Now though, given the outside temperature and time of year, the windows stood closed, gray skies visible.
Three men were standing along the edge of the floor separating the two levels. One was the man that had called for them, a second in a matching uniform standing nearby, chewing on his bottom lip, his hands thrust down into his pockets.
The third man wore a tie loosened at the neck and a plain blue sports coat, his receding hair combed straight back above tortoise shell glasses. Had Reed seen him on the street he would have guessed him a high school teacher or small college professor, though given the context figured him to most likely be his counterpart with the New Albany Sheriff’s Department.
Serving as the centerpiece for the arrangement, her body wrapped in a floor-length fur coat of an indeterminate origin, was Diedra Weston. Seated alone at the table, her chair was angled so as to face away from the living room, her thick blonde hair haloed around her head in a wide arc. Gone was any trace of makeup, the coloring on her face of a much more dubious nature.
Her left nostril was rimmed with red, open scabs lining it. A harsh crescent extended down from her opposite eye, the center of it black, the outside blue and purple. Based on shape and location Reed figured she might have been hit with the butt of a gun at some point, having seen similar wounds before.
The entirety of her visage was puffy, as if she’d spent most of the night crying, though for the moment her face was dry.
Side by side he and Glenn crossed the kitchen, stopping just short of the table. There they paused, Reed ceding the floor to Glenn, alternating glances between Weston and the men around the outside.
“Would you gentlemen mind giving us just a couple of minutes?” Glenn opened, the question surprising Reed, though he gave no outward display.
It was clear the request had not been expected by the others either, both officer’s jaws dropping open, each looking to the detective between them. A moment passed as he stared at Glenn, letting it be known he did not like or even appreciate the move, before he nodded.
“We’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”
Never had Reed heard his voice, though it was plain there was a clear edge to it. Maintaining his stance, he stared impassively as the men drifted away, listening until the sounds of their shoes faded away as they moved from tile back onto carpet.
Once they were beyond earshot, Glenn moved a few steps to the side so she was directly across the table from Weston.
“Ms. Weston,” she said, “my name is Cassidy Glenn, I’m an investigator with the Bureau of Criminal Investigations with the state. Here with me is Detective Reed Mattox from CPD. I’ve asked him here to provide expertise.”
The arrangement wasn’t quite so spoke-and-wheel, though Reed let it pass. Already he could see the dynamic Glenn was looking to establish, from asking the other men to leave to positioning herself across from Weston.
The woman had been through the worst kind of trauma imaginable. Not only was her husband murdered, her home had been breached, as had her physical well-being. Given the nature of the acts, it was overwhelmingly likely that the perpetrator had been a man.
Glenn knew that, recognized it right off, and was looking to provide as safe an environment as she could.
Without thinking, Reed took a half step back, making sure he was just beyond the periphery for Weston. He kept his hands thrust into the pockets of his sweatshirt, the stance meant to be non-threatening, and waited for Glenn to continue.
“Ms. Weston, I understand you requested to come back here this morning, is that correct?”
Another moment passed, one so long that Reed couldn’t help but wonder if the reason for her return was to gain access to her self-medication products again. If that were the case, she may very well already be beyond the point of any usefulness again, the careless nature of the sheriff’s department having cost them the better part of a day.
“I requested to get the hell out of that office,” Weston said, her voice much stronger, clearer, than expected. It bore the slightest lilt of a foreign accent, Reed guessing from her features the source to be Scandinavian.
“They brought me here.”
Across from her Glenn nodded, sliding herself down into a seat. She did not ask to make the move, doing so quickly, as if it was completely natural.
It was a tactic Reed made a note to employ in the future.
“Mrs. Weston, I know this must be awful, but can you walk us through exactly what happened yesterday?” Glenn asked. “Start first thing in the morning, give us the full run through of everything you did.”
In front of him, Reed could see Weston’s head shift away from Glenn, her attention on the windows lining the outer wall. She remained that way a moment before saying, “Yesterday was Sunday, so I did exactly as I do every week. I met a friend for tennis, showered and changed at the club, and ran a few errands. Grocery store, dry cleaning.”
“And when you say the same as you do every week,” Glenn interjected, “you mean you follow the same general schedule, or you visit the exact same places?”
“Same places,” Weston said, “like clockwork. Tennis, grocery store, dry cleaners. Dennis would go into the office for the afternoon, I would follow my schedule, we would meet in time for dinner.”
There was a slight crack on the last words, Weston lowering her head. She raised a hand and pinched her nose between her thumb and forefinger, holding the pose for just a moment before drawing in a deep breath and raising her head to face forward again.
“Okay,” Glenn said, “tennis club, grocery store, dry cleaners. Then what?”
“Then...” Weston said, her voice drifting for a moment. “I didn’t even know he was there. I had no idea. I was so preoccupied when I came out of the dry cleaners I just jumped in and drove off. Didn’t even think to check the backseat.”
The last sentence caught Reed’s attention, his focus shifting to Glenn. She flicked her gaze over to him, letting it be known she’d caught it too, before leaning in.
“Check the backseat for what?”
“Him,” Weston said, a visible shudder causing her upper body to quiver as she said the word. “He must have been lying behind the front seat, stayed completely quiet. I didn’t even know he was there until I was pulling into the garage.”
Another quiver wracked her body, the thick robe doing little to mask the movement. She wrapped both arms across her torso and drew herself in tight, her entire form seeming to shrink before their eyes.
“Until I felt his arm snake around my neck, heard his voice in my ear.”
Just as one question was being answered, a handful more sprung to mind for Reed. They now understood how the man had gotten to the house unseen, but it still left open the issues of how he gained access to her car without being noticed and how he had managed to leave.
“Were you able to get a look at him?” Glenn asked.
“Not really,” Weston replied. “He wore a black ski-mask the whole time, black leather gloves. I did see his wrists a couple times and he was definitely white, average height.”
She paused before adding, “Sorry, I know it’s not much.”
Standing alone, the information was precious little. Reed figured though that if they could get a look at files later, determine where Iaconelli and Weston overlapped, just knowing the race of the killer might be useful in narrowing things down.
He would have preferred something unique, such as a man of Asian descent or an identifiable scar, something that would really make the digging easy, but at the moment he would take anything.
“What happened then?” Glenn said, skipping over the thin personal description, Reed reasoning she did not want to lose any momentum they already had going.
“I struggled to get away, but after that, the lights went out,” Weston said. She again raised a hand, this time motioning to the side of her face. “I’m guessing that’s where this came from because when I woke up I was taped to a chair in the living room.”
�
�Any idea when that was?” Glenn asked.
“No,” Weston replied, shaking her head just slightly. “But I know it was dark outside.”
“You mentioned your husband usually joined you for dinner,” Glenn said. “Was he back yet?”
“No,” Weston repeated, “which is why I was preoccupied. He’d called while I was in the dry cleaners, said he had an annual review coming up and would have to stay later than usual.”
Without realizing it Reed felt the skin around his eyes tighten, hoping he wasn’t right in thinking where this might be headed. If even the slightest possibility of domestic troubles, of infidelity, was sneaking in, the investigation could get a whole lot uglier.
It also severely reduced the chances of their cases being connected.
“And you didn’t believe him?” Glenn asked.
“No, I did,” Weston said, “which was the problem. The man worked such ridiculous hours as it was, what little time I did get, I wanted.”
A bit of heat flushed Reed’s face as the statement came out, though he gave no other indicator.
Judging by the blush on Glenn’s cheeks, she had had the same thought as well.
“I get what you’re asking,” Weston said, lowering her voice to just north of a whisper, so quiet Reed had to lean in to hear what she was saying. “And thank you for being more delicate than that asshole back there was, but this was not a case of a jilted lover or something.
“Yeah, I know I’m not from here, and I know my husband was not the most attractive man alive.” She stuck her chin out and rotated it in a quick circle, encompassing the kitchen. “All this though, this is recent. When I married him he was a psychiatrist working with inmates making $48,000 a year.”
She didn’t bother expounding any further, though there was no need to.
“What happened after you woke up?” Glenn asked, choosing not to directly address the statement.
“Nothing,” Weston said, “not for a long time anyway. He had wrapped my wrists and feet in duct tape, pressed it across my face. I was scared to death, wanted to cry, but was too afraid I wouldn’t be able to breathe.
“Instead I just sat there, waiting, hoping to God my husband would come home and save me.”
“Where was your abductor during this time?” Glenn asked.
Another moment passed, the back of Weston’s head tilting down a slight bit. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see or hear a thing.”
“Have you had a chance to look through the house yet? Is anything missing?”
“Just a real quick glance,” Weston said. “My jewelry is all here, same for all the electronics.”
She paused there, for the first time turning her head far enough to the side to see Reed. “Do you hear that?”
Again Reed and Glenn exchanged a glance. They both turned to the side and listened close, nothing unusual coming their way.
“You mean the men in the other room?” Glenn asked.
“Exactly,” Weston said. “This is a big house, sound carries. The whole time I was sitting there, I didn’t hear a single thing.
“I don’t think he was going through anything. I think he was just sitting and waiting for Dennis to get home.”
If that were the case, any previous concerns Reed had about the connection between the two was gone. Just the way the traffic stop with Iaconelli and Bishop seemed personal, this too was beginning to show similar signs.
Whoever this was was targeting specific people, and was not above being careful and patient to get to them.
“What happened once your husband arrived?” Glenn said. She still used the same tone, just a few steps up from placating, but Reed could tell by the increased cadence of her questions that she was getting anxious, she too putting together what they were being told.
Another moment passed. Reed could tell by the way Weston fidgeted in her seat that the closer she got to the end of the story, the more uncomfortable she became. He knew that retelling it couldn’t be easy, especially so soon after the fact, sitting not 50 feet from where it happened.
Still, they needed the information. Already the killer was far out ahead of them, gaining more distance by the moment.
“When I heard the garage door open, my blood pressure skyrocketed. I started thrashing and trying to scream, but that damn duct tape had me silent and motionless,” she said, her voice back to a whisper.
“I tried and tried to warn Dennis as he walked in,” she said, her shoulders shuddering as she began to cry softly. “The look on his face, the sheer horror, shock, of seeing me tied up...”
Again she paused, her tears coming harder, louder. “He had no idea that guy was even there waiting for him. All he saw was me, his wife, in trouble. Walked straight forward, right into the knockout shot.”
Rotating slightly at the waist, Reed glanced back out into the living room. He recalled the layout of the room, of the hallway that opened into the space.
If someone were lying in wait, they would have the perfect vantage, just off the hallway. They could remain concealed, catch someone unawares, especially someone that was focused on their wife tied up in front of them.
“After that, it’s all a bunch of starts and stops,” Weston said. “When he hit Dennis, I passed out too. A while later he splashed water on both of us, I guess wanting me to see what he was doing.”
Both hands came to her face this time, brushing back over her cheeks, wiping away tears. One at a time she lowered them to her thighs, using the thick material of the robe to rub them clean.
“And what was he doing?” Glenn asked.
Weston’s head snapped sharply over to Glenn, as if the sound of her voice shook her from the memory. Her lips parted and stayed in place a moment, staring, before saying, “He had tied Dennis up. Or, more accurately, twisted him up like a pretzel. His hands and feet were behind him, a rope had been looped around his ankles and neck.”
Once before, Reed had seen something similar. A young couple had been experimenting with sexual bondage and had taken things too far, the young man choking himself to death before his girlfriend could get him free.
The scene he and Riley had arrived at was difficult to see, a far cry from some of the more gruesome things they’d encountered, but no less harrowing.
He hated to think what it was like having to watch one’s longtime spouse go in such a way.
“Did the killer say anything?” Glenn asked. “Either before or after your husband arrived?”
“Not to me,” Weston replied. “Like I said, my mouth was covered the entire time, so it wasn’t like I could respond.”
Again she paused, drawing in a deep breath, large enough it raised her shoulders an inch on either side of her neck. “To Dennis, he explained that he had a choice. He could either take his own life and I could live, or he could try to fight it and we both would die.”
To her credit, Glenn didn’t ask the obvious follow-up question.
The fact that Diedra Weston was sitting there with them answered it anyway.
“Anything else?” Glenn asked.
“Consequences,” Weston whispered, rotating to look at each of them in turn before shifting back to stare out the windows, the expression on her face letting it be known that she was done with the conversation.
“The last thing he said was, actions have consequences.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Billie scrambled down out of the backseat, legs splaying across the asphalt as she snorted her displeasure at having been left behind. Seeing the condition Deidra Weston was in, Reed was reasonably certain he’d made the right call leaving Billie behind, not knowing what affect her presence might have had. While she was not a male, there being no outward reason why she would scare the woman in any way, there was just no way to ever be certain.
A solid black wolf had a tendency to frighten even the most secure of individuals, something Weston was far from being at the moment.
Reed watched as she paced a few moments, waiting to see if her ser
vices would be needed, before moving past the cars and onto the front grass of the Weston’s lawn.
“I don’t think she appreciated being pinned up,” Glenn said, a look of mild amusement on her face as she watched Billie go.
A handful of retorts came to mind, but Reed opted against voicing them, settling instead on a wan smile. “If we had any piece of physical evidence beyond just a few shell casings from the first crime scene, I’d set her loose here now. She’d be able to tell us within a minute if this is the same guy or not.”
He glanced over to Glenn, watching as her eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. “No shit?”
“No shit,” Reed said. “I’ve only been K-9 for about 10 months and was a little skeptical when I came over, but she’s incredible. Saved our asses a few times already.”
Ten yards away Billie turned in a tight circle before lowering herself into a squat, marking her territory. “All present indications to the contrary.”
“Ha!” Glenn said, the sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh. The exertion of it bent her forward at the waist just slightly, her hands hanging down in front of her.
A moment passed as the two watched Billie finish and continue moving about the front yard before Reed turned and rested his backside against the hood of his car. “So, what did you make of all that?”
Raising her arms before her, Glenn folded them across her waist, holding the lapels of her jacket closed. “Where to even start?” she muttered, shaking her head twice. “I’m assuming we can bypass the way those buffoons in there have handled her thus far?”
“We can,” Reed agreed. There was no way they ever should have brought her back to the house already, both given her condition and the fact that the crime scene was still considered active.
It was also apparent from their postures standing in the kitchen and Weston’s eagerness to get away from them that their bedside manner left something to be desired.
“Okay, first thing,” Glenn said, “the guy gave Weston a choice. Actually told him he had to kill himself or they both died.”
“Yeah,” Reed said. “You ever see something like that before?”
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