unfolded. Somehow I was now entitled.
I nodded solemnly to my coworkers, flipped on the lights in my office, settled in, and then checked one more time for a response from Michael. Nothing. I sent him a quick text, then opened my laptop. I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye as Brynn made a beeline for my office. Unfortunately, Ryan was three steps ahead of her, causing her to abort the trip.
“Good morning, Andrea. Why don’t we meet in the conference room today?” He stood smiling in the doorway, his blue shirt open at the collar, showing off his tawny skin. A herringbone sport coat sat comfortably on his broad shoulders. An image of the well-defined muscles I knew were underneath popped into my head, and I quickly brushed it away.
“Would you mind if we rescheduled? I’ve got a lot of follow-up to do on the Elyse Wright story. I’m sure you’ve heard about last night’s development,” I said, hoping for a reprieve. How in the hell was I going to keep my mind on stats and org charts when all I could hear in my head was Elyse Wright’s last dying breath?
“I’m afraid that doesn’t work for me,” he said, opening the calendar app on his phone and scrolling through. “I’m pretty backed up, and we’ve already rescheduled this once. Grab your tea and meet me in five.” He turned and headed toward the conference room, shutting down any additional objections as I glowered at his back.
“Shit!” I said out loud, not meaning to, then grabbed a notebook.
“Are you okay?” Brynn stood in the doorway, her face creased with worry.
“I don’t know how to describe how I feel,” I said truthfully. “But apparently that doesn’t matter right now. I get to go waste a couple hours with Mr. Molina.” I stood and moved toward the door. “Ignore my mood. As you can imagine, I didn’t sleep. We’ll talk later,” I said, squeezing her hand as I left.
Ryan was standing next to the conference table and typing something into his phone when I arrived. I closed the door and took a seat, trying not to be irritated, but this was the only mood I had at the moment.
“Just need to finish this text,” he said, not looking up from the phone. Mine sat on the table in front of me, the ringer silenced, but I had a full view of the screen. Why was Michael taking so long to get back to me? Surely he understood how upset I was? Why in the world would he leave me hanging? I’d give him another hour, and if I hadn’t heard from him by then, I’d call Janek directly.
“Sorry about that.” Ryan came around and stopped next to my chair. He leaned back and sat on the edge of the table, his leg brushing mine. “Finally, I get you alone,” he said. “It’s great to see you, Andrea. You look fabulous. Being single agrees with you.”
He smiled down at me with a look entirely inappropriate for the situation at hand. I had the sudden urge to turn around and see who might be watching through the glass-walled office. It took tremendous effort, but I kept my face neutral.
“I’m glad to see you’re well,” I said, ignoring his suggestive smile. It was far more difficult to ignore the nearness of his body. “So how did this happen? You being the guy Borkowski brought in, I mean?”
“Switching to business mode already?” He laughed. “I’m disappointed, but I will answer your question. Coincidence, really. I worked with one of your board members, Wade Ramelli, about six months ago. I guess he liked the work I did, so one thing led to another, and here I am. You don’t mind, do you?” He leaned over, placing his palm flat on the table and tilting his head toward me and, in the process, allowing his leg to touch mine again.
I shifted in my seat, making sure I was being obvious about pulling away. “Ryan, let’s be clear. What happened between us is in the past. It was a moment when I needed something, and you were there. That’s all. We can’t let that history influence the situation we find ourselves in now. I can handle myself in a strictly business manner, and I hope you can too. If not, then I would suggest this isn’t quite the right assignment for you and you should consider withdrawing.”
He crossed his arms and looked at me, a smile still dancing around his eyes as if pleased with the challenge. Not the reaction I was going for.
The last thing I wanted was Ryan Molina thinking of me as a challenge, because that inevitably meant questions about how he could use his charms to wear me down. I’d seen his competitive streak firsthand and had no interest in being his prize. But would his ego allow him to walk away from a job, particularly if Ramelli was the one who’d recommended him? Unlikely. There would be lots of uncomfortable questions if he took that route. Questions I didn’t want asked or answered. Not that I wanted Ryan to know that, but how would he play this? My gut told me he’d prioritize his career and reputation and that he had as much to lose as I did if Borkowski and Ramelli found out about our previous relationship.
If Ramelli had made the recommendation, that meant he and Borkowski had been working together. A tingle of fear crawled up the back of my neck. Ramelli clearly wanted me out of the business. Was he using Borkowski to help him, or did Borkowski have his own agenda? It wasn’t inconceivable to think that Borkowski might have been made a promise if I was out of the picture. Ramelli was certainly the type to play it that way.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to focus. The lack of sleep was getting to me; I was probably just being paranoid.
“So, what do you say? Can we keep this a professional relationship?” I asked.
“You are quite irresistible, especially when you talk tough. But please, give me a little more credit than that.”
He laughed again and took a seat, tapping on the notepad in front of him. “So much has changed at Link-Media since my early days working with Erik. I was really only around during its infancy. As you can imagine, I have dozens of questions, and Borkowski, well, he’s only been in his current role for a few months. I’d like to get an overview of what has transpired, how the company has grown over the last few years. If we start there, I can better understand the structure and operations of the organization as it exists today. Given your relationship with Erik, you may know things that Borkowski wasn’t privy to.”
“That’s fine,” I said, feeling slightly relieved that the conversation had moved into business territory, although I knew full well that Borkowski could answer his questions just as easily. “I need to say before we get started that there are several developments on a story I’m working, and I may have to cut this short.”
“Well, then, we’ll just need to continue this conversation over dinner.”
My mouth dropped open. I stepped right into that one. But before I could shoot back a response, my phone lit up.
Michael.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” I said, not waiting for an answer from Ryan.
“I apologize for being AWOL. It’s been a long night,” Michael said. “And I only have a minute, but I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”
“Like you, short on sleep. But other than that, I’ll be okay. Do you have the cause of death? Any leads on the killer?”
Ryan cleared his throat, irritated with the interruption. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him tug on a shirt sleeve, exposing a flash of gold watch at his wrist. Gold. Elyse’s bracelet. My mind was drawn back to my meeting with Elyse the day before while Michael gave me the standard lines about too soon to comment, still investigating, blah, blah, blah.
“Did you find a bracelet?” I asked, interrupting him.
“What? What bracelet?”
“When I met with Elyse yesterday afternoon, she was wearing a gold bangle. Thin. It had a little bauble, a single charm hanging from a jump-ring. I think it was a pearl caged in gold wire. She wasn’t wearing it last night when I found her.”
“Maybe she took it off?”
“Maybe. But she hadn’t changed her clothes yet. She hadn’t even taken off her shoes. Her jacket was on the dining chair. Why would the bracelet be the only thing she took off? Did she take it off, or does her killer have it?”
12
“If you’re finished with your calls, perhaps we can get back to the task at hand?” Ryan gave me an irritated stare.
What did the man expect? That the news was supposed to stop because this was the moment he needed to ask a bunch of questions that Borkowski could answer just as easily? Obviously, I wasn’t going to be able to shut the whole thing down, but he needed to understand that the business of running Link-Media came first. If we didn’t prioritize news content, there was no point to any of this.