CHAPTER EIGHT
Officer Maria Delgado knelt on the cold tile of the laundry room floor, the luminol kit beside her a reassuring presence. Maybe she could use it to find out something important about this case.
The overhead light fixture had a new bulb now, illuminating the space where Donna Marsh had supposedly fallen.
Deputy Jake Hawkins had left moments ago, called away for a meeting with the mayor, leaving Maria to conduct this crucial test alone.
She snapped on a pair of latex gloves and began unpacking the chemicals.
“Finally getting somewhere,” she muttered to herself, carefully measuring the luminol solution into the spray bottle.
Maria had always been good at this part of the job – the meticulous gathering of evidence, the patient documentation that built cases piece by piece. She found satisfaction in these quiet moments when science could reveal what the human eye missed.
She appreciated the Sheriff and Deputy calling on her for this. She knew they also relied on her for working directly with distraught people. Overall, Maria was feeling very good about her chosen career with the Genesius County Sheriff’s office.
She rose, spray bottle in hand, and surveyed the laundry room once more.
The space was not much to look at compared to the rest of the suite, but functional – washing machine against one wall, dryer opposite, small utility sink in the corner.
She looked down at the stain she had discovered on the floor—a stain that might seriously challenge the theory that Donna had died from a fall from a stepladder.
She reached for the light switch, hesitating briefly before plunging the room into darkness. The sudden blackness felt oppressive in the windowless space. Maria waited for her eyes to adjust, the outline of the machines gradually taking shape in the dim glow from beneath the door.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered, beginning to spray a fine mist across the section of tile on the spot where she had discovered what appeared to be a trace of blood.
The luminol hissed softly as it left the bottle, creating a gentle fog that settled on the surface.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as Maria swept the spray in careful arcs across the floor, a soft blue glow began to emerge not only from the grout lines where the stain was still visible to the naked eye but smeared over the surrounding tiles.
Her pulse quickened. She quickly snapped photos with her cellphone. Then she checked the photos and saw that she’d gotten clear images despite the darkness in the room.
“Got you,” she said under her breath, crouching to examine the glowing pattern more closely.
She was capturing a second angle when the door burst open, flooding the room with harsh hallway light that instantly diminished the luminol’s glow.
“What’s going on in here, Officer Delgado?” Nolan Greer asked.
Maria squinted against the sudden brightness, rising to her feet. “This is an active investigation scene, sir. I need to ask you to step outside.”
Nolan Greer was wiry and tense, his face set in a frown. Behind him stood another man – taller, with a well-tailored coat and an air of professional detachment.
“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, Officer.” Nolan stepped fully into the room, holding out an official-looking document. “This is Hugh Bickel, private investigator. He’s been authorized to take over the assessment of Ms. Marsh’s accident site.”
Maria didn’t take the paper. She knew Hugh Bickel by reputation—and it wasn’t a good one. He had a way of disrupting local investigations.
“This is a potential crime scene, Mr. Greer. I’m in the middle of collecting evidence.”
“Evidence of what, exactly?” The second man stepped forward. “I’ve been hired by Boyd Calloway himself to look into this matter and bring it to a swift resolution.” His smile was professional but lacked warmth. “I have the proper authorization right here, signed by Mayor Simmons.”
Maria reluctantly accepted the letter, scanning its contents with growing dismay.
The language was clear – the private investigator had been granted access to conduct his own examination of the premises.
Although that wouldn’t legally supersede the police department’s preliminary investigation, it did bring the matter into the political arena.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she said. “I’ve just found evidence of significant blood traces that weren’t properly cleaned.”
Bickel moved past her, crouching where she had been working. He examined the fading blue glow with casual interest.
“Ms. Marsh lived alone, correct?” he asked, not looking up. “Except for the dog.”
“Yes, but— “
“And she was known to be rather independent, handling things on her own?”
Maria frowned. “According to neighbors, yes.”
Bickel stood, brushing off his knees. “Then it’s not particularly surprising she might have had a minor accident sometime earlier – a nosebleed, a fall, a cut – and cleaned it up herself, albeit imperfectly.
” He gestured dismissively at the floor.
“People are often embarrassed by injuries, especially older folks. They don’t want to make a fuss. ”
“This location isn’t consistent with— “
“And if I remember correctly, luminol won’t tell you if the blood is human or animal. It could have been an injury to the dog.”
Biscuit, Maria remembered. The little dog that had been turned over to animal control.
“That’s why we need more time and additional tests,” she said.
“Officer,” Nolan interrupted, stepping closer, “the simple fact is that the police work here is done. There’s no clear evidence of foul play, and this continued disruption is affecting our residents and operations.” His voice dropped. “Mr. Calloway is very concerned about the negative attention.”
“But I haven’t finished my assessment.”
Bickel smiled again. “I appreciate your thoroughness, Officer Delgado, but I’ll be taking it from here.
As you can see, I have the mayor’s approval and Mr. Calloway’s confidence.
” He placed a business card on top of the washing machine.
“Feel free to contact me if you’d like to compare notes later. ”
Nolan folded his arms. “The mayor specifically mentioned that without concrete evidence, the police have no legal grounds to hold this space.” His tone suggested he was enjoying this moment.
Maria saw that the authorization was legitimate.
For some reason, the Trentville mayor was content to have this situation referred to as an accident rather than a crime.
Slowly, she began packing the luminol kit, conscious of both men watching her every move.
She knew that fighting this decision could become a political battle, and that was one aspect of police work that she did not feel equipped to handle.
“I’ll be noting in my report that this investigation was interrupted,” she said, keeping her voice level despite her frustration.
“Note whatever you like,” Nolan replied. “But this matter is in more capable hands now.”
Maria sealed her evidence bags, labeled her photos, and gathered her equipment, refusing to be rushed despite the pressure of their presence. In the hallway, Nolan caught the door before it closed. “Everything’s under your authority now, Mr. Bickel,” she heard him say. “Whatever you need.”
Maria pulled her phone from her pocket as she walked toward the elevator. She dialed Deputy Hawkins’s number, waiting for him to pick up as the elevator doors closed behind her.
*
Jenna pulled into the City Hall parking lot just as Jake was climbing out of his cruiser, his phone pressed to his ear. His expression told her everything she needed to know – something had gone wrong. She killed the engine and stepped out.
She caught Jake’s gaze across the parking lot. He held up one finger, signaling her to wait as he finished his call. She leaned against her patrol car, watching him pace a tight circle near the sidewalk. When he finally ended the call, Jake strode toward her with quick, angry steps.
“What happened?” Jenna asked.
“Maria just got kicked out of the crime scene.” Jake ran a hand through his sandy hair. “A private investigator showed up with Nolan Greer and a letter of authorization supposedly signed by our esteemed mayor. Maria decided not to get into a fight over it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It gets better.” Jake’s voice was tight with frustration.
“Maria had just finished testing the floor with luminol. Got a positive result – a significant blood pattern, not just a small spot where someone might have fallen. She took photos, but then Greer and this PI barged in before she could do any further analysis.”
“Who’s the PI?” Jenna started walking toward the building entrance, Jake falling in beside her.
“Hugh Bickel, of all people,” Jake said. Jenna rolled her eyes at the too-familiar name.
Jake held the door open for her. “According to Maria, he’s claiming Boyd Calloway hired him personally. Apparently, he took one look at the evidence and dismissed it as Donna cleaning up from some earlier accident.”
Jenna shook her head as they walked through the lobby. “Convenient theory.”
“Too convenient,” Jake agreed. “But it’s hard to argue with. And if the mayor signed off on this...”
Mayor Claire Simmons’s office door was open when they arrived, the woman herself behind her desk reviewing documents. She glanced up as they entered, mild annoyance in her expression.
“Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins,” she acknowledged, setting her pen down. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Jenna didn’t bother with pleasantries. Although she and the mayor had been on good terms lately, this latest incident signaled that Claire still claimed official powers she didn’t actually have. “You authorized a private investigator to take over our crime scene?”
Claire’s perfectly manicured nails drummed once on her desk. “I authorized Mr. Bickel to examine the laundry room in the Calloway House, yes. I wouldn’t call it a ‘crime scene’ when there’s no evidence a crime was committed.”
“That’s not clear either way yet,” Jake interjected. “We just found additional blood evidence. Officer Delgado confirmed it with luminol before your PI took over.”
“And what does that prove?” Mayor Simmons leaned back in her chair. “I just heard from the super, who filled me in. People bleed, Deputy. They cut themselves, have nosebleeds, scrape knees. And there was a dog of some kind there, too.”
“With all due respect,” Jenna said, struggling to keep her voice even, “that determination should be made by law enforcement, not a hired investigator working for the property owner.”
Claire sighed and opened a drawer in her desk.
“Boyd Calloway called me himself this morning. He’s understandably concerned about the impact of a prolonged police investigation on his investment.
” She withdrew a folder and placed it on the desk.
“The Calloway House project represents the largest private investment in downtown Trentville in decades. We can’t afford to lose it over unfounded speculation. ”
“Is that what this is about?” Jenna asked. “Money?”
“It’s about balance, Sheriff. Boyd is planning to come to Trentville personally to address these issues. He’s arranging a public meeting to reassure residents and investors tomorrow morning.”
“But our investigation isn’t complete. You have no authority to cut it off.”
“Let’s be honest,” Claire said, her voice sharpening. “The only reason we’re having this conversation is because you have some sort of ... hunch.”
Jenna felt a flush of anger. Claire didn’t know about her dreams, but like many people in Trentville, she suspected Jenna of some kind of unusual sources of information.
“There’s nothing to investigate,” Claire continued. “And the Calloway House project is already steeped in enough controversy and local ill-will without adding murder accusations to the mix.” She slid a newspaper across her desk. “Did you see last week’s Weekly News?”
Jenna picked up the paper. On page three, a bold headline caught her eye: “CALLOWAY HOUSE: MONUMENT TO GREED OR COMMUNITY ASSET?” Below it was a letter to the editor from an anonymous “concerned citizen,” condemning the project as an insult to local history and questioning the ethics of converting the old mansion to luxury condos.
“This is the third such letter in two months,” Claire said. “The last thing we need is panic about a murder that probably never happened.”
“So, you want to bury a potential homicide investigation to protect real estate values?” Jake asked incredulously.
Claire’s eyes flashed. “I’m hoping to prevent a witch hunt based on nothing but Sheriff Graves’ gut feeling. If you bring me actual evidence of foul play, I’ll support you. Until then, I suggest you focus on actual crimes.”
Jenna placed the newspaper back on the desk. “We’ll be in touch when we have more information.”
Outside the mayor’s office, Jake let out a long breath. “Well, that went about as expected.”
“The worst part is, she’s not entirely wrong. All we have is what Donna told me in the dream. We can’t explain that to Claire or to anyone else.”
“You believe the dream, though,” Jake said.
“I do. The fear in Donna’s voice was real, Jake. She knew something bad had happened to her and she was afraid for others.” Jenna pushed the exit door open, stepping back outside. “But a dream isn’t evidence. Claire’s right about one thing – we need something concrete.””
They walked in silence toward their vehicles. Donna Marsh’s death would likely be recorded as an unfortunate accident, another sad footnote in Trentville’s history.
Jenna’s phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, surprised to see Colonel Spelling’s name on the display.
“Colonel,” she answered.
“Sheriff Graves.” Spelling’s voice was crisp through the speaker. “I believe we’ve located your sister in Clarksboro. Or at least, she was there recently.”
“Piper?” she whispered, gripping the phone tighter. “You’ve found Piper?”
“I think so,” Spelling replied. “I’m going there now to learn more for myself.”
For a moment, Jenna could barely breathe.
“Text me the address,” she said, “I’ll be there too.”