She opened a small drawer from the end table and retrieved the spare key to her uncle’s house.
Cisco circled around her, feeling her energy.
“C’mon, Cisco, I may need your help.”
* * *
As Katie reached her uncle’s house, she found the gates closed with yellow crime scene tape draped across them. She punched in the four digit code and drove up the driveway. Instead of parking in her usual location, she opted to pull up towards the back of the house where her car wouldn’t be spotted by patrol, or anyone else that happened to come by.
Katie opened her car door and got out; she decided to leave Cisco in the passenger seat until she needed him. Her cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Nick, her ex-army sergeant, who had moved to the area after she had located his brother for him. It was nice having him about an hour away. They shared a bond that no one else understood, but they had seen more, lost more, and both suffered from PTSD.
His text said:
I heard. Call me when you’re ready.
It made her smile. If anyone knew and understood what she was going through at that exact moment—it was Nick. She really wanted to see him, but it would have to wait.
Katie didn’t want to go and see the crime scene again, but she knew it was the only way that she could help in the case. The longer the investigation lasted, the less opportunities she would have. It was now, or never. She slipped on a pair of non-latex gloves and paper protectors over her running shoes. No matter what she did, she definitely didn’t want to contaminate the scene.
Standing on the patio, she closed her eyes and opened all her senses. She wanted to calm her racing heart and focus on her search as if it was just another crime scene. She used this technique often when she was going into battle or on special searches with Cisco. It facilitated any important search to dump useless stuff carried with us every day and to focus on one task. If she thought too much about her aunt, she would fall apart. That wasn’t going to help anyone.
Her attention caught the sound of the small chirping of the sparrows throughout the garden. There was barely any wind through the backyard and the fragrances of the blooming flowers from last night were lighter now than they had been at the party.
She opened her eyes after a couple of minutes, immediately noticing that the patio had been swept recently—she wondered if it had been last night, or after the crime scene team had traipsed all around the house.
There were four possible entries into the house besides the front door. Two sets of French doors, a back door from the laundry room, and a side door into the garage. The most obvious route would be the laundry room outer door.
Looking around carefully and listening for anyone approaching the driveway, Katie walked to the laundry room entrance. She knew that John was thorough in his searches, but she wanted to familiarize herself with the scene because she knew that Detective Hamilton wasn’t going to let her read over any of his report.
The entrance was what some people would consider a mud room—where you could enter your house if you were dirty from some outdoor activity. You could simply step into the laundry room, shed your clothes, and either wash them or soak them in the sink without bringing mess into the house. Two empty turquoise pots stood sentry on each side of the door on a narrow cement walkway that ran all the way around the house and ended at the door entering into the garage. Someone could have easily entered the house from here.
Katie looked up along the eaves to find a security camera directed from the garage toward the driveway. She knew that her uncle felt safe in his home and wasn’t consistent about setting the cameras or the alarm. It had been part of the house when he purchased it a little over nine years ago, and, most likely, it hadn’t been updated or switched on—but she would check.
She walked slowly along the path; nothing appeared out of place and there were no markers indicating John had found evidence here. At the laundry room door, she inserted the key and opened the door. Waiting a moment just in case the alarm sounded.
In full daylight, the blood had dried to a darker color making it appear more like paint or some type of oil. At least that was what Katie tried to make herself believe. She entered, leaving the door open behind her in case Cisco began barking. Zigzagging around the dried bloody patches, Katie moved through the laundry room and headed to the master bedroom, keen to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Everywhere she looked she saw black patches around doorways, on knobs and various items in the bedroom where John had dusted for prints now leaving behind charcoal smudges. As she’d concluded before, there was no blood in the bedroom, near the bed, or in the adjoining bathroom. The bedding had now been removed, including the pillows, and towels and various toiletries had been stripped from the bathroom for forensic testing.
Katie ran through what her uncle had said about waking up and searching for Claire. She stepped back to the bed and where her uncle would have stood up—assuming the left side, where his things littered the nightstand. She turned right toward the bathroom and then looked at the bedroom door.
Remembering what her uncle looked like at the party and how pale he was—she wondered if he had been slipped something to make him feel ill or something that would make him sleep. It was all theory and conjecture until they tested his blood, but she wondered where the glass was that her uncle said he had drunk from—until she remembered that it was probably cleared up by the caterers.
Reluctantly, Katie went back to the laundry room and tried to retrace Claire’s last moments of life. She felt a knot in her throat and more than a little dizzy as she opened the washer and found some tablecloths from the party still in there. It made sense that she was up late taking care of some of the cleaning.
Did someone break in, or have a key? Did they already have her uncle’s antique knife, or were those slashes done post mortem? Were they still lying in wait to attack again?
Katie imagined that someone had surprised her, that her aunt yelled or screamed, but her uncle was too deeply asleep, possibly from a drug he had been given. So, her aunt ran to the bedroom door to alert him. By the amount of blood on the bedroom door, the floor, and around the baseboards, Katie assumed that this was where the attack first occurred. But her aunt still had enough strength to run back down the hallway to the laundry room—evident by her bloody footprints.
Once back at the laundry room, Katie closed the door and saw there were more bloody smudges on the doorknob and around the cupboard doors. Her aunt must’ve tried to barricade herself in there, but it didn’t work. The person fought their way in and finished the job—an obvious overkill.
Katie took a few more minutes to search around the washer and dryer in case there was anything that had been missed or kicked underneath. There was nothing. Frustrated and feeling even more defeated, Katie searched down the wall on the other side of the outside door. There were two heavy hooks where you could hang a coat or an umbrella. On the floor, just barely past the backside of the washer, was a piece of partially unraveled thread about two inches long—it looked to be a heavy piece of threading from clothing, something that was heavyweight like an outdoor jacket or a rugged shirt. Katie picked it up. It could have been a clue or it could have been lying there for two years. She knew that her aunt was extremely clean and had a precise schedule when she did heavier housework, like windows, baseboards, cleaning behind furniture and appliances. It was unlikely that she would have missed the thread.
Katie had an idea. There was nothing more that she could do inside the house, so she exited the laundry room and made sure it was locked securely. Jogging back to her Jeep, she opened the passenger door and Cisco jumped out, circling around her and stretching his legs.
“Sorry, buddy, for leaving you, but you have to do me a favor,” she said.
Cisco’s ears perked and he kept his eager eyes fixed on Katie.
She had done some trailing and tracking with him, so he knew how to follow the trail. Kneeling down in front of t
he dog, she presented the twine in front of him. Curiously, he sniffed the piece. His snort indicated he’d picked up a scent. Standing back up, Katie gave the command to search, “Such.”
Cisco gave a pleasant bark, performed a partial spin and took off towards the backyard. There was no way of knowing if he would find anything, but it was worth a shot so she followed him along the cement pathway.
Cisco’s demeanor changed when he was on the trail of something. Head down, tail down, nose grazing the ground, he had picked up a definite scent. There was no distracting him—the stiffness in his body was evident. He was going to find whatever it was he was supposed to find.
Katie jogged behind him as they made the turn around the house and headed toward a coiled hose on the ground. The dog began to dig at the hose and then he sat for Katie, panting—waiting for her.
“Good boy,” she said, patting him on the side.
Katie carefully moved the hose and didn’t see anything initially—until she saw a small piece of blue fabric about an inch and half long and quarter inch wide. It seemed an odd place for it—but Cisco had picked up on a similar scent.
At first, Katie thought it was a piece out of a pair of blue jeans or denim shirt, but it was much thicker and denser. Standing up, she saw a slightly bent nail sticking out of the siding about three and half feet from the ground, though she wasn’t sure what it was for, possibly part of a decoration. Looking closely, she discovered that there were light blue threads caught on the nail similar to the section under the hose. She slipped off her paper evidence booties.
“Good boy, Cisco,” she said again.
The dog stood up and began barking, blocking Katie from moving from her position.
“What are you doing here?” said the voice.
Thirteen
Sunday 1545 hours
Katie turned around, startled by the man’s voice. She was relieved when she saw who it was, but still kept her composure as she slipped the two pieces of potential evidence along with her gloves into her back pocket.
“Katie, what are you doing here?” John said again. His expression didn’t seem to indicate that he was surprised to see her there, just the need to ask.
“I came back to see if I could find anything,” she said, matter of fact.
“Like what?”
“Something that would completely prove that my uncle isn’t a killer,” she said, trying hard not to make her voice waver when she thought about her aunt.
“I see. And?” He moved closer to her.
“I haven’t found anything.” She instinctively moved a little bit away from him. There was something about him that she could never quite pinpoint, but she felt a strange gravitational pull towards him whenever he was nearby.
“Are you sure about that?” he said.
“Of course.”
“What do you think happened here?”
Katie wasn’t sure if she should spill the beans and tell him what she thought had transpired in the house. She was about to say something, but then decided against it. Finally she said, “What are you doing back here?”
“I left behind some buckets in front that I had unloaded and didn’t use. I saw your Jeep.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now. I wish there was something that I could do to take the edge off of what you’ve been through today. Some words of wisdom. But I’m just deeply sorry.”
Cisco lost interest in the conversation and trotted around looking for something more interesting to sniff.
“Thank you. I appreciate that, but we need to find out who did this… and why.”
John for the first time averted his gaze from her.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’m not going to lie to you, but all the evidence seems to point to…”
“To my uncle—I figured that. But what would his motive be?” Katie kept her emotions in check, but turned to make her way back to the Jeep.
“You have to let everyone do their job,” he said gently. “No one wants to railroad him. It’s clear that he didn’t do it, at least in my opinion, but that’s not how things work. You know that.”
She knew that John was right, but it still stung when he said it. The thought of losing what remained of the last of her family made her physically ill. She wasn’t going to let that happen—no matter what.
“Katie,” he said but she didn’t slow down. “Katie, wait. Can you wait a second,” he said and gently touched her arm.
She turned to face him.
“Look, I know there’s nothing that I can do to stop you from investigating, but no one is going to hear it from me. Understand?”
She nodded.
“I may not have known you that long, but I do know that you’ll never rest until you find out who murdered your aunt—no matter what happens.”
Katie steadied herself and took a breath. “I… I will do what I have to. John, he’s my only family. I can’t let it go down like this without a fight.” Her voice caught in her throat.
“I know,” he said softly.
“I would never ask you to do anything against department rules.”
“You don’t have to ask,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You need anything, I will help you,” he said.
Katie knew that he meant what he said and he wasn’t going to interrogate her to find out what she had been doing. She looked down.
“I mean it, Katie. I will not tell you again.”
She regarded him for a moment and thought about how good a leader he must’ve been as a Seal. He returned her gaze. Finally visually breaking away, she said, “C’mon, Cisco, let’s go.”
The dog obediently jumped in to the Jeep and waited.
Katie looked back at John again and gave a faint smile and an affirmative nod before she got back into her vehicle and drove away.
Fourteen
Monday 0755 hours
An emergency meeting was called into play first thing in the morning. Katie knew that it was coming, but was surprised that she had received a phone call from the assistant to the undersheriff telling her to attend that special meeting at 8 a.m. sharp. It wasn’t a request—it was an order.
Katie sat in the sheriff’s office waiting for everyone to arrive. She couldn’t help but notice that Undersheriff Martinez had already moved her uncle’s things from the desk, including his personal photographs, which were now neatly stacked in the corner. That didn’t take him long, she thought.
At a few minutes to the hour, people started arriving—some she knew would be there—but others were a bit of a surprise. It seemed that there was some type of investigation going on with someone from internal affairs. Only two participants acknowledged Katie’s presence and that was McGaven and John. Detective Hamilton, Lieutenant Moss from internal affairs, and Deputies Henderson and Gates wouldn’t look her in the eye, and Martinez was no less than frosty towards her. Had they already convicted the sheriff in their minds? McGaven sat next to her and gave her a reassuring look she knew well from working with him for the past six months.
As they all packed in close together, the undersheriff gave stern instructions to the secretary that under no circumstances should they be interrupted. “Well, it looks like everyone is here. Let’s get started,” he said, visibly carrying his stress in his jaw and hunched shoulders.
Everyone remained quiet, their collective opinions and feelings wrapped into one giant problem. Now they all sat together wondering what was going to happen next.
“As all of you know, we are dealing with a tragic incident and murder that doesn’t look like it will be resolved immediately.” Katie wanted to scream, but was forced to sit quietly and let this man make her uncle out to be a killer. “We’ve all taken a hit when one of our own falls victim to such a tragedy—under these unfortunate circumstances I will be standing in as sheriff. We have to stick together and move through this trying time with professiona
lism and with teamwork. I wanted all of you together so you could hear what I had to say to each one of you. Detective Hamilton, you’re heading this homicide investigation of Claire Scott.”
Katie twitched at the mention of her aunt’s name.
“I expect the same hard work and doggedness in this investigation as in any homicide—no matter what the outcome. We have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”
No way did he just say that.
“Yes, sir,” Hamilton said and nodded that he fully understood what was at stake. He glanced to Katie with a stern look, as if to say, don’t screw up my case.
“I don’t have to tell you that the media are out in full force and they are just getting started. I do not want anyone speaking to the press or relaying any information to anyone outside this office—no family members, no wives, no buddies at the bar—no one. I hope I make myself crystal clear.”
There was still a stilted silence, but most nodded in agreement.
“Deputy Henderson, since you’ve handled many press conferences in the past, I want you to coordinate with me on details. And Deputy Gates, since you were the first to arrive at the homicide at Sheriff Scott’s home, you have a particularly important job. I would like for you to coordinate all of our tips and hotline information regarding this case…”
Is this guy for real?
“Everything pertaining to this case will be updated daily to me and to Lieutenant Moss in IA. Of course, I will keep the mayor up to date as well,” he said.
A couple of the officers made notes. Martinez turned to John, who remained still and seemed to be taking in everything that was being said. “John, you don’t know how important your job is to this case.”
Flowers on Her Grave Page 8
