“What would make the employer call?”
“She didn’t show for her shift at eight. They tried reaching her first, but when they didn’t get an answer, they sent a security officer over to her house. He found the door ajar and called downtown. Higgins was here by eight forty-five.”
“Who was—”
“The security officer?”
“Yeah.” Apparently they finished each other’s sentences now.
“Terrence Owens. And don’t worry. We took a formal statement and let him go. Background showed nothing, not even a speeding ticket. We can function when you’re not here.”
She cocked her head to the side.
“He also testifies to the fact that he never stepped one foot in the place.” Terry laughed. “He said he’s watched enough cop dramas to know that it would contaminate the crime scene. You get all these people watching those stupid TV shows, and they think they can solve a murder.”
“So is Owens the one who made the formal call downtown, then?” Madison asked.
“Actually, procedure for them is to route everything through the company administration. A Sandra Butler made the call. She’s the office manager.”
“So an employee is even half an hour late for work and they send someone to your house?”
“She said it’s part of their safety policy.”
“At least they’re a group of people inclined to think positively.” She rolled her eyes. Sweat droplets ran down her back. Gross. She moved toward the house.
The young officer scurried over. He shoved his clipboard under his arm and tucked his pen behind his ear. He pointed toward the chocolate bar still in her hand. “You can’t take that in there.”
She glanced down. Chocolate oozed from a corner of the wrapper. He was right. She handed the package to him, and he took it with two pinched fingers.
She patted his shoulder. “Good job.”
He walked away with the bar dangling from his hand, mumbling something indiscernible.
“You can be so wicked sometimes,” Terry said.
“Why, thank you.” She was tempted to take a mini bow but resisted the urge.
“It wasn’t a compliment. And since when do you eat chocolate for breakfast?”
“Oh shut up.” She punched him in the shoulder. He smirked and rubbed his arm. Same old sideshow. She headed into the house with him on her heels.
“The stairs are to the right,” Terry said.
“Holy crap, it’s freezing in here.” The sweat on her skin chilled her. It was a refreshing welcome.
“Yep, a hundred and one outside, sixty inside.”
When she was two steps from the top of the staircase, Terry said, “And just a heads-up—this is not your typical strangulation.”
“Come on, Terry. You’ve seen one, you’ve—” She stopped abruptly when she reached the bedroom doorway. Terry was right.
-
Chapter 2
THE HAIRS ROSE ON HER ARMS, not from the air-conditioning but from the chill of death. In her ten years on the force, Madison had never seen anything quite like this. Maybe in New York City they were accustomed to this type of murder scene but not here in Stiles where the population was just shy of half a million and the Major Crimes division boasted only six detectives.
She nodded a greeting to Cole Richards, the medical examiner. He reciprocated with a small bob of his head.
Laura Saunders lay on her back in the middle of a double bed, arms folded over her torso. But the one thing that stood out—and this would be what Terry had tried to warn her about—was that she was naked with a man’s necktie bound tightly around her neck. That adornment and her shoulder-length brown hair provided the only contrasts between her pale skin and the beige sheets. Most strangulation victims were dressed, or when rape was a factor, the body was typically found in an alley or hotel room, not the vic’s own bedroom. For Laura to be found here made it personal.
Jealous lover, perhaps?
“Was she raped?” Madison asked.
Terry rubbed the back of his neck the way he did when there were more questions than answers. “Not leaning that way.”
“And she’s in her own house,” Madison added.
The entire scenario caused Madison pain and regret—pain over how this woman’s life had been snuffed out so prematurely, regret that she couldn’t have prevented it. For someone who faced death on a regular basis, one would think she would be callous regarding her own mortality, but the truth was, it scared her more with every passing day. Nothing was certain. And with this case, the fact that the victim was only two years younger than she was sank to the pit of her stomach.
Terry kneaded the tips of his fingers into the base of his neck. “There is no evidence of a break-in. Nothing seems to be missing. There’s jewelry on her dresser and electronics were left downstairs. There is also no evidence of a struggle. Though, her clothes were strewn on the main level.”
Madison moved farther into the room to study Laura and the tie more closely. It was expensive, silk, and blue striped. Her eyes then took in a shelving unit on the far wall, which housed folded clothes, an alarm clock, and a framed photograph.
She brainstormed out loud. “Maybe it was some sort of sex game that got out of hand. Erotic asphyxiation?”
“If it was something as simple as that, why not call nine-one-one? The owner of that necktie must have something to hide.”
Richards’s assistant excused himself as he walked through the bedroom. Madison could never remember the guy’s name.
Terry continued. “Put yourself in this guy’s place if things got out of hand. You would loosen the tie, shake her, but you wouldn’t pose her. You would certainly call for help.”
“The scene definitely speaks to it being an intentional act.” She met her partner’s eyes. “But I’d also guess the killer felt regret. Otherwise, why cross her arms over her torso? That could indicate a close relationship between Laura and her killer.”
Their discussion paused at the sound of a zipper as Richards sealed the woman in the black bag.
His assistant worked at getting the gurney out of the room and addressed Richards. “I’ll wait in the hall.”
Richards nodded.
“Winston confirmed you’re ruling the cause of death as strangulation,” Madison said to the ME.
“Yes. COD is asphyxiation due to strangulation. Her face shows signs of petechiae. Young, fit women don’t normally show that unless they put up a fight. And there were also cuts to her wrists.”
“Cuts?” Terry asked.
“Yes.” Richards glanced at Terry. “Crime Scene is thinking cuffs. I don’t think they’ve found them yet.”
Madison’s eyes drifted to the bed’s headboard and its black powder-coated vertical bars. The paint was worn off a few of them. “She’s bound, and then he uncuffs and poses her.” The hairs on her arms rose again. “When are you placing time of death?”
“Thirty to thirty-three hours ago based on the stage of rigor and body temperature.”
“So between two and five Sunday morning?” Terry smiled and shrugged his shoulders when both pairs of eyes shot to him.
Sometimes Madison wondered how her partner could do math so quickly in his head.
“Of course, the fact that it’s cold enough to hang meat in here makes it harder to pinpoint,” Richards said.
Madison noticed the light in Terry’s eyes brighten at the recognition of the cliché. He knew she didn’t care for such idioms and he had proven himself an opportunist over the years. Whenever he could dish them out, he would. Whenever someone else said them around her, he found amusement in it. She was tempted to cross the room and beat him, but instead, she just rolled her eyes, certain the hint of a smile on her face showed. She hated that she didn’t have enough restraint to ignore him altogether.
“I’ll be conducting a full autopsy within the next twenty-four hours. I will keep you posted on all my findings. Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. You know where t
o find me.” Richards smiled at her, showcasing flawless white teeth, his midnight skin providing further contrast. And something about the way his eyes creased with the expression, Madison couldn’t claim immunity to his charms. When he smiled, it actually calmed her. Too bad he was married.
“Thanks.” The word came out automatically. Her eyes were on a framed photograph of a smiling couple. She recognized the woman as Laura, but the man was unfamiliar. “Terry, who is he?”
-
Chapter 3
HE SAT IN HIS 1995 HONDA CIVIC, sweating profusely. Its air conditioner hadn’t worked for years. The car was a real piece of shit, but perfect for the crappy life he had going. He combed his fingers through his hair and caught his reflection in the rearview mirror.
He lifted his sunglasses to look into his own eyes. They had changed. They were dark, even sinister. He put the shades back in place, rolled his shoulders forward to dislodge the tension in his neck, and took a cleansing breath. With the air came a waft of smoke from the cigarette burning in the car’s ashtray.
He had parked close enough to observe the activity at 36 Bay Street, yet far enough away to be left alone. At least he had hoped so. Cruisers were parked in front of the house, and forty-eight minutes ago a department-issued SUV had pulled to a quick stop.
All this activity because of his work. It was something to be proud of.
He picked up the cigarette and tapped the ash in the tray.
Statistically, the murder itself was nothing special. Another young lady. People would move on. They always did.
It was the city’s thirtieth murder of the year. He was up-to-date on his statistics. But he was always that way; he was a gatherer of facts, of useless information. Maybe someday his fact-finding and attention to detail would prove beneficial.
He wiped his forehead, and sweat trickled from his brow and down his nose. The salty perspiration stung. He winced. His nose was still tender to the touch. That crotchety old man at the bar had a strong right hook.
He rested his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, a Crown Vic had pulled to a stop in front of the house. He straightened up.
A woman of average height—probably about five foot five—with blond hair walked toward the yellow tape. But it wasn’t her looks that captured his interest. It was her determined stride. And something was familiar about her.
He smiled when he realized why.
She was Detective Madison Knight. She had made headlines for putting away the Russian Mafia czar, Dimitre Petrov, but the glory hadn’t lasted long. People like Petrov had a reach that extended from behind bars and the rumor was that Petrov had gotten the attorney who had lost his case killed.
He must have hit the bigtime to have Knight on his investigation. An adrenaline rush flowed over him, blanketing him in heat. Energy pulsed in his veins, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He strained to draw in a satisfying breath.
Tap, tap.
Knuckles rapped against the driver’s-side window.
His heart slowed. His breath shortened. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to look at the source of the intrusion.
A police officer!
Stay calm. Play it cool.
He drew the cigarette to his lips. Damn, his nose hurt so much when he sucked air in that he had to fight crying out in pain. He left the cig perched between his fingers, and the cop motioned for him to put the window down.
“I need you to move your vehicle.”
Thank God for his dark-tinted glasses or maybe the cop would see right through him. “Sure.”
The police officer bent over and peered into the car. “Are you all right, sir?”
Following the officer’s gaze to his unsteady hand holding the cigarette, he forced himself to raise it for another drag. His hand shook the entire way. “Yeah, I’m—” Her lifeless eyes flashed in his mind. He cleared his throat, hoping it would somehow dislodge his recollections. “Sure… I…I’ll get out of your way immediately.”
The cop’s gaze remained fixed on him, eye to eye.
Could he see through him, sunglasses and all? Was his guilt that obvious?
“All units confirm a secured perimeter.” The monotone voice came over the officer’s radio.
The cop turned the volume down without taking his eyes off him. “What happened to your nose?”
What was this uniform out to prove?
He forced another cough and then took yet another drag. He tapped the cigarette ash out the window. The office stepped to the side, but based on the look in his eyes, he wasn’t going anywhere.
He needed to give the cop an answer. His words escaped through gritted teeth. “Bar fight.”
The officer nodded. His eyes condemned him. “I need you to move your car—” he drummed his flattened palm on the roof “—and try to keep yourself out of trouble.”
Too late, Officer. Too late.
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Overview of Halloween is Murder
Beware of all that goes bump in the night…
Sean and Sara McKinley are excited about the haunted house they’ve set up as a Halloween charity fund-raiser, but things take a ghoulish turn when the reporter covering their story is found dead. With the media keeping mum about how she died, Sara’s curiosity is piqued, and she convinces Sean to take on the investigation through their PI firm.
But this case is not without its challenges. The police are actively investigating it, as well, and it’s not even clear that the woman was murdered. It will take a little cloak-and-dagger, dress-up, and finesse for the McKinleys to get to the bottom of it, but they aren’t the kind to give up.
As they troll for leads and work through the skeletons in the reporter’s closet, they unearth a few suspects, but they’ll need to carve out the whole truth if they’re going to find her killer. If they do so fast enough, there might even be time for a little trick-or-treating.
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About the Author
CAROLYN ARNOLD is an international bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has four continuing fiction series—Detective Madison Knight, Brandon Fisher FBI, McKinley Mysteries, and Matthew Connor Adventures—and has written nearly thirty books. Her genre diversity offers her readers everything from cozy to hard-boiled mysteries, and thrillers to action adventures.
Both her female detective and FBI profiler series have been praised by those in law enforcement as being accurate and entertaining, leading her to adopt the trademark: POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT™.
Carolyn was born in a small town and enjoys spending time outdoors, but she also loves the lights of a big city. Grounded by her roots and lifted by her dreams, her overactive imagination insists that she tell her stories. Her intention is to touch the hearts of millions with her books, to entertain, inspire, and empower.
She currently lives just west of Toronto with her husband and beagle and is a member of Crime Writers of Canada and Sisters in Crime.
Connect with CAROLYN ARNOLD Online:
Website
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And don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter for up-to-date information on release and special offers at
CarolynArnold.net/Newsletters.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
/> Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Note to Readers
Preview of Ties that Bind
Overview of Halloween is Murder
About the Author
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Note to Readers
Preview of Ties that Bind
Overview of Halloween is Murder
About the Author
Halloween Is Murder Page 14
