by V. B. Tenery
Joe walked up and placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Matt rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Looks like the shooter stood in the doorway. Shot Ethan, then Ann, then caught Victoria as she came downstairs. Odd. Why a rifle and not a handgun for such close-range shots?”
Joe shook his head. “Maybe the rifle was the only thing available.”
“That’s possible. But nothing is disturbed. Only the bodies and bullets suggest the violence that happened here. It looks too deliberate to be random. My guess is this was well-planned in advance.”
Matt moved on into the back of the house toward the kitchen. The pungent odor of smoke still hung in the air. The stench of burned food increased as he reached the kitchen.
A lab tech had marked and numbered the three shell casings outside the entrance for the photographer. The bodies were gone, but chalk outlines indicated where the victims fell.
The same scenario as the library. Gunshots came from just inside the room. Arrogant and accurate. Only one round per victim. “I assume these three people were shot first.”
“What makes you say that?” Joe asked.
Matt stepped into the room. “If Peter Grayson had heard the gunshots, he would have gone to check them out.”
“And Ethan wouldn’t have checked because...?”
Leaning over the island, Matt examined the chalk drawings on the floor. They almost overlapped. “Peter was a hunter, like his father. He was always shooting at targets. Ethan wouldn’t have paid any attention to the noise, figuring it was Peter.”
Joe removed his hat then settled it back on his head. “Wouldn’t there have been screams after the first shot?”
“Most likely, but the sound of shots would carry farther than screams. The kitchen is a good distance from the front of the house, and the walls are thick. Ethan and Ann were used to horseplay between the young people.”
Behind him, Lucy’s pen scratched notes in her notebook.
Davis caught his attention. “The gardener’s in the den. We’re ready to talk to him if you want to sit in.”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “Did Sean identify the bodies?”
Lucy nodded.
Halfway down the corridor, Davis stopped abruptly and turned to Matt. “We’ll want to notify the next of kin before Hall gives it to them in the news. You have any idea where to start?”
“I’ll take care of it. I met Martin Norris, Ethan’s assistant, last year. I’ll give him a call. He’ll know how to contact what’s left of the family.”
Sean McKinnon sat almost catatonic in an antique French crapaud armchair, his face pale—eyes red from a heroic effort to hold back tears.
Turner’s partner, Cole Allen, stepped into the room, carrying a large white Persian cat. “Look what I found.”
“That’s Longfellow, Mrs. Grayson’s cat,” Sean said, holding out his arms. “I wondered where he’d gotten off to.”
Davis pulled Lucy aside. “You take the questioning.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She gave him a curt nod, pulled up a chair next to Sean, and placed her recorder on the end table. “Tell us what happened.”
McKinnon stroked the cat and recounted his movements that morning. He stopped twice and took deep breaths before proceeding. When he finished, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
“When did you last see the family alive, Sean?” Lucy asked, her voice gentle.
She was good with the old gardener, Matt thought. Sean had relaxed a little, breathing more normally. Too bad she didn’t use that empathy with her co-workers.
The gardener opened his eyes and turned an unfocused gaze on the detective. “When they arrived home early Saturday afternoon. All except for Miss Emily. She dinna come home with the family. She must have arrived Sunday after I left. I brought in the family’s luggage then went about my duties.
“The only one I saw last night was the cook, Amanda.” His voice broke. “I stopped by just before six to tell her I would be eating dinner in town.”
“Why? I mean, since the family had just arrived home?” Lucy asked.
“Sunday is my only day off. My son, Jack, called and asked me to meet him at the Red Dog Bar and Grill to catch a bite and watch the game.”
“What time was this?”
Sean rubbed a rough hand over his chin. “I arrived about six, and Jack was already there.”
“What time did you leave?” Lucy asked.
“Around eleven. I stayed and played gin rummy with some of the guys.”
Lucy glanced over to make sure Cole was taking written notes as well. “And your son?”
Sean wrinkled his brow in thought. “Jack left after he took a call on his cell phone, around eight-thirty.”
“Did you notice anything unusual when you left the estate, any cars outside the gate?”
McKinnon shook his head.
Matt moved into the gardener’s line of vision. “Was the family expecting guests last night?”
“Not that I know of. It wouldna be like them to have guests when they’d just returned, not having a full staff. The butler Perkins, Amanda, and Miss Emily always traveled with the family. Perkins stayed behind to close up the London house.”
Sean gulped and a lone tear trickled down his cheek. “I’m to pick up Perkins at the airport Wednesday. I canna tell him they’re gone.”
Turner paused, giving him time to collect himself. “Do you know of anyone who might want the family dead, who might be responsible for this?”
The gardener shook his head slowly.
Matt eased from the room. In the entryway, two black bags rolled past him on gurneys. Certainly not the first body bags he’d ever seen, but somehow they seemed unfitting, too dehumanizing for Ethan and Ann.
County Coroner Lisa Martinez and Joe Wilson trailed behind the bodies.
“Any idea what time the murders took place?” Matt asked Lisa.
“From the body temperatures and the progression of rigor mortis, they’ve been dead ten to fourteen hours. That puts the time of death between eight and twelve last night.”
He stopped at the yellow tape. “You guys wrapping it up?”
“These are the last two victims. The others have gone on to the morgue. Not sure how much longer McCulloch will be here. Probably until Davis is satisfied everything has been tagged and bagged.” She touched Joe’s arm. “I’ll see you later.”
Joe patted Matt’s shoulder, eyes pooled with sympathy. “Call me if you need anything.” He turned and followed Lisa through the entrance.
The crime scene began to break up, leaving only Matt, Sean, and the three detectives inside.
The bodies were gone, but the aura of death lingered.
Only Victoria had survived…if she pulled through, and survive she must. She could identify the killer.
CHAPTER THREE
Grayson Manor
Twin Falls, Texas
Davis stood under the portico out of the rain and watched as Lucy Turner gave vent to her anger. She stopped Cole in the vestibule. Body language signaled her displeasure with the turn of events. She spoke in a low guttural voice Davis couldn’t understand.
“Turner, you want to ride with me?” He’d rather have a tonsillectomy with a dinner fork, but he had to start somewhere. Lucy Turner was a good investigator. He just hated the thought of tiptoeing around her feelings while trying to solve a major murder case. Besides, he’d flunked sensitivity training.
He hissed out a deep breath through his teeth. With any luck, the brutal crime-scene back there would convince the woman to do her job without the drama.
Lucy waved Cole on his way. Ignoring the rain, she stomped out to Davis’ unmarked Ford. He considered letting her stand in the rain to cool off, but his better nature got the best of him, and he pushed the lock release on his key fob. She jerked the car door open, slid into the seat, slammed it closed, and crossed her arms.
Davis took his seat behind the wheel and turned to face her. “We need to g
et something straight from the get-go, Turner. I won’t put up with you acting like a four-year-old. I’ll have Matt remove you from this case so fast you’ll get whiplash. I let my daughter get away with tantrums, but you ain’t no child. Five people are dead. It’s our job to catch the killer. I won’t accept anything but a professional attitude and your best work. You got that?”
A red flush started at her neck and spread to her face. She gazed out the window for a long moment, then unfolded her arms. “Yeah, I got it.”
She didn’t sound happy, but he’d spoken his mind, and he meant every word of it.
Silence hung in the space between them before she spoke again. With a glance at his ring finger, she said, “If you have kids, you must be married.”
Davis shook his head. “One kid, divorced. You have kids?”
“Yeah. Two boys. Where are we going?”
“To the station to look at that gate surveillance data, see what we can find. I’ll also send Hunter and Cole back to question the neighbors. Perhaps somebody saw something. Not that there are any neighbors close enough to be of much help. Then we wait for Lisa to call and tell us when she starts the autopsies. Cause of death seems straight forward, but we need to be sure. She’s pushing these to the head of the line. When the call comes, we go to the morgue.”
***
Lucy watched Davis as he drove. Dressed in his thousand-dollar suit, he bore a remarkable resemblance to Denzel Washington. Where did Davis get the money to dress in designer suits? His salary couldn’t cover his wardrobe expenses. Lucy knew men’s clothes. Her ex had spent his salary and most of hers on his wardrobe. A glance down at her own off-the-rack pantsuit added to her insecurities, which were legion.
Davis was arrogant, but she respected the man for laying down the ground rules. She now knew where the lines were drawn. Most of all, she hated that he was right. This wasn’t the time to vent. But she was hopeless at hiding her emotions. Thanks to her Irish temper. Thoughts rolled off her tongue before her brain engaged. Anyway, her quarrel wasn’t with Davis. Matt Foley had made the decision to remove her as lead.
The Grayson case was the biggest of her career. Solving it should get a big atta-girl in her personnel file and a pay-grade promotion on the next performance review.
With two kids, a mortgage, car loan, and insurance, money issues were never far from her thoughts. No child support from her low-life ex-husband, but it was better that way. At least Hank didn’t know where to find them. That was a blessing.
The crime scene they’d just left flashed into her thoughts. A family had been viciously murdered for no apparent reason, and her head had to be completely in the game. The motive wasn’t burglary. None of Grayson’s priceless art objects appeared to be missing. This one had been personal. And she intended to find out who and why.
***
Matt made sure the crime scene was secured then he saw Sean McKinnon back to his cottage. “Sean, can you ask Jack to come stay with you? Or can you go stay with him?”
“Jack left this morning on a hunting trip with his friends. That’s why he called last night. Wanted to see me before he left.”
Beneath Sean’s words was an unmistakable concern about his son. Did he think Jack was somehow involved? It wasn’t inconceivable. There’d been bad blood between Ethan and Jack. Matt couldn’t ignore the fact Sean’s son was a viable suspect. “Hunting where?”
Sean lifted a worried gaze at Matt’s question, and when he answered, his tone signaled he understood the reason Matt wanted to know. “Around Jackson Hole, Wyoming, somewhere.”
Back in his car, Matt pulled out his cell phone, punched in the number for Grayson Limited, and asked to speak to Martin Norris. A few seconds passed before Norris picked up the phone.
“Norris, this is Chief Matt Foley in Twin Falls…” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. There was no easy way to say it. “I have bad news.” As succinctly as possible, he told Norris what had happened.
His English accent husky with emotion, Norris asked. “Everyone except Victoria? She’ll get the best of care, won’t she? Money is no object.”
“If it’s something the locals can’t handle, they’ll airlift her to Dallas. Parkland Hospital has one of the best trauma units in the country.”
Norris came back on the line. “I wondered about Ethan. He’s never late without ringing ahead. I tried to call him a few times this morning and didn’t get an answer. I’ll notify the rest of the family. And, of course, I need to advise the Grayson Board of Directors, unless you feel I shouldn’t.”
“You can tell them, but ask that they keep it quiet. The sooner you contact the family, the better. I don’t know how long we can keep this from the press. Ethan has another son, right?”
“Yes, Alexander, the oldest, is in Australia. I’ll get right on it. Lady Ann also has a brother, Sir Ian Hamilton on the mission field in Mexico. Their father has been in poor health. I’ll let her brother decide when to tell him. Ethan had no family. His parents died years ago.”
Ethan had often joked about being the black sheep in a royal family, a wealthy business man married to the daughter of an Earl.
Matt looked out the car window at the immaculate garden, still vivid in the November morning mist. “Someone will need to let the morgue know which mortuary you want to use.”
Norris exhaled an audible breath. “If I can’t contact Alexander or Sir Ian soon, I’ll make the decision.”
Matt disconnected but didn’t put the phone away. He had another call to make—a difficult one. He activated the phone and punched a familiar number.
***
During her lunch break, Sara Bradford left the Global Optics building, seeking a quiet place away from the hectic morning. She’d spent hours soothing the frayed nerves of regional vice-presidents worried that a competitor had sprung up near the company’s most profitable retail stores. Handling their concerns were part of her responsibilities after her promotion to president last year.
She pulled into the French bakery on the town square. They had a deli in back that served chicken pot pie that was to die for. Most of the lunch crowd had come and gone. She placed her order at the counter and found a table in the corner. In short order, a server brought her meal and a small stainless steel pot of tea.
After only a few bites, Sara’s iPhone chirped Darth Vader’s theme, her private joke ring tone for Matt Foley.
Sara smiled. Her relationship with the Twin Falls Police Chief had not always been a good one. For four years, he’d considered her the prime suspect in her husband’s murder. Over the last year, something special had developed between them. He’d literally saved her life twice from attempts made by a determined killer. She’d learned to trust him implicitly.
“Sara…” Matt’s voice lacked its usual vibrancy. “Brace yourself. Emily Castleton and her mother were murdered last night…most of the Grayson family as well. Victoria is alive. She’s at Twin Falls Memorial. I wanted to let you know since you knew both girls. I’ll get to the hospital as soon as I can.”
For a moment, Sara’s chest squeezed so tight she struggled to breathe. Emily’s lovely face flashed through Sara’s mind. A natural with kids, Emily’s laughing, gentle presence drew children like the pied piper. “Matt, what happened...who?”
“I don’t have any answers right now.”
Lunch forgotten, Sara placed her hand on her brow and blinked back tears, unable to absorb the tragedy all at once. Jumbled questions crowded her mind. Who would want to kill the Graysons? Certainly, there could be no logical reason for such insanity. It made no sense.
She pushed her lunch tray away and picked up her purse. “I’m leaving now.”
Twin Falls Memorial Hospital
Twin Falls, Texas
Sara drove the short distance from the deli to the newly renovated hospital and trudged into the warm lobby. The facility was state of the art. The administration boasted of its electronic record keeping. A spacious hallway in a blue and mauve th
eme led to the emergency waiting room.
Sara recognized the pretty blonde near the magazine rack as Caroline Norris, wife of Ethan Grayson’s assistant. She and Caroline had become acquainted at a number of local charity functions.
Caroline motioned her over. “Hello, Sara. I guess you heard. Martin asked me to be here for Victoria to update him on her condition after surgery.”
Sara took a seat beside Caroline. “I heard she was the only survivor. Any news?”
Caroline looked down at her hands and inclined her head towards the operating room entrance. “I just arrived. The nurse said Victoria is still in surgery.”
They sat in the silent waiting room unable to absorb the tragedy that had befallen the Grayson family.
Outside the huge windows, the sky darkened, and it began to rain. Gusts of wind increased in velocity, creating the illusion of rain falling sideways. Sudden bursts of lightning filled the room with brief flashes of brilliance, and claps of thunder vibrated the window.
A tropical storm in the Gulf had sent the promised violent weather. The storm’s intensity mirrored the struggle in Sara’s soul, a war between white-hot rage and sorrow. Her eyes burned, but she couldn’t cry. Tears wouldn’t change a world where society held human life in such low esteem.
She shivered as visions of Victoria Grayson and Emily seared her thoughts, so much alike they could be sisters. Both just turned twenty-one, tall and slim, with the perfect complexion English women seemed blessed with. Victoria’s hair was dark brown, her eyes hazel, while Emily’s hair had light brown hues, and her eyes the most extraordinary shade of violet-blue.
Victoria, the quiet one. Studious and soft-spoken. Emily a born crusader. Tenacious and fighting to change the living conditions of the children she encountered in the church bus ministry. Her death seemed a mockery of all that was good and noble.
