Chapter 6 #2
Bent nodded. “She hit her head on the edge of a step when she fell—hard enough, it seems, to put her life in jeopardy. When the ME was examining her—before turning her over—she discovered the knife. With the knife close by, and since she wasn’t stabbed, it’s reasonable that she is our prime suspect for now. ”
Vera surveyed the yard and the woods that lay beyond. “There’s always the possibility the killer wanted the wife to look guilty.”
“Agreed.” Bent led the way back into the house and secured the French doors. “We can hope the killer injured him- or herself with all that stabbing. If so, maybe we’ll get lucky and pick up some DNA that will give us a firm direction.”
That would only be useful if said killer was the wife or someone in a database, but no need to say as much. Bent knew the deal. Like anyone investigating a murder case, he could hope.
“You’re interviewing Erwin again when we finish here?” Based on the woman’s statement from that morning, she hadn’t appeared to know much beyond the fact that the Wiltons were spending the holiday weekend at the cabin with friends, and the boss hadn’t shown up this morning for a scheduled meeting.
“We are interviewing her,” he corrected. “I’m sure you’d like to get back to Luna, but I could use your insights on every aspect of this one.”
Vera held up her hands. “No problem. Eve will take care of Luna until I can get there.”
“I appreciate it.”
Vera smiled. “Anytime.” She decided not to mention that she really was grateful for the distraction, as tragic as it was. Besides, she enjoyed working with Bent.
Right now he looked tired. Murders didn’t happen often in his jurisdiction, and to have three—potentially four—at once was deeply troubling for the county’s top cop.
He was a good sheriff, and Vera was always happy to pitch in.
Since leaving her career at the Memphis Police Department and coming back to her hometown, she had found a comfortable place as an adviser and analyst to law enforcement agencies in this as well as the surrounding counties.
Over the past year she had built a damned good reputation, if she did say so herself.
It was actually going better than she’d hoped.
As some would say, it appeared to be her true calling—even when things hit too close to home.
But then, that was the way of things in a small town. Everyone knew everyone else, and most were related by blood or marriage in one way or another, even if several times removed.
“I’ll make a walk-through before we go and take some pics.” Later she would use those pics to follow up on her thoughts about the case.
“Sounds good.” He hitched a thumb toward the French doors. “I think I’ll take another walk along the tree line. Make some calls.”
Vera hesitated. “You said Erwin didn’t notice anything missing.”
“Right. She found the bodies and pretty much lost it. After the vics were removed, she and I did a walk-through. She didn’t notice anything missing except cell phones.” He frowned. “And there was no purse or ID for the deceased female.”
“Thanks.” Vera headed deeper into the house, and Bent headed out back.
He knew she had her own way just as he had his.
She preferred to look at a crime scene as a whole—not just the bodies or the murder weapons.
It helped to take note of the way the victim or victims, in this case, lived.
Equally important was getting the feel of the scene.
Everything from the decor to cleaning habits. It all mattered.
Vera explored the house while Bent did his thing.
She wandered through the main living area.
The great room some would call the combined kitchen and living/dining area.
Beyond where the vics were discovered, the place was cleaner than she would have expected after a weekend of partying.
There was a small office and a powder room on the first level just beyond the stairs.
Upstairs were the bedrooms. The primary bedroom extended over half the second level’s floor space.
There was an en suite. Again, all was spotless.
There were a few changes of clothes in the closet, intimate essentials in the drawers, and toiletries in the bathroom.
The only money or jewelry lying around was, presumably, the husband’s Rolex and his cash-filled wallet on the dresser.
No weapons or notes or anything at all that appeared out of place or unusual.
Not even a dust bunny under the bed. Just one lone sock.
The only indication the room had actually been used for anything other than storage was the unmade bed.
She moved on to the second bedroom. Also clean. She dragged a finger across the wood dresser. Not a speck of dust. Nothing in the closet or drawers. Bed didn’t appear to have been slept in.
The final bedroom was another story. Clothes littered the floor.
Skimpy lingerie as well as shorts and tanks.
A bikini. A few underthings were tossed into drawers.
A couple of shirts and blouses as well as jeans hung in the closet.
A pair of running shoes—women’s—lay on the floor next to the bed.
Flip-flops, larger, so probably the man’s, were in the bathroom.
Discarded towels were scattered on the tile floor.
A razor on the sink as well as a few cosmetics.
As Bent said, if the woman had brought a purse, there was no sign of it anywhere in the house.
Vera did her due diligence. She checked under the bed and most any other hiding place and found nothing.
When she would have left the room, she decided to check the bed more thoroughly.
With the tips of her fingers, she drew back the sheet.
Nothing but a couple of pubic hairs. She checked under one pillow and then the other.
Something fell from one of the pillowcases. Vera leaned down, studied it. White powder in a neat little packet. Cocaine, she suspected. No surprise. She’d seen the residue on the coffee table downstairs.
Since she didn’t have gloves or an evidence bag, she would leave that for Bent or Conover.
Back downstairs, she found Bent on the front porch.
“Find anything?” he asked.
She nodded. “I did. In the guest room where Parson and his potential girlfriend were staying, there’s a packet of what looks like cocaine in one of the pillowcases. I didn’t touch it, but that may have been one of the drugs of choice this weekend.”
“I’ll have Conover have a second look just in case he missed anything else.”
Vera winced. “Maybe say you found it.” She preferred staying on the good side of the deputies, particularly Conover. In her experience it was never helpful to get on a cop’s bad side.
“I can do that.” He hitched his head toward the door. “You done?”
“For now. I’m anxious to meet Valeri Erwin and hear firsthand what she has to say.”
While Bent locked up and resealed the scene, Vera headed for his truck. Whatever happened in this cabin—she turned back to study it as she opened the passenger side door—it had started well before Wilton and his guests arrived.
What Vera needed next was motive. Then the rest would fall into place.
The drive back to the main house seemed strange, considering there was no one else anywhere on the hundreds of acres surrounding them.
All the official vehicles were gone at this point.
Bodies removed, the scene processed. Conover would be back for a second sweep later today or tomorrow.
No employees except Erwin had come to the property at all today.
No other family—evidently there was none.
No vehicles moving about. No lawn work or housework.
Nothing. Leaving a vast property silent except for the breeze and the birds.
It was almost unnerving.
But that deafening silence abruptly shattered as they drove through the main gate, exiting the property.
A sporty sedan waited, parked crossways in the road, blocking their path. A man, arms folded over his chest, leaned against the driver’s side door.
“What the hell?” Bent muttered.
Vera squinted to identify the interloper. Nolan Baker.
Irritation instantly flamed. “What’s he doing here?” Dumb question. He was here for the story.
Bent sent her a look. “He showed up this morning with a handful of other reporters but left for the hospital when the bodies were removed.” Bent shoved the gearshift into Park. “He must have heard you and I were headed back this way.”
Vera rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking to him.”
“I’ll take care of him.” Bent climbed out of the truck and headed for the younger man.
Nolan Baker, son of Vera’s nemesis back in high school, cared about only one thing: himself.
Well, himself and catching that big break, but ultimately those were one and the same.
Sadly for him, that had not happened as of yet.
He was still writing for his small-town newspaper.
Nothing wrong with that unless your mother was Elizabeth Bogus Baker (also known as Boggie back in high school).
The woman expected the moon and sun out of her son, just like she’d expected her high school football star husband to end up in the NFL. Didn’t happen.
Sucked to be so dependent upon other people’s success for your happiness.
Nolan had inherited his mother’s arrogance and doggedness. Made him a good reporter, she supposed. But it did absolutely nothing for his personality.
She clenched her teeth as she watched Bent instruct Baker to leave. He would, of course. But he would be back . . . over and over again until he got the story.
Especially now. Thomas Wilton was a big deal. The story would go national, for sure. It was just the sort of mystery that reporters would do anything to capture. Three dead. One in a coma. The motive unclear. Money, sex, drugs.
Vera was confident about one thing. This was no sudden, random act. The kills went down far too easily with hardly any resistance, which meant one of two things: Either the victims knew their killer, or this was a well-planned execution that no one saw coming.