by Debra Webb
“Count on it,” Jess assured her. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.”
As Jess made her way back to the lobby, she put a call through to Lori. She’d already waylaid Harper once, so this time she’d snag Lori. Not that she felt she needed someone with her at all times as Burnett had suggested. No, sir. What she needed was that second pair of eyes again. A trip back to the crime scene without all the distractions of evidence techs and concerned cops was in order.
She needed more of the story only the scene could give her. As soon as the techs had done their final sweep, cleaners—whether professionals or friends—would wash away all traces of the unspeakable act that had taken place in the Grayson home.
One more good review was essential before that happened.
Same friends—all cops, by the way.
Especially if that killer was a cop.
In the parking lot Jess climbed into the Taurus and jammed the key into the ignition. What she needed was a list of all who kept up with Lieutenant Grayson’s activities, friends, coworkers. She twisted the key. Nothing happened.
Jess glared at the dash. “What in the world?” She tried to start the vehicle again.
Nothing. Not even a click, click, click. Dash didn’t light up. Radio didn’t work. Dead battery.
“For the love of…” She snatched up her cell and called Lori again. “Can you pick me up? This stupid car is dead.”
“Heading your way now,” Lori assured her.
Jess tossed her phone into her bag. “Damn it.” She hated wasting time.
The idea that Gabrielle’s killer had waited so long to stage the body with all those stab wounds and the decapitation filtered into Jess’s thoughts. What had the killer been doing all that time? Why the backtracking? Jess at first thought the killer had methodically staged the scene to appear as if the crime was just another gang hit.
But she had been wrong.
There was one surefire way to try to disguise manual asphyxiation—a botched beheading job. The killer had been forced to step back and change his strategy. To stage a distraction.
And that meant just one thing, in Jess’s opinion. The murder hadn’t been planned. Whoever showed up at the Grayson home had come with another agenda that had evolved into murder.
Someone Gabrielle Grayson knew and maybe even trusted.
And that trust had cost the poor woman her life.
Shady Creek Drive, 4:05 p.m.
The officer left in charge of the crime scene’s security unlocked the Grayson home for Jess and Lori. He reported that a second team of evidence techs had come and gone. No one wanted to miss a single speck of evidence on this one.
After donning shoe covers and gloves, Jess spent the first half hour on scene going through the master bedroom. Lori reviewed the mail and any other papers scattered around the house. Jess had summoned Officer Cook to join them. She’d tasked him with sifting through the files in the small home office. Most appeared to be the usual receipts, tax and medical records, but Jess wanted to be sure.
As she had noted that morning, the house was clean and well organized. The bed in the master bedroom was unmade. Gabrielle had apparently already been in bed when the perpetrator either knocked on the door or forced his way inside through the sliding glass doors. It appeared she had received no phone calls on the home’s landline or her cell after seven forty-five last night when her husband called to say he was stopping by to tuck in their son. Since calls could be erased from caller ID lists the records for both lines had been ordered.
It could prove useful to see who else Gabrielle had called yesterday. If she had another friend with whom she might have talked about her concerns regarding her husband, Jess needed to know ASAP. And if she had in fact called Sylvia Baron, Jess wanted that confirmation before she questioned the husband again.
Why would Gabrielle have called the ex-wife? Didn’t make sense. Jess moved on to the baby’s room. Smelled like powders and lotion. The scents caused a little cramp in her chest. There was a good possibility she would never have children. Not that she actually wanted any. Her work was too demanding. Besides, she had no mothering instincts. None. No child deserved that.
The sensation in her chest was probably an allergy to the powders.
Dismissing the foolish thoughts, she crossed to the crib and touched the stuffed bear that lay tangled with a blue blanket. An empty bottle had been cast aside. The blinds on the window over the crib were closed. Hand-painted ABCs in vivid colors adorned the sunny yellow walls. It was a damned shame this little boy would have to grow up without his mother. Thank God the killer hadn’t come in here.
Or had he? Jess considered the length of time the perpetrator had been in the house. He’d showered. The evidence techs had confirmed there were traces of blood in the drain. No prints on the shampoo bottle, not even the vic’s, which likely meant it had been wiped. The bathroom was right across the hall from the baby’s room. If a light was turned on or noises made, the baby might have awakened.
Jess stared at the empty bottle in the crib and a new theory jumped ahead of all the others. “It’s possible,” she considered as she reached for the bottle. Grasping the nipple between her thumb and forefinger she went in search of an evidence bag. She carried necessary stuff like that in her car but her car hadn’t been returned to her just yet.
In the hall that separated the bedrooms, she called out, “Officer Cook!”
Cook popped out of the home office. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I need an evidence bag.”
He looked from Jess to the bottle and back. “I’ll grab one from my car.”
Jess followed the path Cook had taken, down the few steps that led to the main living area of the house, to wait in the entry hall. Lori joined her there. “You find anything interesting?” Jess asked hopefully.
“Nothing but the usual bills and to-do lists.” Lori sent a skeptical look at the bottle. “You discover something in the kid’s room?”
“It occurred to me that if the perp was in the house for a while the baby might have awakened and started to cry. Most everyone, even me, knows the fastest way to stop a baby from crying is to give it a bottle.”
“Very good.” Lori grinned. “I think you know more about this baby business than you let on.”
“Yeah, right,” Jess muttered. Thankfully Cook reappeared with an evidence bag, banishing that touchy subject. Jess dropped the bottle inside. “I’d like you to run that to the lab, please. Detective Wells and I will finish up here.”
“I completed reviewing the last of the files in the office, ma’am.” He shook his head. “Didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Receipts. Copies of tax documents and insurance policies—I didn’t find one on the victim but there are several on the lieutenant.”
Jess hadn’t anticipated that an insurance payoff was the motive for this murder. The family’s finances were better than average and the heavy-duty death benefits all leaned in Gabrielle’s favor. Sometimes though, at this stage, it was difficult to tell what was ordinary and what was not. A thorough review was the best they could do. Better to be prepared than scrambling for answers later.
“I guess you can call it a day after you make that delivery for me.” She beamed him a smile of appreciation.
“Yes, ma’am.”
When he’d gone, Jess turned to Lori. “Let’s have another look in the family room.”
“Officer Tierney, the uniform outside, said someone would be here to board up the slider before dark.” Lori headed in the direction of the family room. “I suppose a cleanup detail will show up by tomorrow.”
“Probably so.” As important as it was to keep a crime scene untouched as long as possible, it was also imperative to ensure it was secure. At this point they had likely found all they were going to. No need to drag out the nightmare these images resurrected.
In the family room the television had been turned off. Other than the removal of the body, nothing else had been touched by anyone other th
an evidence techs—at least not once Jess had arrived on the scene.
Beyond the evidence that a heinous crime had taken place here, the home gave all the earmarks of a loving, normal family. Framed photos of happy times served as reminders most everywhere one looked. In this morning’s interview Lawrence Grayson had appeared every bit the devastated and grieving husband.
Still, Sylvia Baron’s revelation nagged at Jess. Having been a cop for so many years made Grayson very good at presenting himself in whatever way he chose. Detectives often had to be actors, confidants, and straight-up liars.
It was the nature of the beast.
Jess moved around the room and studied the words written in Gabrielle Grayson’s blood. If this murder, as she suspected, was not related to the war between Lopez’s former followers and the Black Brotherhood—the group that had claimed responsibility for blowing up one of Lopez’s hangouts—the perp was obviously attempting to make it appear so. There was nothing here in terms of crime scene similarities that hadn’t been released by the media in last night’s late-breaking news except the reference to pigs and pig whore.
In the dealings she’d had with Lopez’s people they had used plenty of unflattering references to the police but not once had she heard them use pig. Like Harper, she had noticed the mentions of TV specials focused on the anniversary of the Manson murders. Maybe that buzz had resurrected the term pig.
Jess couldn’t think of Charles Manson without thinking of drugs. Nothing but Tylenol and Aleve in this house. If either of the Graysons used drugs they kept all signs out of their home. Every little thing was in its place and immaculate.
Her gaze drifted down to the family room’s tile floor. Except for the blood.
Why had the perpetrator brought her in here to butcher her body? Had Gabrielle already been in this room? But she was wearing her nightgown and the bed covers were tousled as if she’d gotten out of bed.
“Why did you come in here, Gabrielle?” To have coffee, tea, or wine with a friend? To discuss whatever was bothering you about your husband?
Jess surveyed the room again, more slowly this time. “Did you have unexpected company?” Two coasters, the cork kind, sat on the coffee table between the two sofas. Four others were stacked neatly in the center of the table.
“Detective Wells, how about checking the dishwasher for glasses or cups. Maybe Gabrielle had a visitor, other than her husband, last night.” The visitor may have been a neighbor, but then again it could have been their perpetrator. Or Dr. Sylvia Baron.
“Dishwasher’s empty. The entire kitchen is spotless.” Lori made a face that reflected her frustration. “It’s almost like the place was thoroughly cleaned except for the blood and glass in this room.”
The idea wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. “Check the coffeemaker, too,” Jess suggested. “If she had a visitor after the lieutenant had come and gone, she may have made coffee for her unexpected company.”
“Or opened a bottle of wine,” Lori suggested. “I’ll check the trash again as well.”
Having two detectives who understood exactly where she was going with a theory without her having to explain still amazed Jess. Usually it took months, at least, to develop this kind of working relationship.
While Lori went off to check the kitchen, Jess crouched down next to where Gabrielle’s body had been discovered. Judging by the saw’s castoff, the perp had been right-handed and had knelt on the victim’s left side. Jess got into position. She looked left at the door leading back to the kitchen and the rest of the house. Then she looked right and considered the backyard and pool beyond the disabled doors.
“Why right here in front of the doors where someone might see?”
It had stormed last night but there hadn’t been any reports of power outages.
Maybe the perp had positioned the body and then turned out the lights to do his dirty work. Nothing to fear from the dark. Maybe the darkness had caused him to have to start over a couple of times with his saw. Cutting off a head wasn’t as easy as one might think. Then again, more likely he’d been attempting to disguise the way he’d strangled her.
Had he brought the saw he used or gotten it from the garage? Jess’s money was on the garage. A good question for Grayson. She was well on her way to being utterly convinced that the killer had done all this to cover up what he had done and that there hadn’t really been a plan.
Still. Why here? In this room? Maybe the perp thought the tile floor would help with skewing the time of death. With the frosty temperature, the tile floor would have been damned cold. Like lying on a refrigerated slab. Had that been the point? To skew time of death.
Jess pushed to her feet and walked around the glass to go out the damaged door. And if the perp was someone the vic knew, why break the door? Though the set of sliding doors were old, the glass was still a safety type that was much harder to break and crumbled rather than shattered. It would have been easier to break a window. Had that move been yet another to throw off the investigation? And how did the perp break the door? The impact had come from outside, sending the glass inward.
Jess looked around the patio, her attention settling on the wrought-iron table and four chairs. She lifted one of the chairs. Definitely heavy enough to do the job. The set was old. A little chipped paint and rust here and there.
According to the initial report from the first officer on the scene, Grayson had stopped by only long enough to kiss his wife and baby good night. He hadn’t stayed for coffee or anything else and all had seemed fine.
But someone had been here. Whether a stranger or a friend someone had come into this house and murdered a mother while her child slept in his crib.
Outside, even as the sun descended lower and lower behind the trees, the heat was suffocating. Last night had been hot like this. The rain torrential. Thunder and lightning like a fireworks display in the black sky.
Jess turned back to look at the broken door she’d exited. Even with the lights out, the flashes of lightning would have provided an occasional view of the murder scene. Several minutes had been required to do the job. Several streaks of lightning to spotlight the gruesome work.
The dog-eared wood fence provided some amount of privacy from a ground-level view, but it had seen better days. Jess’s gaze moved to the second floor of the neighboring home. “Except from right there.” The windows provided a bird’s-eye view like a box seat at a stadium.
Only the neighboring two-story was run down. Probably abandoned, Harper had said. A foreclosure maybe. God knew there were plenty of those around, even in the better neighborhoods. When the neighborhood had been canvassed today, not once but twice, there had been no answer at the home. Which was not surprising, since the utility meter had been pulled.
That someone actually did live there and might have witnessed the murder was wishful thinking.
The knowledge that the house was abandoned could have been the reason the killer hadn’t worried about anyone seeing him. He knew no one would be home. Just another reason to believe Gabrielle knew her killer.
Jess lifted her gaze once more to those second-story windows. A face appeared beyond the glass. Her breath stalled. She blinked. Stared harder. Was that a… child?
The face vanished as abruptly as it appeared. Someone did live there, or at least was in there now. Right now. Whoever it was she definitely wanted to talk to them.
There was no gate to exit the backyard. Her heart pumping in anticipation, she eased back through the shattered door, moved carefully around the blood and glass, and flat-out ran for the front door—at least as fast as she could run in heels and shoe covers.
“We going somewhere?” Lori intercepted her in the kitchen.
“There’s someone in the house across the backyard.” When Lori didn’t look as though she understood, Jess added, “The one with the windows that overlook the pool.” She hitched her head in the direction from which she’d come. “When the neighbors were canvassed this morning that was the one n
o-answer with the pulled utility meter.”
“I thought the house was empty,” Lori said, joining Jess’s rush to the entry hall.
“That’s what we all thought.”
Outside the front door, they tore off the gloves and shoe covers. “We’ll be right back,” Jess assured the officer guarding the scene. Since the Grayson house was the next to the last on the block, it took only a minute to go around to the street running parallel behind it.
“There’s a green minivan in the drive,” Lori said, spotting the vehicle a split second before Jess.
The minivan was a Ford and looked to be as used up as the house it sat beside. The gutters of the house sagged from last night’s rains and months of neglect. A pile of rolled up newspapers lay disintegrating in the overgrown grass.
They took the few steps up to a small stoop, where Lori rapped at the door and Jess struggled with the urge to kick it in. She needed to talk to whoever was here. She needed to talk to them now.
“Pretty quiet in there,” Jess noted, her nerves jangling. “But I saw someone in the window. A child, I think. Whoever it was, they’re in there.” Surely they hadn’t gotten away so quickly.
Lori rapped again. “We’ll just keep knocking until they invite us in.”
Jess swiped the back of her hand over her damp forehead. Damn it was hot. “Just breathing is exhausting in this heat.”
“Give it a week or two,” Lori promised. “You’ll be wishing for these temps again.”
Jess could feel her clothes wilting to her skin. “God, I’d forgotten how hot it gets down here in the summer.”
“And we’ve got at least six more weeks of this to come.” Lori pounded on the door a little louder, then rubbed her knuckles. “If they didn’t hear that they’re either deaf or dead.”
“Or gone already.” Jess fanned herself. She hoped like hell they weren’t too late.
