The Bones She Buried: A completely gripping, heart-stopping crime thriller(25)

There was no answer, no sound at all from inside the house other than the television. Josie peered past Mettner into the living room. She didn’t have the best angle into the room which was to the right of the front door, but she saw part of a couch, part of a television sitting on top of a small stand, plush beige carpeting and what looked like the sole of a bare foot. Her heart stopped for a beat and then kicked back into motion. Her hand went to her service pistol, fingers deftly unsnapping the holster at her waist, her palm fitting itself around the handle of the gun. “Mett,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong.”

With her chin, Josie motioned toward the living room. The moment Mettner’s eyes landed on the foot, he drew his weapon as well. Keeping the barrels of their guns pointed downward, they entered the house, calling out “Police!” in loud, clear voices. No one responded. Mettner moved immediately to the right where a woman’s body lay face down on the carpet in front of the coffee table, a pillow partially covering her head. She wore a purple T-shirt and stretchy black pants. Both her feet were bare. One of her arms lay at her side and the other was bent, palm reaching over her head. Near her feet, a mug lay on its side next to a dark brown stain. A few feet away from that was a television remote and a copy of People magazine. Across the room at the foot of an empty bookcase lay piles of paperback books and photo albums which had been torn from the shelves.

Mettner squatted down and took one hand off his weapon to feel the woman’s neck for a pulse. He met Josie’s eyes. “She’s gone.” His hand gently touched the woman’s arm. “Cold.” Which meant she had likely been dead for some time, and they would not be able to bring her back.

Josie nodded toward the hall leading to the back of the house and Mettner followed. They fell into a formation with Josie leading, clearing each room and the back patio before returning to Beth’s body. The scene was eerily similar to Colette Fraley’s house except that whoever had ransacked the house had done so more hastily, leaving much more of a mess. Kitchen drawers had been pulled from their homes and tossed onto the tile floor, their contents spread all over the room. Papers, pens and other office supplies covered every surface in what looked to be a home office. In the master bedroom, every dresser drawer lay on the floor on top of a pile of discarded clothing. The closet doors stood open, and its contents were in a pile on the floor. Even the bathroom had been torn apart, items from the medicine cabinet and under the sink hurled onto the floor.

“Someone was looking for something,” Josie muttered.

With the house cleared, they moved outside to the yard beyond it but found no one nor any traces of anyone. Holstering their weapons, they returned to the body. Josie took out her phone and called dispatch. “We’re going to need the ERT and the medical examiner,” she said. “Better write up some warrants, too. It looks like we’ve got another murder on our hands.”





Eighteen





An hour later, Josie and Mettner stood in Beth Pratt’s living room watching the medical examiner, Dr. Anya Feist perform a cursory examination of the body. The medics helped her turn Beth Pratt onto her back so they could hook her up to the AED machine to ensure there was no cardiac rhythm, but it quickly became obvious there was no need for the machine. Livor mortis blackened the skin of Beth Pratt’s arms where they had touched the floor. Dr. Feist sighed. “I’d guess she’s been dead about two hours.”

Mettner tapped notes into his phone. Josie grimaced; if only they’d got here sooner.

“She’s definitely the homeowner?” Dr. Feist asked, looking up at them both.

Josie said, “Yes. The killer dumped her purse onto the dining room table—at least, we assume it was the killer who did it by the way everything was tossed onto the table. Her driver’s license was there.” With gloved hands she pulled out her phone and brought up the picture she’d snapped. Dr. Feist took the phone and studied Beth Pratt’s smiling face, looking back and forth from the phone to the dead woman before her. It was difficult to tell from the body before them with its waxy, lifeless face, but from her photo ID, Josie could see that Beth had her father’s square jaw, thin lips and dark hair. She knew from her research that Drew Pratt had been over six feet tall but Beth, at only around five foot two, would have had difficulty fighting off a larger, aggressive attacker.

Dr. Feist handed the phone back to Josie with a sigh. “I’d say that’s a positive ID, all right.” Pulling a small flashlight from her jacket pocket, she shone it into Beth Pratt’s glassy eyes. “Petechiae here as I would expect. I’ll know more when I get her on the table, but my initial impression would be death by asphyxiation.” Gently, her gloved fingers probed Beth Pratt’s lips, pulling them away from her teeth methodically. She then pressed a finger to the middle of Beth’s chin to draw her mouth open so she could examine inside with her flashlight.

“There are cuts on the insides of her lips and what looks like carpet fibers on her tongue, suggesting someone held her face down against the carpet.” Dr. Feist pointed to the pillow near Beth’s head. “They probably used that to hold her down and keep her quiet.”

The entire scene sent a chill down Josie’s spine.

Mettner said, “It looks like there was somewhat of a struggle with all this stuff knocked onto the floor.”