Cold & Deadly (Cold Justice: Crossfire #1)(15)

They both slipped the paper covers over their shoes. A ball of dread congealed in her stomach. “Has anyone else been in here since…?”

Sheridan shook his head. “Van’s daughters were waiting until after the funeral to deal with the house.”

She squared her shoulders and stepped inside. A wave of memories pummeled her. Van standing next to the coffeepot. Van making scrambled eggs for dinner because it was one of the few things he knew how to cook and he was always happy to share.

Sheridan’s mouth was downturned as if cataloguing his own memories of happier times. “Why did you come over last Monday?”

It felt like a lifetime ago now. “I’d made an arrest on a child pornography investigation that started when he was in the office. He liked to know the status of things. When I was able to tell him anything, I mean.” Once retired, former agents were no longer privy to information on active cases but she’d sometimes bent the rules a little if she’d thought Van might be able to offer insight.

“Child porn cases are the worst.”

They exchanged a look. That kind of case was so common that almost every law enforcement officer dealt with one at some point. Many agents working them long-term required therapy afterward. One of the most effective therapies Ava had found was taking those monsters off the street.

An odor stirred in the stale air. Unidentifiable to most people, but not to law enforcement. It became ingrained on the palate like salt or pepper. Sheridan led the way down a short corridor that opened out onto a large, open-plan, living room off to the left and a half bath and then an office off to the right.

A black feeling pressed down between her shoulder blades. What if she was wrong about her theory? What if she was making Dominic Sheridan suffer this ordeal simply because she was reluctant to accept Van had decided to end it all? People killed themselves all the damn time, though she could never understand why. Hopefully she never would.

What if she was right? Sheridan was the only person who’d even pretended to believe her.

He paused with his fingers on the doorknob. “Ready?”

“Nope.” She braced herself. “Let’s do this anyway.”

He opened the office door and flicked on the light switch. They both stood for moment, feet made of matching lumps of clay. The fetor of death hit the back of her throat, and she wanted to gag. Somehow, she forced the impulse away. Blood and brain matter were sprayed against the wall behind the desk, blackened with age.

As ghastly as this was, it was still Van, a man who’d been like a father to her. When it came to father figures, apparently, she was bad luck. She touched the beads on her wrist.

“This sucks.” Sheridan took a step into the room and skirted the edge, careful not to touch anything. She liked that he didn’t pretend to be unaffected. Anyone unaffected by a scene like this when the victim had been a dear friend couldn’t be anything other than a sociopath or an asshole, and she generally avoided both.

Ava followed without a word. Someone had turned off the air conditioning. The fusty air combined with the biological decomposition made the stench unbearable. Iciness rushed over her, and her stomach started to churn. She strode over to open first the blinds and then the window, the outside air blowing over her face, immediately helping her breathe. The scent of freshly cut grass wafted inside and made her smile even as tears pricked the back of her eyes. Van would have appreciated Sheridan cutting his lawn even if, right now, the smell made her want to retch.

“The window was open the night he died,” she recalled, swallowing repeatedly, desperate to moisten her throat.

A screen of shrubs covered most of the view.

She didn’t know why she was suddenly shivering when the house was so stuffy and hot.

Dominic came over and stood beside her, the heat of his body warming the air between them. There was a key in the other window which was locked. He touched it with his index finger.

“No screen?”

Ava shook her head. “I don’t know if there was ever one here.”

“I’ll check with Sarah. She’ll know.”

Van’s daughters lived in Baltimore where they’d both gone to college. Ava had met them briefly a few times when they’d visited, although she’d tried not to intrude on family time.

Sheridan walked around to the far side of the desk. Blood and gore coated the back of the hard, wooden swivel chair Van had insisted on using. Drips of something stained the carpet beneath.

Ava averted her eyes. This was harder than she’d expected. “They took whatever he was drinking that night, the glass, his weapon to the lab.”

Sheridan nodded. “Makes sense.”

Nothing else did. No note. No hints of depression. No warning.

“Who found him?” he asked.

“A neighbor called it in Wednesday morning.”

“You talk to him?”

She shook her head. Everything had been such a whirlwind of grief and denial, followed by anger and frustration leading up to the funeral she hadn’t even thought of it.

“Wanna do it now?” he asked.

She’d rather get her stomach pumped. “Sure.”

*

As much as he wanted to sprint out of Van’s study, a death scene now ingrained on his brain more effectively than any photograph, Dominic carefully closed and locked the window before leaving. It wasn’t like Van to be lax on security, but maybe that had changed after Jessica’s death and his subsequent retirement. Maybe he’d stopped caring. Dominic hadn’t come around often enough to know for sure, and the gnawing feeling of guilt kept running its sharp teeth over his flesh. As far as friends went, Dominic was bottom of the heap. Unlike the agent he followed down the hallway.