by Kristin Cast
“Her name is Cal and she—”
“Sir, if I could get you to step back a bit, that would be great.” Her voice was soft, but her expression made it clear that Kevin had no other option. She continued only after he’d sullenly shuffled to the bus bench and plopped down. “It’s really better if I hear everything from you.”
“My name is Calista Rowland.”
“Calista. I’m Megan, and this is my partner Darnell. Can you tell me what happened today?”
“I guess I fell and hit my head on the sidewalk. I was unconscious for a little bit. I don’t know how long though.”
“You fell and hit your head,” she repeated. “What caused you to fall?”
“There was this swarm of gnats or something. They attacked me, and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground with this nasty knot on the back of my head.”
Darnell released Cal’s wrist and disappeared for a moment, returning with a long orange board and a duffle bag. He dug through the bag and pulled out a plastic collar. “I’m going to put this around your neck to stabilize it.”
Cal winced as Megan gripped the sides of her head, and Darnell gently snapped the neck brace around her throat. “This is not comfortable at all,” she mumbled.
Darnell smiled down at her. “Wish I could tell you this next part was going to be better.”
“We’re going to make sure you’re immobilized by putting you on this backboard. It may not be comfortable, but you’ll have an interesting story to tell your friends,” Megan said.
“First, I need you to tell me if you can feel this,” he said, squeezing both of her feet.
“Of course I can feel that. I fell onto the sidewalk. I wasn’t hit by a car.” She instantly felt bad for having an attitude with the people trying to help her.
Megan crossed Cal’s arms over her chest, and the two EMTs rolled her onto her side and onto the backboard before she could utter an apology.
“As soon as we finish strapping you down, we’ll get you loaded into the ambulance and you’ll be on your way to St. John’s Hospital.”
“Thank you,” she said, the straps across her body tightening as the EMTs locked them into place. The tickling in Cal’s chest returned as they lifted her onto the stretcher. With each stifled cough, the dull pain in the back of her head thundered to life.
Megan studied her face. “We’ll be there soon. Do you want your friend to ride with you?”
She tried to shake her head, but only her hands were free to move. “No. But will you tell him he doesn’t need to come to the hospital right now, and that I’ll call him as soon as I get the chance?”
“Sure thing.” Megan disappeared, and Darnell finished loading her into the ambulance before hopping in behind her and shutting the metal doors.
Heat gnawed at Cal’s lungs, and she coughed against the pain. “Can you please take this thing off of me?” she asked, her fingers clawing at the plastic neck brace.
The etched creases in the EMT’s forehead deepened as he lingered over her. “Sorry, no can do. They’ll remove it at the hospital.”
“But I don’t have any injuries,” she sputtered between wet barks. “I just bumped my head.”
“That head bump you have, that would be classified as an injury.” The ambulance started, and Cal winced from the jarring movement. “But we’re not too far from the hospital.” He settled onto the small steel bench and scribbled down a few notes. “I’m going to check your vitals again and ask you a few more questions,” he said, slipping the blood pressure cuff around her bicep. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling, and if you have any allergies to any medications?”
The strap securing her head to the backboard and the rigid neck brace gave her permission to stare only at the ceiling. Thick beads of spit rolled down her cheeks as she tried to stifle her coughs.
Cal’s annoyance increased with each squeeze of the cuff. She desperately hungered to rip it from her arm, attach it around his neck, and pump the tiny ball until he could no longer breathe. “I’m fine,” she growled.
“If something’s going on, you need to tell me. I’ll be able to help you a lot better if you tell me what you’re feeling.”
Pain and heat conjoined, forming an intolerable mound within her lungs. “My chest,” she wheezed. “It burns.”
“How long have you had this cough?”
Hearing Darnell’s voice was infuriating, and the ambulance seemed to close in around her. “Get this off of me!” Cal hooked her fingertips over the top of the plastic cage surrounding her throat and tugged violently. Pinkish bubbles of foam popped around the corners of her lips as she gnashed her teeth and strained against the straps holding her in place.
He grabbed her wrists and leaned over her torso as he pinned them to the stretcher. “Hold still. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
No. We will hurt you. A voice purred between her ears.
She opened her mouth and let the coughs fly from her throat. Cal’s lips twisted into a smile as Darnell recoiled and wiped the red-specked spittle from his face.
“I need to know how long you’ve been coughing like this. When did it start?”
“Centuries ago,” she hissed, and shot a clawed hand out toward his face.
He banged on the partition behind Cal’s head and shouted through the small opening into the cab. “We’ve got a problem back here. Light it up and get her there now. Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”
The sirens whined, and the ambulance lurched forward with increasing speed toward St. John’s Hospital.
Seven
James punched the address into his GPS and mindlessly followed the talking prompts toward his destination.
“What the hell did I just do?” he asked himself, beating his palm against the steering wheel. Again, he thought back to what had happened in the woods with Eva. “Say a word, and they’d have me out on psych leave before the end of the day.”
The GPS directions led him down a winding, tree-lined street. Police cars dotted the roadway, and yellow crime tape was already hung around the perimeter of the front yard.
“Winslow!” James called to the tall, gangly officer as he climbed out of the car.
“Hey, Detective!” Winslow waved and awkwardly shuffled under the police tape to meet James on the sidewalk. “Where’s your partner?”
“We drove separately. He’ll be here soon.” James looked around at the small crowd of neighbors gathered down the street. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve got two bodies. Both roughed up something fierce. One upstairs and one outside on the back patio.”
“Any IDs on them yet?” James dropped his keys into his pocket.
“Yeah, and you’re not going to be happy about it.” He thumbed through the pages of his small notepad. “A married couple, Monica Carroll and Tyson George.”
“Okay. What about them is supposed to make me so unhappy?” James asked.
“What, they don’t have Carroll Groceries wherever you’re from?”
“I’ve been in Texas for awhile. And no, can’t say they have them down there.”
“First, you might want to keep that Texas heritage to yourself. It is football season, after all. And B, Carroll Groceries is more than just a chain around here. The Carrolls have donated bazillions of dollars to charities all over the state. Mainly because of the good-hearted Monica, who happened to be the Carrolls’ only child and sole heir to their fortune,” Winslow explained.
“Shit,” James mumbled. “Double check the victims’ info. I want a solid confirmation before we run with the names. And keep it quiet.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“I want to hide this from the media for as long as we can. Captain’s going to have a heart attack if we don’t handle this one correctly.” James studied the outside of the house. Its burgundy stones and circular tower reminded him of the European architecture he’d seen while on holiday with his fiancée and her family.
“Yeah, I heard he’s been fuming
about the incident over in Mohawk Park. What did happen over there anyway?” Winslow asked.
“Let’s try to stay focused on one case at a time.”
“Sorry Detective. What’s next?”
“Any signs of forced entry?” James asked.
Winslow shook his mop of ginger hair. “Windows and doors are locked, with the exception of the French doors up in the master bedroom. In one of the doors, the whole pane of glass is shattered. There’s not a way up there from the ground, so it must’ve happened during the murders sometime yesterday. CSI guys said it’s a fly-filled mess up there. Lucky for me, I got to stay down here waiting for you. I fucking hate bugs. All of them. Tiny bastards.” He paused and wrinkled his freckled nose. “Oh, and the door leading in from the garage wasn’t open, but it was unlocked. Our witness says the garage door was up when she arrived. Could be how they got in and out.”
“There’s evidence of more than one intruder?”
Winslow shrugged. “Eh, not exactly. But the husband’s a big guy and a pro mixed martial arts fighter. He’s only fought locally, but he’s kicked ass every time. You ever get out to watch the fights?”
“Watching people beat each other up, it’s not really my thing.”
“Then maybe you’re in the wrong line of work.” Winslow chuckled and jabbed James in the ribs with his elbow.
James sneered and rubbed his side. “You said something about a witness.”
“Yeah, Robyn Jenkins.” Winslow pointed across the yard to a shiny Mercedes idling in the driveway. “She’s not really a witness as much as she’s the person who found the bodies. Well, Monica’s body anyway. And she’s a little, uh, shaken up.”
“That her in the car?” James asked.
“Sure is. Man, I’d give my right nut to have that slick new Mercedes.”
James furrowed his brow and cast a sideways glance at the officer. “But why is she in a running car?”
“She refuses to get out until her lawyer gets here. I told her finding a body isn’t a crime, but she doesn’t seem to think I know what I’m talking about.”
“Imagine that,” James muttered. “Thanks, Winslow. And let me know when the ME arrives.”
“What about Schilling? Want me to find you when the old man gets here?”
“Nah, I’m sure I’ll run into him.”
“He is kinda hard to miss.” Winslow smiled and jogged over to the group of officers gathered around the home’s massive front doors.
James straightened his collar and briskly walked to the witness’s Mercedes before her lawyer had the chance to show up and intercept her. “Hi, Mrs. Jenkins. I’m Detective James Graham. Mind if I talk to you for a moment?”
Streaks of mascara peeked out from beneath the large black sunglasses perched on the tip of her thin nose. “It’s Ms. Jenkins,” she said, wiggling the fingers on her left hand.
“Apologies, Ms. Jenkins. Can you step outside of the car and talk to me about what happened inside?”
She pursed her plump lips and pushed her glasses further up her nose before answering. “I suppose.” James stepped back as she opened the car door and hopped out. All of the buttons on her peach cardigan had been fastened except the top two. James followed her hand as it nervously traced the deep V-neck of her blouse. “Just to let you know, I have called my lawyer. He was in a meeting across town, but should be here any moment.”
He lifted his gaze and stared at his reflection in her dark sunglasses. “And you can meet with him as soon as he gets here. I only want to take a little bit of time to understand what happened. From your point of view, of course. Did either Mrs. Carroll or Mr. George know you were coming over?”
“Yes, Monica and I had scheduled a meeting for today.”
“And can you tell me what the meeting was supposed to be about?”
She took a deep breath and nodded quickly. “Yes. She always helps me plan our country club’s annual fundraiser. Monica is the queen of getting people to donate money. She knows how to raise more than anyone in the Midwest.”
“That’s quite a talent. It must have made some people a little bit jealous,” James mused.
“Oh, people were always jealous of Monica. Not me, of course, but others were. It comes with the territory. However, I don’t think any of them would have the stomach to do something like this.” A grimace twisted her lips.
“When you arrived to see Monica, was the garage door up or down?”
“It was up. That’s how I got inside. But that’s very unlike Monica. The only time she allowed it to be up was when Tyson was working on something. He tinkers on different projects all the time.” Her voice caught in her throat. “Or I guess I should say tinkered. Both of them being gone is so much to process.”
“I understand, Ms. Jenkins. Only a few more questions. When you went through the garage, did you notice anything out of place, or did anything strike you as being odd?”
“No, nothing seemed odd until I got inside. I walked through the laundry room and into the kitchen, which is when I noticed the mess. Monica’s kitchen was never a mess. It was obnoxious, but nothing in the house was ever even out of place. It was always immaculate. I also saw some bloody paper towels. I just thought Monica tried to cook and it had gone south.” Tears emerged from beneath her sunglasses and rolled down her cheeks. She patted them lightly with her fingertips. “But then I saw the chunks of bloody hair and the blood all along the stairs. When I got to the top I saw this red puddle.” Her voice trembled as she pushed through her sobs. “And her hand. It was so still.”
“Did you hear anyone or see Mr. George?”
“I didn’t even know Tyson was there until your officer told me they’d found his body. Oh God, how am I ever going to plan this benefit without her?” Robyn collapsed against her car and let her head fall into her hands.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Jenkins.” James turned from the blubbering woman and motioned for one of the stray officers to come over. “If you could give this officer a list of people who had access to the house, I’d really appreciate it. Also, if you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.” He reached into his pocket and handed her one of his cards.
“Thank you.” She sniffled and tucked the card into her pocket.
James smiled and hastily walked to the front door of the house before Ms. Jenkins’s attorney arrived and created a new mess of problems. He stood in front of the grand double doors admiring the iron detail. It transported him back to a time when life was simpler, happier. Before returning to Tulsa, James had spent his fair share of time in neighborhoods like Terwilleger Heights, clinking glasses and making small talk with the who’s who of Texas businessmen. All with Mel by his side.
Mel. He stared down at the beautifully stained concrete, savoring the memories of his old life. Sleepless nights tangled together, covered only by the glow of firelight. The fit of her lips against his, and the soft curve of her back as she arched into him.
“You going in, or just working on your x-ray vision?”
Startled, James took a step forward, clearing his throat and bringing his thoughts to the present. “Just waiting for you.”
“I fucking doubt that,” Schilling grumbled.
“Look, Schilling, I—”
“Right now, all I need to know is that you have my back and it’ll all be water under the bridge. We’ve got something more important to deal with, so there’s no use in acting like school kids.”
“Yeah, I have your back. All the way.”
“That’s all I need.” Schilling gave him a hearty slap on the back and nodded toward the door. “You going to open that?”
James pushed open the door and let Schilling take the lead into the house. He took in a sweeping stretch of gleaming hardwood floors, soaring vaulted ceilings, and enough crystal chandeliers to keep a cleaning crew busy for months.
Like most of the homes in the pricey neighborhood, Monica Carroll’s mini mansion was constructed in the early
twentieth century, when oil gushed from the land and coated the pockets of Tulsa’s elite. The small details throughout the home remained the same, but the bright and uncluttered interior was straight out of a Restoration Hardware catalogue. The expansive two-story entryway set the stage for a grand staircase to the left, through to a wide hall leading into the spacious, open living room and kitchen.
Schilling let out a shrill whistle as he took in the meticulous details of the home. “That’s one thing about this job I never get tired of seeing. Old-money mansions.”
“It could do without all of this.” James nodded to the yellow evidence placards identifying the trail of blood, footprints, and tufts of hair. They stretched through the living room and disappeared up the blood-spattered stairs. “You think that’s the husband’s?” He leaned over one of the brunet clumps. “Must’ve been some struggle to rip out the hair and scalp.”
“But it doesn’t look like there was any kind of fight here. There’s just one set of footprints. And the only sign of a struggle is the hair.” Schilling turned in a tight circle, taking inventory of the surroundings. “The pictures hanging are all straight. There’s no blood on the walls. If there was some kind of altercation here, it’s pretty strange that the perp would go out of their way to clean up everywhere except the floor.”
“You’ve got a point. That wouldn’t make much sense.”
“Yeah, but then again, I have seen stupider shit go down. Let’s take this party into the kitchen.”
“This is where our witness says she first noticed things out of the ordinary,” James informed Schilling as they slowly and carefully tiptoed around droplets of blood and into the living room and kitchen. “Apparently Mrs. Carroll kept everything extremely neat.”
“My guess is it wasn’t Mrs. Carroll at all. She probably had an army of people running around making sure lint didn’t land wrong,” Schilling carped.
“Either way, I’ll bet it never looked like this.” Scarlet flecks dotted the island’s white marble countertop. Bloodstained paper towels and splashes of red littered the floor, and rivulets of crimson coated the outside of the kitchen window. “You want to head out back and start with Mr. George, or go upstairs and take a look at Mrs. Carroll?” James asked.
