Scarlet Rain Part 5

"Sorry Detective. What's next?"

"Any signs of forced entry?" James asked.

Winslow shook his mop of ginger hair. "Windows and doors are locked, with the exception of the French doors up in the master bedroom. In one of the doors, the whole pane of gla.s.s is shattered. There's not a way up there from the ground, so it must've happened during the murders sometime yesterday. CSI guys said it's a fly-filled mess up there. Lucky for me, I got to stay down here waiting for you. I f.u.c.king hate bugs. All of them. Tiny b.a.s.t.a.r.ds." He paused and wrinkled his freckled nose. "Oh, and the door leading in from the garage wasn't open, but it was unlocked. Our witness says the garage door was up when she arrived. Could be how they got in and out."

"There's evidence of more than one intruder?"

Winslow shrugged. "Eh, not exactly. But the husband's a big guy and a pro mixed martial arts fighter. He's only fought locally, but he's kicked a.s.s every time. You ever get out to watch the fights?"

"Watching people beat each other up, it's not really my thing."

"Then maybe you're in the wrong line of work." Winslow chuckled and jabbed James in the ribs with his elbow.

James sneered and rubbed his side. "You said something about a witness."

"Yeah, Robyn Jenkins." Winslow pointed across the yard to a shiny Mercedes idling in the driveway. "She's not really a witness as much as she's the person who found the bodies. Well, Monica's body anyway. And she's a little, uh, shaken up."

"That her in the car?" James asked.

"Sure is. Man, I'd give my right nut to have that slick new Mercedes."

James furrowed his brow and cast a sideways glance at the officer. "But why is she in a running car?"

"She refuses to get out until her lawyer gets here. I told her finding a body isn't a crime, but she doesn't seem to think I know what I'm talking about."

"Imagine that," James muttered. "Thanks, Winslow. And let me know when the ME arrives."

"What about Schilling? Want me to find you when the old man gets here?"

"Nah, I'm sure I'll run into him."

"He is kinda hard to miss." Winslow smiled and jogged over to the group of officers gathered around the home's ma.s.sive front doors.

James straightened his collar and briskly walked to the witness's Mercedes before her lawyer had the chance to show up and intercept her. "Hi, Mrs. Jenkins. I'm Detective James Graham. Mind if I talk to you for a moment?"

Streaks of mascara peeked out from beneath the large black sungla.s.ses perched on the tip of her thin nose. "It's Ms. Jenkins," she said, wiggling the fingers on her left hand.

"Apologies, Ms. Jenkins. Can you step outside of the car and talk to me about what happened inside?"

She pursed her plump lips and pushed her gla.s.ses further up her nose before answering. "I suppose." James stepped back as she opened the car door and hopped out. All of the b.u.t.tons on her peach cardigan had been fastened except the top two. James followed her hand as it nervously traced the deep V-neck of her blouse. "Just to let you know, I have called my lawyer. He was in a meeting across town, but should be here any moment."

He lifted his gaze and stared at his reflection in her dark sungla.s.ses. "And you can meet with him as soon as he gets here. I only want to take a little bit of time to understand what happened. From your point of view, of course. Did either Mrs. Carroll or Mr. George know you were coming over?"

"Yes, Monica and I had scheduled a meeting for today."

"And can you tell me what the meeting was supposed to be about?"

She took a deep breath and nodded quickly. "Yes. She always helps me plan our country club's annual fundraiser. Monica is the queen of getting people to donate money. She knows how to raise more than anyone in the Midwest."

"That's quite a talent. It must have made some people a little bit jealous," James mused.

"Oh, people were always jealous of Monica. Not me, of course, but others were. It comes with the territory. However, I don't think any of them would have the stomach to do something like this." A grimace twisted her lips.

"When you arrived to see Monica, was the garage door up or down?"

"It was up. That's how I got inside. But that's very unlike Monica. The only time she allowed it to be up was when Tyson was working on something. He tinkers on different projects all the time." Her voice caught in her throat. "Or I guess I should say tinkered. Both of them being gone is so much to process."

"I understand, Ms. Jenkins. Only a few more questions. When you went through the garage, did you notice anything out of place, or did anything strike you as being odd?"

"No, nothing seemed odd until I got inside. I walked through the laundry room and into the kitchen, which is when I noticed the mess. Monica's kitchen was never a mess. It was obnoxious, but nothing in the house was ever even out of place. It was always immaculate. I also saw some b.l.o.o.d.y paper towels. I just thought Monica tried to cook and it had gone south." Tears emerged from beneath her sungla.s.ses and rolled down her cheeks. She patted them lightly with her fingertips. "But then I saw the chunks of b.l.o.o.d.y hair and the blood all along the stairs. When I got to the top I saw this red puddle." Her voice trembled as she pushed through her sobs. "And her hand. It was so still."

"Did you hear anyone or see Mr. George?"

"I didn't even know Tyson was there until your officer told me they'd found his body. Oh G.o.d, how am I ever going to plan this benefit without her?" Robyn collapsed against her car and let her head fall into her hands.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Jenkins." James turned from the blubbering woman and motioned for one of the stray officers to come over. "If you could give this officer a list of people who had access to the house, I'd really appreciate it. Also, if you remember anything else, please don't hesitate to get in touch with me." He reached into his pocket and handed her one of his cards.

"Thank you." She sniffled and tucked the card into her pocket.

James smiled and hastily walked to the front door of the house before Ms. Jenkins's attorney arrived and created a new mess of problems. He stood in front of the grand double doors admiring the iron detail. It transported him back to a time when life was simpler, happier. Before returning to Tulsa, James had spent his fair share of time in neighborhoods like Terwilleger Heights, clinking gla.s.ses and making small talk with the who's who of Texas businessmen. All with Mel by his side.

Mel. He stared down at the beautifully stained concrete, savoring the memories of his old life. Sleepless nights tangled together, covered only by the glow of firelight. The fit of her lips against his, and the soft curve of her back as she arched into him.

"You going in, or just working on your x-ray vision?"

Startled, James took a step forward, clearing his throat and bringing his thoughts to the present. "Just waiting for you."

"I f.u.c.king doubt that," Schilling grumbled.

"Look, Schilling, I-"

"Right now, all I need to know is that you have my back and it'll all be water under the bridge. We've got something more important to deal with, so there's no use in acting like school kids."

"Yeah, I have your back. All the way."

"That's all I need." Schilling gave him a hearty slap on the back and nodded toward the door. "You going to open that?"

James pushed open the door and let Schilling take the lead into the house. He took in a sweeping stretch of gleaming hardwood floors, soaring vaulted ceilings, and enough crystal chandeliers to keep a cleaning crew busy for months.

Like most of the homes in the pricey neighborhood, Monica Carroll's mini mansion was constructed in the early twentieth century, when oil gushed from the land and coated the pockets of Tulsa's elite. The small details throughout the home remained the same, but the bright and uncluttered interior was straight out of a Restoration Hardware catalogue. The expansive two-story entryway set the stage for a grand staircase to the left, through to a wide hall leading into the s.p.a.cious, open living room and kitchen.

Schilling let out a shrill whistle as he took in the meticulous details of the home. "That's one thing about this job I never get tired of seeing. Old-money mansions."

"It could do without all of this." James nodded to the yellow evidence placards identifying the trail of blood, footprints, and tufts of hair. They stretched through the living room and disappeared up the blood-spattered stairs. "You think that's the husband's?" He leaned over one of the brunet clumps. "Must've been some struggle to rip out the hair and scalp."

"But it doesn't look like there was any kind of fight here. There's just one set of footprints. And the only sign of a struggle is the hair." Schilling turned in a tight circle, taking inventory of the surroundings. "The pictures hanging are all straight. There's no blood on the walls. If there was some kind of altercation here, it's pretty strange that the perp would go out of their way to clean up everywhere except the floor."

"You've got a point. That wouldn't make much sense."

"Yeah, but then again, I have seen stupider s.h.i.t go down. Let's take this party into the kitchen."

"This is where our witness says she first noticed things out of the ordinary," James informed Schilling as they slowly and carefully tiptoed around droplets of blood and into the living room and kitchen. "Apparently Mrs. Carroll kept everything extremely neat."

"My guess is it wasn't Mrs. Carroll at all. She probably had an army of people running around making sure lint didn't land wrong," Schilling carped.

"Either way, I'll bet it never looked like this." Scarlet flecks dotted the island's white marble countertop. Bloodstained paper towels and splashes of red littered the floor, and rivulets of crimson coated the outside of the kitchen window. "You want to head out back and start with Mr. George, or go upstairs and take a look at Mrs. Carroll?" James asked.

"We'll leave him to bake until Pierce gets here. Let's go up while I still feel like climbing stairs," Schilling replied.

James led the way back down the hall and up the stairs. Smudged and b.l.o.o.d.y fingerprints peppered the iron bannister and the wall bordering the staircase. "There's a lot more blood up here," he said, glancing back at Schilling. "Watch where you put your feet."

Schilling grumbled something undecipherable and continued to heft himself up each step.

James paused on the top stair. Monica's well-manicured hand rested in a pool of blood. The stark contrast between the pale flesh and deep ruby brought goose b.u.mps to James's arms.

"You do know she's not going to stand up and invite you on a tour of the second floor, right?" Schilling said.

James chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah."

"Scootch." Schilling squeezed past James and up the final stair. His face contorted as he scanned Monica's body. "What a mess. You coming?"

James swallowed his trepidation and carefully rounded the puddle of blood, keeping his gaze focused on Schilling.

"Some seriously sick f.u.c.k did this one." Schilling's knees popped as he squatted next to the victim.

James kept his eyes up, noticing an ignored layer of dust resting on the blades of the ceiling fan.

"Putting it off isn't going to make it look any less disgusting. We all have to see some bad s.h.i.t, as I'm sure you know. Goes with the job."

"Yeah." James prepared himself for whatever condition her corpse was in. He flicked his gaze down to Monica's body. "Jesus. I was not ready for that."

Monica Carroll was unrecognizable. Her face looked like the sunken, gooey remains of a rotted pumpkin. Brain matter dappled the floor and wall next to her. James searched the meaty cavern for any human resemblance.

"I don't think anyone could've been prepared for it." Schilling shooed away a few flies circling the body. "Doesn't even look like a person anymore. They're going to have to apply some real science down at the ME's office to get a positive ID on her."

"How do you think this happened?" James averted his eyes and looked around the room for a possible murder weapon. Streams of dried blood coated the wall closest to Monica's body and clumps of flesh clung to the paint. "I'm not seeing anything that could've been used to cause all this."

"Maybe it's not here. Whoever did this might have taken it with 'em," Schilling said.

"You think this is the point of entry?" James walked to the French doors and looked out at the balcony. "Actually, scratch that." He stepped through the large opening created by the broken gla.s.s and onto the deck. Gla.s.s popped under his feet, and he bent over, inspecting the shards littering the wood. "Schilling," he called over his shoulder. "The broken door is definitely not how anyone got in." James stood and looked over the guardrail. "I'd say it's more how he got out."

Eight.

Schilling peered over the edge of the balcony, the ornate iron railing pressing into his gut. "That's one way to get out of a bad situation."

Tyson George's towering, muscular body lay on the ground-level patio covered in a white sheet. His black tennis shoes poked out from the end of the blood-soaked cloth covering him; more blood spatters arched in a halo around the body.

James surveyed the scene. "So, he can't protect his wife, and instead of also getting beat to a pulp, he smashes through the gla.s.s and jumps over the balcony?"

Schilling lifted his eyebrow and c.o.c.ked his head to the side.

"I know, I know," James sighed. "Jumping to conclusions. Rookie mistake."

"Detective Graham!" Winslow stuck his head through the hole in the broken gla.s.s. "Pierce is here. She's about to go outside with the other victim."

"Thanks, Winslow. Tell her I'll be down in a minute." James lingered stiffly next to his partner before speaking. "We're good, right?"

Schilling shrugged. "Depends. You coming over for dinner?"

"You got me on that one." James shook his head and smiled. "Just tell me when, and I'll be there."

"Perfect. You come over, get my wife off my back about meeting you, and we can pretend like your prima donna hissy fit never happened."

"I can deal with that," James said, heading for the French doors.

"Wait a tick. There's one more thing. I need to know what really went down out in those woods." James opened his mouth to protest, but Schilling held up his hand. "We'll just be going in circles if you try to deny it. Look, you don't have to tell me now, but you do have to tell me. I'm your partner. We can't have secrets between us. Not when it's about the job. Now, go downstairs. I've got this covered up here. Let me know what you find out from Pierce."

James pushed Schilling from his mind as he trotted down the stairs and through the house. If twisting the truth wasn't going to work, he'd have to figure out what really happened, and fast.

Pierce met him at the back door and handed him a pair of blue gloves. "Here, you're going to need these. "

"Can't be any worse than what's upstairs." He stretched the latex over his thick knuckles.

"I'd say we should bet on it, but I don't want to take your money." Pierce smiled and shook strands of her short, blonde bob from her eyes.

"Detective James!" Veronica's dazzling smile flashed against the warm bronze of her skin.

"Veronica?" His cheeks warmed when her chest grazed his back as she squeezed pa.s.sed him through the open door. "What are you doing here? I thought you only worked in the office."

"I am here to a.s.sist doctor Pierce." Like a proud student, she held up the iPad and stylus she held nestled under her arm. "Kirby is on vacation, so I finally had the chance to leave that boring oficina. Don't look so surprised. I take night cla.s.ses to one day be a talented dead body doctor like Catherine. But no one told me I had to wear flat shoes. They are hideous." Her lip curled as she looked down at her feet in disgust.

"You look great. I mean, your shoes look great." James was sure his cheeks revealed everything, and he fidgeted awkwardly with the tight gloves. "I am a little shocked that you're getting your degree to be a medical examiner. I thought you hated Pierce's job. You call her the crypt keeper."

"Ay!" she shouted, smacking him on the forehead with the stylus. "Why do you say that in front of her?"

James rubbed his forehead. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Just like a man, not to think. But I forgive you." She smiled a sultry half smile and bit the end of the stylus.

James's lips parted, and his mouth hung open slightly as he watched her tongue trace the end of the pen.

"Hey, Vee." Pierce's voice made him jump. "Will you run back out to the car and grab that case I put in the back? I'll need it set up upstairs."