by Hood, D. K.
Jenna nodded. “And locked the cellar door.” She shuddered. “I mean a bear could get through that opening. Why did they leave the door unlocked? I believe I need to have a chat with Mrs. Robinson.” She looked at Wolfe. “Rowley said she wasn’t talking. Did you coax anything out of her?”
“She told me someone shot her husband. I’ve collected samples and taken photographs of the blood spatter on her. It will prove where she was at the time of the shooting, and if she was involved, I’d expect to see gunshot residue.” Wolfe continued to collect pieces of metal from around the victim. “Take it easy with her, she’s fragile.”
“Fragile or a good actor?” Jenna turned away and headed to the door. “The open window and unlocked door seem like more than a coincidence. I wonder if she paid someone to kill her husband—and if so, why?”
Seven
Jenna walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. She pulled out her notebook and looked at the bedraggled woman sitting opposite. She was in her late forties, petite, and blood had matted her blonde hair into red dreadlocks. A cellphone covered with crimson fingerprints sat on the table beside her. “I’m Sheriff Alton. Can you tell me your name?”
“Carol, Carol Robinson.” The woman turned an empty cup in her hand. “I’d like another cup of coffee if that’s okay?” She pushed the cup away and picked at the dried mess on her hands. “You have one too.”
Relieved the woman was at least communicating, Jenna glanced at Rowley and nodded. “Sure.” She leaned on the table and looked at Carol. “Do you feel up to telling me what happened here?”
She waited for long moments as Mrs. Robinson gathered herself. “Okay, let’s start with you in bed. Did something wake you?”
“No, I’d been awake for hours. We haven’t been here through winter yet and I didn’t expect the house to be so noisy. The wind was making the house whine. Sometimes it was like a howling, the shutters shook, and it sounded like someone was trying to force them open. I thought I heard the floorboards creak out on the landing and tried to wake Lucas to tell him someone was in the house.” Mrs. Robinson looked at Jenna and her hands trembled.
Jenna nodded. “You’re doing really well. Did Lucas wake up?”
“No, he didn’t stir, and then the light came on. It blinded me and I couldn’t see more than a shadow in the doorway. I heard three bangs, not loud like a gunshot, but then it was dark again. I called out to Lucas but he didn’t answer and then I felt his blood all over me.” Mrs. Robinson stared into space and shook as if reliving the scene. “I didn’t go and help him. I know I should’ve but I was so afraid. I hid under the bed and waited for a long time.”
“So, when did you call us?” Jenna frowned. “Where was your cellphone?”
“My phone was on the bedside table. I crawled out to get it and then called 911.” Mrs. Robinson swallowed hard and screwed up her eyes. “The light from the screen… I could see the blood dripping onto the carpet. There was so much blood… I just had to get away. I found my way downstairs and hid in the broom closet.” She lifted the coffee to her lips, spilling it over her trembling hands. “I didn’t go back and help Lucas. He’s dead because of me, isn’t he?” She let out a wailing sob. “I killed him.”
Jenna shook her head and kept her voice low and with a concerned tone. “No, he died instantly. You couldn’t have saved him, Carol.” She sipped the coffee, grateful for a hot drink. “Do you remember opening the window in the cellar, or leaving the cellar door unlocked?”
“No.” Mrs. Robinson looked confused. “Lucas was down there finishing up the floor before dinner. It was a small repair. Maybe he left it open. I don’t know for sure. I was busy cooking dinner.”
“Okay.” Jenna pushed on. “Do you mind if we search the house and remove any evidence that might give us information about who killed your husband?”
“No, please do.” Mrs. Robinson looked at her wide-eyed. “I want you to catch the person who did this to Lucas.”
Jenna noted she had said “the person,” which was unusual. “Does your husband have any enemies—anyone he owes money to perhaps?”
“Lucas? Enemies?” Mrs. Robinson shook her head. “No, he was liked by everyone.”
Jenna frowned. “Did he ever hit you?”
“No, we were very happily married. He was a perfect husband.”
With Mrs. Robinson being the last person to see the victim alive, Jenna needed more information, and Mrs. Robinson seemed to be more lucid by the minute. Keeping her talking was easing the shock. “What about the people at his work?”
“I don’t think so.” Mrs. Robinson met her gaze and then shrugged. “He did say he couldn’t please all of the people all of the time but he did his best.”
“Okay, I’ll speak to his boss in the morning. Where does he work?” Jenna made notes and then lifted her attention back to the woman. “We didn’t find a gun. Do you have any weapons in the house?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Robinson’s gaze moved to the passageway. “There’s a gun safe in the den. The keys are hanging over there.” She pointed to a small line of hooks beside the door to the mudroom.
Jenna looked up at Rowley. “Go check it out and see what ammo they use.”
As Rowley slipped out the door, she turned back to Mrs. Robinson. “Have you argued with your husband lately?”
“No.” Mrs. Robinson yanked on the flexicuffs. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?”
Jenna kept her face neutral. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you but we have to ask these questions when someone is killed. I’m looking for the reason someone shot your husband. I couldn’t see any signs of a burglary. Do you have any valuables in the house?”
“No, nothing.”
“Okay.” Jenna nodded. “When you’re up to it, we’ll do a walk-through and check to make sure nothing’s missing.”
“If the TV is still there, that’s the only valuable down here. We have a safe upstairs and I know for sure whoever shot Lucas didn’t come far into the room.” Mrs. Robinson’s face was pale and eyes forlorn. “I’d have heard them. The safe is at the back of the closet and the sliding door makes a noise.”
Jenna glanced up as Rowley came back into the room. He held out his cellphone with images of the weapons. She scrolled through the photographs and found a couple of hunting rifles and a Glock, with regular ammunition. “Thanks.”
Jenna heard the siren of an ambulance close by. She met Mrs. Robinson’s red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sending you to the hospital to get cleaned up, and I’d like you to see a doctor for a psychiatric evaluation. If you agree, the hospital will have some papers for you to sign. It won’t cost you anything.”
“Okay.” Mrs. Robinson nodded slowly.
Jenna glanced up from her notes. “Do you have any medication you need to take with you?”
“No.” Mrs. Robinson stared at her bloody nightgown and then shivered. “I’ll need a change of clothes and some toiletries if I’m staying for a while.”
“Sure. I’ll go and pack you a bag. I’d like you to stay until we’ve finished our investigation and had the place cleaned.” Jenna turned to Rowley. “Keep the paramedics outside. I don’t want them tramping through the house. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She headed out the kitchen and made her way along the hallway.
A couple of things played on her mind. If the shooter had used a hollow-point bullet, the first shot would’ve killed the victim, but if the killer pumped three shots in at close range, the victim’s blood spatter would be all over them. Or if Mrs. Robinson had been lying in bed, Jenna assumed the blood spatter would be consistent with what she could see on her. Either way, she could be the shooter. When Rowley initially searched the house, he was looking for an intruder, not a weapon. She wondered if Mrs. Robinson had stashed a gun in the broom closet. From the blood trail, it was the only possible place unless it was under the couple’s bed upstairs. The way Mrs. Robinson seemed to gather herself so fast after witnessing a horrific murder concerned her. She’d seen so ma
ny strange things in her life, it wouldn’t surprise her if Mrs. Robinson had shot her husband from the doorway, stashed the gun somewhere, called 911, and then gone upstairs and rolled in her husband’s blood. She could’ve staged the entire scene.
She used her Maglite to search the broom closet and found no trace of a weapon, but she did find a pair of boots with cement traces on the soles. Maybe Lucas Robinson opened the cellar window after all.
* * *
The murder wasn’t the most gruesome Kane had worked on during his time in Black Rock Falls, but it came close to the top of his list. With a laser measurer in one hand, he moved around the room, calling out measurements for Wolfe. He stood just inside the door. “I figure the shooter stood here.”
“That makes sense.” Jenna walked up behind him, pulling on a face mask. “Mrs. Robinson said the light came on, there were three soft shots, and the light went off.”
The angle didn’t seem right and Kane frowned. “From the blood spatter, how tall was the shooter? The angle seems too high from my point of view.”
“I’ll take the reading from the head—well, what’s left of it and take the measurement from there.” Wolfe held out his hand for the device and then pointed it toward the door. “Okay, from the readings, I’d say close to six feet tall. Of course, this depends on if he aimed the weapon with one hand or two. Some people take a bent knee stance when shooting with two hands. What would you do, Kane?”
“If it went down like Jenna described, I’d turn on the light with one hand, shoot with the other, and then switch off the light and leave.” Kane turned to examine the wall and then looked at Jenna. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“What is?” Jenna raised her eyebrows.
Kane re-enacted the shooter’s moves and then smiled at her. “Okay, one thing we know for sure: the killer’s left-handed.”
“How so?” Jenna frowned.
“Timing. If the shooter was right-handed there’d have been a pause between turning on the light, aiming and shooting. The light switches are always on the right, so if I turn on the light, shoot, and then turn it off, I’d have to waste time changing my weapon from one hand to the other or twist around to use the switch and then aim. In that time, she would have had time to see the killer.” Kane demonstrated a right-handed shoot and then switched to his left hand. “See, if the shooting happened instantaneously as Mrs. Robinson stated, the shooter has to be left-handed.”
“Why not ambidextrous?” Jenna narrowed her gaze at him. “I’ve seen you shoot just as well with both hands.”
“True.” Kane shrugged. “But this has all the signs of a hit, so we’re figuring a professional. A hit must be clean and fast. He’s coming out of the dark and would’ve taken into account the sudden brightness maybe blinding him for a second. The weaker hand is usually less accurate and he wouldn’t have risked it.”
“Well, that’s a start, the killer is around six foot and left-handed.” Jenna looked at Wolfe. “The paramedics are close by. Okay if I get a change of clothes for Mrs. Robinson? Oh, and she mentioned a safe at the back of the closet. Kane, will you check it out and make sure no one’s turned the place over? We don’t need a search warrant. Mrs. Robinson gave me verbal permission.”
“You’re good to go.” Wolfe looked at Jenna over the top of his mask. “I’m finished here. I’ll go and get the gurney.”
Kane walked to the closet that took up one complete wall and slid open the door. The runners made a distinctive grinding noise as if needing oiling. He pushed a line of suits and shirts to one side and found the safe. After dusting it for prints, he scanned them and found a match for the victim. The safe appeared to be undisturbed. He turned to look at Jenna. “The prints on the safe haven’t been smudged. I doubt it’s been touched since the victim last opened it.”
“Mrs. Robinson mentioned the door made a noise, and she didn’t hear anyone enter the room or open the closet door.” Jenna filled a suitcase with items and then walked into the bathroom. “That’s all I need.” Her voice seemed to echo from the small room.
Kane stuck his head around the closet door. “How long are you planning on keeping Mrs. Robinson locked up in the secure ward?”
“I’m not sure.” Jenna came out carrying a makeup bag and dumped an armful of items into the suitcase. “She doesn’t have anyone, so maybe a few days held under psychiatric assessment will give Wolfe time to come up with a few results.” She clicked the suitcase shut and then looked up at him. “You both believe this is a hit, but I want you to run another possibility through your mind. She shoots her husband from the door—she’s a tall woman, maybe five-ten—and then wants to get up close and personal to make sure he’s dead and pumps another couple of rounds in what’s left of his head. She staggers downstairs covered in blood and hides in the broom closet to wait for Rowley. The front door was open. She could’ve opened it before she went upstairs to kill her husband, come down, and thrown the weapon outside in the bushes. The blood trail goes out far enough.”
Kane nodded slowly. “Hmm, possible, so what’s your take on the point of entry?”
“I’d say the victim opened the window to dry the cement. He came upstairs, forgot to lock the door, maybe he intended to go back later. I found his boots in the broom closet.” Jenna frowned. “We’ll have to wait until daylight to do a complete search of the area and check if there are footprints outside the cellar window or a weapon.”
“Okay.” Kane took the suitcase from her. “The paramedics are here.”
“Good, I’d rather she didn’t see Wolfe remove the body.” Jenna hurried down the stairs.
Kane stared after her. To him the scene was a typical hit, but Jenna rarely accepted the obvious and considered every angle in a case. Voices drifted up from the hallway and he hustled downstairs to hand over the suitcase. Moments later Jenna came from the kitchen with Mrs. Robinson.
“Are you left-handed by any chance?” Jenna led her to the paramedic’s gurney.
“Yes, how did you know?” Mrs. Robinson gave her a puzzled look.
“Oh, just a hunch.” Jenna cast a meaningful look at Kane and then turned her attention back to Mrs. Robinson. “Try to get some rest and we’ll drop by to talk to you in the morning.” She nodded to the paramedics to take her away.
Kane looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “A hunch, huh?”
“Wasn’t it you who once told me that the last person to see a murder victim alive is the killer?” Jenna smiled. “Sometimes the answer is just staring us in the face.”
Eight
Before dawn Wednesday morning
The morning frost sat in the corners of the windshield of Parker Louis’ truck as he waited for his friend, Tim Addams, to slip out to meet him. It was the darkest before dawn, and only a sliver of light escaped from the front door before Tim was in the seat beside him. Parker looked at Tim and grinned. “We should be able to get in and out before the first shift arrives for work.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want to be noticed driving around so early.” Tim chucked his backpack onto the back seat and then turned to look at him. “Drive nice and slow.” He looked around. “Good you left your rifle behind. If the boss shows early and catches us, we don’t want the cops saying we were armed.” A puff of steam came out of his mouth, surrounding him like cigarette smoke. “It’s freezing in here. Can I turn up the heat?”
“Sure.” Parker moved his truck away from the curb and drove away in stealth.
Excitement welled up inside him. The idea of sneaking onto a building site and stealing appliances before the installers arrived for work had been pure genius. The site boss left the cabins unlocked rather than risk giving the casual labor a set of keys. This lack of judgment made it easier for someone to rob them, and they’d be able to outfit their own places for nothing.
In the early morning, the blacktop glistened with small patches of ice reflecting in the headlights. Once out of town, Parker took the forest road and accelerated. He headed in the directio
n of the on-ramp to the highway. If the roads stayed clear, they’d make it to the new ski resort cabins within twenty minutes.
Ahead an old truck chugged along, the exhaust blowing a stream of smoke into the pristine alpine air. He passed it, honking his horn and giving the finger to the driver. The vehicle slowed and then pulled to one side. “He’s scared of us. Let’s have some fun.”
Parker drove for a few moments before taking his foot off the gas and coasting down to thirty miles per hour. He glanced in the mirror, waiting for the truck to pull out and pass him. He chuckled. He loved this game and allowed the vehicle to come alongside before he sped. The old truck accelerated and Parker floored the gas pedal. He whooped with excitement. “Man, look at the old fool, he’s figuring on racing us.”
Laughing at the sight of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler, he met the old truck’s speed, trapping the vehicle beside him. Air horns blared and the other driver braked hard. Parker looked in his mirror as the truck fishtailed and plumes of smoke poured from the tires as it tucked in behind him, narrowly missing the oncoming vehicle.
“Oh man, I figured the eighteen-wheeler would spread him all over the highway.” Tim laughed and turned around in his seat. “What a clown. He was determined to pass when all he needed to do was slow down.”
Parker peered in the mirror and slowed down again. “Here he comes. Do you think he’ll try to pass us again?” He gave Tim a slow grin. “Or is he chicken?”
“Forget him or we won’t get to the ski resort before the workers arrive—that was the plan, right?” Tim glanced over one shoulder. “I don’t think he’s gonna try passing us again.”
“I’ll make him.” Parker slowed his vehicle to a crawl and then waited for the truck to attempt to pass before speeding up again. Rather than play his game, the other driver dropped back. “Ha, told you he was chicken. Man, I think I saw smoke coming out his ears.”
