Chapter Sixteen
After work, Patrick, Aram, and I bustled through the drizzling rain to the police cruiser. I grasped the back door handle.
“Have a seat up front, June,” Aram said. “I always wanted to sit in the back of a squad car. It’s my first time. Honest.” Aram’s chuckle was contagious, and we all laughed.
Aram leaned forward and spoke through the cage. “This ride will definitely be memorable.”
“Hopefully not as memorable as the last time June and I headed to this address.”
In the side mirror, I caught a glimpse of Aram’s raised brows. “I’m wondering, why was June out patrolling with you?”
I bit my bottom lip. Aram’s voice sounded casual, but I detected intense curiosity. I jumped in to answer his question. “I had missed my bus that day, and Patrick offered me a ride.”
“I still regret putting her in harm’s way.” Patrick put a hand on mine.
I couldn’t tell if Aram had noticed Patrick reach over. Normally, I reveled in his touch, but right now I couldn’t enjoy it to its fullest extent because of the unwieldy situation.
“I’d like to clarify something,” I said. “Patrick hadn’t placed me in any danger. What happened to me was, well, on me.”
Patrick gently squeezed my hand before moving his back on the wheel.
“Still willful,” Aram said.
Heat flooded my face. What possessed me to think it was a good idea to ride in a cruiser along with these two? This would be the first and last time. And definitely memorable for me.
Patrick parked in front of the taped-off house and turned off the ignition. He got out and opened my door first. Aram waited like a trapped detainee until Patrick released him.
“So, Doctor, how was the scenery from back here?”
“Excellent,” Aram said.
“Don’t get used to it,” Patrick said.
“Haha.” I laughed nervously.
“They have swabbed the area inside the house for DNA, and as far as PPE goes, I think only gloves will be necessary should we need to touch anything.” He popped the trunk open, and we each grabbed a pair.
We advanced along the stone path. Leaves blew around my feet, and I noticed the hedge leaves turning shades of yellow. The hedge. I still had to tell Patrick about the business card I had found.
We skipped up the porch steps. Patrick removed the key from the lockbox and swung the door open.
“Who lives here, Officer?”
“Currently, no one. This is a vacant rental unit. Recently renovated.”
We filed into the foyer. The temperature felt as cool as it was outside. I detected the smell of fresh paint. It was so quiet I could almost hear myself breathing.
Patrick flipped on the light. We walked on tiled flooring through a tidy galley kitchen. The quartz countertop was clutter free, and the porcelain undermount sink had no dirty dishes in it. There wasn’t any evidence of any foul play here. And then I saw the wooden knife block with an empty slot.
We traipsed into the eating area. The table was askew, and chairs were knocked over—evidence of a struggle. A pool of brown-red blood crusted up on the floor, and there were streaks and spatters of blood on the floor, table, and wall.
“They’re going to have to paint again,” Aram said.
I held back a nervous giggle. He was still a jokester. “Is this where the victim was found?” I asked.
“Yes. He more than likely sustained his fatal injury here,” Patrick said.
“From a knife wound?”
“That’s what the good doctor will determine.”
Aram intently scanned the room. “The knife wasn’t the murder weapon.”
“No?” I said in surprise.
“He was shot. The bullet nicked the iliac artery.” Aram said. “My guess is there was an aggressor with a gun, and a victim, who grabbed a knife in self-defense.”
“You’re two-thirds right,” Patrick said. “We suspect there was another person involved. We found three sets of footprints.”
“Then probably two aggressors. What the hell went on in here?” Aram said, more to himself as he eyed every detail of the room.
“We’ve concluded one party had a key and entered through the front door. The second and third parties entered forcibly through the back door. And the altercation took place here, in the kitchen.”
Aram bent down to look at the kick plate of the maple kitchen cabinet. “Is that a bullet?”
Patrick crouched. “That’s exactly what it looks like. Forensics must have missed it.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s incredible.”
Aram shrugged. “Just a lucky glance.”
“I will have to get the team back here to extract it,” Patrick said and took out his phone.
“Umm, Patrick.” I moved closer to him, wishing I didn’t have to ask what I had to ask at this particular moment. “May I use the bathroom?”
He put the phone back into his pocket. “Sure. It’s this way.”
“We’ll be back in a minute, Doc. Look around and snap some pics.”
“Will do,” Aram said.
I followed Patrick down a carpeted hallway. He peered into each of the two bedrooms and then the bathroom. “All clear. You’re good to go.”
I snorted a laugh.
Unamused by his pun, Patrick shook his head. “I’ll wait for you right here.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.” I pursed my lips in an air kiss and shut the door.
“All right.” He spoke loudly so I could hear him. “I’m going to make a call and check the basement.”
“Okay!” I said as I placed tissue on the toilet seat, even though it looked like a clean bowl.
When I was done, I peeked out, left and right. I turned toward the basement stairs. “Patrick?”
I descended the steps. The basement light was on.
“Down here, June.”
I stopped on the bottom stair. Debris from torn-down ceiling tiles covered the concrete floor. Areas of wood paneling had been broken in several areas. Along the back wall sat a dirty, ripped couch, which appeared to be more sliced than ripped.
“Looks like the renovations stopped here,” I said. “This place is trashed.”
“You noticed that, too?” Patrick said. “There may be asbestos down here. I prefer you don’t come down without a breathing barrier. Go join the doctor. I’ll be there in a moment.”
I didn’t move. I loved watching him in cop mode.
“Please go up, June,” he said in a softer tone.
I turned to head back upstairs.
Aram appeared to be deep in thought as I approached him in the family room. He smiled when he noticed me.
“Feel better?” he said.
“Much,” I said. “Find any more clues?”
“No. I’m just looking for more lodged bullets.”
“It’s amazing you found the one in the kitchen. You have eagle eyes.”
“I do my best,” he said.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a question popped into my head.
“Aram, I was wondering about something.”
“What’s that?” His eyes brightened.
“Would you by any chance know a Dr. Fulthorpe?”
“I know a Stan Fulthorpe.”
“Really?”
“They awarded us our fellowships the same year. But he received his in hematology, if this is the Dr. Fulthorpe you’re referring to.”
“I believe it is.” My heart played hopscotch.
“Why do you ask?”
“I came across his name.” I didn’t want to explain about finding the business card until I spoke with Patrick.
“Stan works at St. Eugene’s, and I know he has a long wait list of patients. Excellent doctor. And a true gentleman. Not a rogue like me,” Aram said with a slight smile.
I coughed and glanced behind me to see if Patrick was in earshot.
“It’s none of my business, June, but are you and the officer seeing each other?”
He had seen Patrick’s hand on mine in the car.
I nodded. “Yes. We are.”
“Lucky man,” Aram said. His eyes glistened.
Approaching footsteps startled me to silence.
“How is it going?” Patrick said.
Aram’s gaze lingered on me for a second longer. “I think I’ve seen all I need from here,” he said. “Thank you for the excursion, Officer.”
I too was ready to be gone from this place and the dynamics of the situation. There were too many emotions and secrets at play. And I couldn’t shake the dark suppressive energy of the crime scene.
I noticed the snap was open in Patrick’s holster. He had been ready to protect. And then I noticed him holding a plastic ziplock bag with something white in it. “What do you have?”
Patrick lifted the bag. “This is a piece of ceiling tile I found on the basement floor. It has a stain.”
I took the bag from Patrick and then showed Aram.
“If I were a gambling man, and I am,” Aram said, “I’d wager that is blood.”