“Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” Madison returned the smile, thankful that things between them had finally returned to normal. A couple years ago, Madison had pried into his personal life, exposing an old, yet still-painful wound, and another time not long after that, she’d questioned one of his rulings.
“I have no doubt.” Richards laughed, and he and Milo proceeded inside.
Madison and Terry were making their way to the back door, and Officer Higgins was coming toward them. Higgins had been her training officer when she first joined the Stiles PD.
“What is it, Chief?” Madison accepted his desire not to advance rank, but it didn’t stop her from using her affectionate nickname for him. After all, if Higgins had wanted to be police chief, he could have been.
“Just wanted to let you know that the Bernsteins are ready to speak with you, whenever you’re ready.”
“The Bernsteins?” Madison asked.
“Oh, figured you knew. The homeowners. Oliver and Rhea. They’re in the house with Estelle.”
“Good timing. We were just going to check on that.”
Higgins started walking back in the direction of the house.
“Hey, Chief,” she called out to him.
Higgins turned around. “You really need to stop calling me that.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Probably because he’s not the chief,” Terry pointed out.
As if I don’t know that… Troy’s sister, Andrea Fletcher, had taken the post after the previous chief had retired.
“Are officers knocking on doors in the neighborhood yet?” she asked Higgins.
“Just getting started. I’ll let you know if anything useful comes back.”
“When they’re finished on Hillcrest, it might not be a bad idea to have them canvass Burnham Street.” He looked at her, some confusion in his eyes, and she turned and gestured to the open gate at the rear of the yard. “Terry and I were thinking she might have come through there.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure that happens.”
“Good, and have them keep an eye out for the primary. It’s not looking like she was killed here.”
“You got it.” Higgins took a step, stopped. “That all?”
“For now.”
“All right, then. The Bernsteins are in the front sitting room. Just go through that door on the lower deck and up the stairs to the left.”
“Thanks.” His form disappeared through the side gate, and she turned to Terry. “Let’s hope the Bernsteins can give us a name for Jane Doe.”
Madison got the door for her and Terry. The place smelled of garlic, ground beef, and tomato sauce.
A man’s voice carried down to the entry. “What’s this going to do to our property value?”
She felt an instant dislike. Murder wasn’t convenient for anyone, least of all the deceased, but it would seem the man was more concerned with his bottom line than the fact someone had died on his property.
The entry was more of a breezeway. It was a straight shot from the back door to the front. One set of stairs went down and another up. The walls of the staircases were open-sided with spindles that made it easy to see the spaces above and below. The stairs going down looked like they led to a large room, and up, to the sitting room Higgins had mentioned.
“Madison?” Estelle’s head popped up over the top railing.
Madison wiped her feet on the mat, and Terry followed suit.
The upper level was beautiful. Glistening maple floors, large windows, and an open-concept floorplan. The sitting area was to the immediate right at the top of the stairs. A hallway veered to the left and likely led to a bedroom or two and a bathroom. And behind the living room was a dining area, the kitchen to the left of that.
Estelle’s hair had been pulled back, the frizz smoothed out, and her makeup fixed. Knowing the woman as Madison did, she was a true professional and would have wanted to present a strong front for her clients.
“Madison,” Estelle began, her gaze skipping over Madison to Terry. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Bernstein.”
Sixty-somethings. Both with gray hair and faces so similar they could have been siblings rather than a married couple. They were trim and had mirroring expressions of shock. The woman’s cheeks were flushed, and the man’s body language was stiff and rigid. They were seated on a dark-blue couch.
“I’m Oliver,” the man said, “and this is my wife, Rhea.”
“I’m Detective Madison Knight, and this is my partner, Terry Grant.”
“Also a detective,” Terry added with some levity.
Estelle’s gaze returned to Terry and she offered him a reserved smile.
“We have some questions for you…” Madison gestured toward an available cream-colored wingback chair.
“Absolutely. Sit wherever you’d like,” Oliver told her.
She sat, and Terry dropped into another chair, first setting aside two throw pillows.
“We can imagine what a shock this must be,” Madison said to start.
“It’s shocking all right.” Rhea blew out a breath and glanced at Estelle. “When Estelle told us what was in our shed…” She searched for her husband’s hand, and he gave it to her.
“We can’t show you a picture of her right now.” Madison proceeded to describe Doe’s looks. “Does that sound like someone you might know?”
“Could be.” Oliver’s voice was strained. “Hard to really tell without seeing— Do you have a name for us?”
“Unfortunately, there was no ID with her. Were you home last night?” They didn’t have time of death yet, but it seemed safe to conclude Doe had died sometime during in the night, given the fact she was rain-soaked.
“I stepped out for some groceries about six and got home around seven,” Oliver said. “Rhea was here, though. She made lasagna.”
That explained the smells in the home.
“I was here all afternoon yesterday,” Rhea volunteered. “Spent most of it downstairs in a recliner reading the latest Carolyn Arnold novel.”
Madison pressed her lips into a tight smile. She’d never heard of the author, but that wasn’t a surprise; her schedule didn’t leave her much time to read.
“And from seven on?” Terry asked.
“We were here together.” Oliver glanced at his wife and continued. “We watched Netflix until bed.”
Madison glanced around the room, and there was no television.
“We watch it downstairs in our media room,” Oliver said, seeming to notice Madison’s search.
“What time did you go to bed?” Terry asked.
“Rhea went around nine thirty, and I fell asleep on the couch but staggered up to bed at around midnight.”
Up. So the master bedroom must be down that hallway. Maybe if she wasn’t there for a murder investigation, she would have appreciated a tour. “Did either of you hear or see anything in the night?”
“I didn’t.” Oliver accompanied his verbal answer with a shake of his head.
“And you, Mrs. Bernstein?” Madison prompted. “Maybe a noise in the wee hours?”
“Wee hours…” Rhea’s blanched. “Come to think of it. I got up to use the washroom.”
Madison leaned forward. “What time was this?”
“Oh, say about one in the morning. I can’t remember exactly, but when you said, ‘wee hours,’ it sparked a memory. I heard a thump outside, but I was basically still asleep. Just figured it was nothing. The rain was lashing against the windows in the bedroom.”
“You never looked out to see what it might have been?”
Rhea met her gaze. “I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
Madison ran through the possibilities in her head. The noise could have been Doe closing the shed door—then again, it could have been anything. “Do you normally keep your shed locked?”
The Bernsteins had been fortunate not to have a break-in. They were only two blocks east and one north of the downtown core. There was a lot of petty theft in the area, including unlocked cars being riffled through for cash. “You probably know what I’m going to say.” Madison smiled.
“That we should lock all our doors. Don’t worry. We will now,” Oliver said.
“One more question and we’ll leave you for now,” Madison began, “but is your back gate normally open or closed?” She recalled how it was sitting crooked on the hinges, and without getting a close look, it was hard to say if it was just a tricky gate that didn’t latch.
“It should be closed,” Rhea said tentatively.
“Okay, thank you.” Madison walked over to the Bernsteins with her card. Rhea took it from her. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns. Or if you think of anything else that might help us with the case.”
She and Terry saw themselves out through the rear door to the lower deck.
“So the Bernsteins didn’t know her, or at least say they don’t,” Madison said. “But who really knows? It’s not like we had a name to give them or a picture. I guess what I’m struggling with is why Doe went in their shed. And did she know it was sitting unlocked or just strike it lucky that way?”
“Let me consult my crystal ball…”
“Smart-ass.” She punched him in the shoulder.
“Hey.” Terry rubbed where she’d hit him. Sometimes their relationship was more like siblings than work partners.
“I’m just saying we’ve got to figure this out.”
“This is where I’d say, ‘no poop,’ seeing as I don’t swear.” He smiled, but she rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her “brother” certainly had a way with words.
-
Four
On the way to the back gate, Madison ducked into the shed to see if Richards had anything to share. Cynthia and Mark were still kicking around, and Milo was next to Richards.
“I’d say she was stabbed.” Richards laughed at his wise-guy answer to Madison’s question about cause of death.
Madison shook her head. “I figured that much out myself. I was hoping for more details. How many stab wounds for instance?”
“Three, and given the angle, I’d say it is impossible she inflicted the injuries on herself.”
It might seem ridiculous to think someone would stab themselves, but she’d come across it before. When she was a new detective, a man had been stabbed several times. The case was approached as attempted murder, but when the man woke from surgery, he’d admitted the entire thing had been a suicide attempt.
“Any idea what kind of instrument was used?” Madison stepped forward, and Richards looked at her as if to say step back. She stopped where she was but didn’t retreat.
“That’s where it’s a little tricky. Of the three wounds, two look similar. They’re more ragged than the third.”
“You think different weapons were used?” Terry asked.
Richards met Terry’s gaze. “It’s possible. I’ll know more once I get her back to the morgue.”
“Don’t even want to hazard a guess?” Madison smiled at the ME, but he wasn’t one for spewing hypotheticals.
“Not this time, but nice try, Knight. I’d say her wounds are quite deep, though. Do you know where she was attacked?”
“Not yet,” Madison said. “We think she might have come here on foot. Maybe from downtown.”
Richards seemed to consider Madison’s words, probably bringing up a map of the area in his head. “As I said, the stabs appear deep, but given their point of impact, it’s possible the victim would have been alive for some time afterward.”
“Giving her time to walk from point A—wherever that is—to here,” Madison stated. “How long would she have had…after she was stabbed?” Her stomach roiled at the thought.
Richards glanced at the body. “I wouldn’t say too long, but there’s no absolute way of knowing. The mind and sheer will can be powerful.”
It had obviously been long enough to get inside the shed and write GB in her blood. “Depending on where she came from, she probably didn’t have much time to reach out for help.” She looked at Terry. Still, one would think she would have tried, and it didn’t explain why she came here. She kept circling back to thinking she had a connection to the Bernsteins.
“What’s time of death looking like?” Terry asked Richards.
“Based on rigor, definitely over twelve hours ago.” He held an open palm to Milo, and he dropped a thermometer in his hand. Richards pierced Doe’s liver with it, and time ticked off on clocks the world over. After what felt like forever, Richards scribbled in a notebook and asked Milo for the temperature in the shed and for the averages in the past twenty-four hours. Eventually, Richards concluded, “She died between twelve and seventeen hours ago.”
“Terry?” Let her partner calculate the math since he was so good at it.
“Between nine last night and two this morning,” Terry kicked out.
Richards didn’t say anything to Terry’s conclusion, which meant it was right. Now they just needed to figure out what had brought Jane Doe out during that time. Was it a date, business, or something else? Was she targeted, or was she simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? And what made her settle here, in this shed? Had it just been convenient and possibly on her way to her true destination? And where the hell had the stabbing happened?
Madison had one idea, and it was time to follow her gut.
-
Five
Madison left the shed and went to the back gate.
“You sure you don’t want Cynthia and Mark back here first?” Terry called from behind her. “And you do realize even if Doe came this way, the chances of finding any proof—”
Madison held up her hand. “A little positivity would be nice.”
“Who are you?”
She often wondered about that herself lately. She was teetering on the edge of obsession when it came to Troy and the lack of a proposal. She hadn’t second-guessed her ability to read people since her ex-fiancé had broken her trust and slept with another woman over ten years ago.
She reached the gate, and it was open wide enough to pass through. She stepped onto a gravel driveway. It was banked by more cedar trees and scraggly bushes and ended at the sidewalk on Burnham Street. A uniformed officer was posted there, guarding the rear entrance to the property.
He dipped his head at them. She’d never seen him before.
She proceeded to walk carefully, cognizant of her footsteps, and stopped when she saw something in a section of dirt, clear of pebbles. A pointed toe. Small indentation for a heel. Doe’s boot prints?
She glanced overhead. Large pine trees sheltered this section. Branches and foliage must have been enough to block the rain and preserve the prints. She placed her foot, suspended, next to the print. “I’d say size nine.” She thought back to the woman, but she hadn’t paid much attention to her feet except to notice she was wearing boots. “The direction shows the person going toward the gate. I’d wager Jane Doe came through here.”
“You wanna make a bet?” Terry smiled at her.
They often made bets on the outcome or aspects of a case, and she was normally game, but she wasn’t feeling like it today. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’ll pass.”
“And you do realize those prints could have been left by anyone. Maybe Mrs. Bernstein.”
She shook her head and resumed scanning the ground. Sometimes it felt like her partner disagreed with her just for the sake of disagreeing.
“Oh. Look.” She indicated her next find—little burgundy droplets.
Terry came up next to her, careful of his footing, too, and inspected them for himself. “Could be blo
od,” he said.
“Could be? I think it’s a sure thing. We need Crime Scene back here pronto.”
Terry took off to notify Cynthia and Mark, and Madison gestured for the officer’s attention. “In case we’re gone before Crime Scene gets here,” she started.
“Yes, ma’am?” He started walking toward her. She held up a hand.
“It’s Detective, and be careful of your steps. I believe Jane Doe passed through here. But I need you to point out the print here—” Madison swirled the tip of her shoe over where it was “—and also, there appear to be blood droplets.” She indicated those with her finger.
“I’ll be sure to let the investigators know, ma—Detective.”
She read his name tag. Harrison. He must have been a rookie. She sauntered slowly toward the sidewalk, scanning every inch as she went. She kept returning her gaze to the bushes. She’d manifest the murder weapon if she could, but the shrubbery wasn’t giving up any secrets.
“Cynthia and Mark will be out shortly,” Terry called from behind her. “They asked that we vamoose.”
“They? I doubt Mark said that.”
“Cynthia.”
“That I believe.” She started down the sidewalk, heading west toward downtown.
“Where are we going?” Terry caught up and kept pace with her.
“We’re going to find out where she was stabbed.”
“Based on your gut?”
“You know it.”
“Come on, be real here, Maddy. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you just wanted to go for a walk.”
“Here’s what I’m thinking…” She ignored his jab. So what? She wasn’t a fan of exercise; a lot of people weren’t. “She was stabbed three times. Why stop there?”
“Ah…” Terry snapped his jaw shut. “No idea.”
“I think it’s possible her would-be killer got spooked or was interrupted and ran. And that tells me—”
“Jane Doe was attacked someplace public where other people could have come along.”
“Uh-huh. Richards figured she died anywhere between nine last night and two this morning, and it’s unlikely she could have walked too far with her injuries.”
What We Bury Page 2
