Dead Against Her (Bree Taggert, #5)(7)

Bree gestured to the rear of the house. “I initially made entry through the back door, as that lock seemed to be the easiest to breach without causing damage.”

No one wanted to kick in a door for a well-being check and then discover the homeowner was on vacation or in the shower.

Todd trailed behind Matt and Bree.

At the back-porch steps, they all paused to don shoe covers and gloves, then went inside. The smell of decay washed over him. The lighting wasn’t adequate for crime scene inspection. Matt pulled a flashlight from his pocket and turned it on.

Bree shut the door. As much as the closed space trapped odor, an incoming breeze could disturb evidence. Matt took in the kitchen, the flies, and the obvious signs of meal preparation. The normality under the horror disturbed him. He shoved aside the emotions threatening to rise. He could feel for these people later, after he’d brought their killer to justice.

He braced himself as he approached the doorway, then stopped just before entering the living room. The worn blue couch sat at an awkward angle, as if it had been pushed back to make room.

Two victims were tied to chairs in the center of the large space. Nylon ropes bound the victims’

ankles, wrists, and torsos to the high, straight backs. The female’s death was relatively neat—a single shot to the forehead, like putting down a horse. The male’s had been messy. The killer had taken his time with him.

“The chairs were brought from the kitchen,” Matt noted. “There was too much preparation, and too much follow-through on those plans, for this to be a crime of passion or self-defense.”

“Yes,” Bree agreed. “This was straight-up murder.”

They walked through the doorway. Todd took up a position near the wall. Bree and Matt walked a few steps closer.

Matt crouched and shone his light on the male’s face. Yep. Definitely Oscar. “Killer beat the crap out of him and shot him four times. Must have been pissed off.”

“Or trying to make a point,” Bree added.

“There is something cold about the setup.”

“That’s the impression I got too.”

“Oscar was what, late forties? And in decent shape. He wouldn’t allow himself or his mother to be tied up and shot. He’d fight back.”

“The killer was armed, and it’s possible there was more than one of them.”

Matt checked Oscar’s belt. “He’s not wearing a holster.”

“I took his weapon and his badge when I suspended him.” Bree’s voice was tight and edged with just a touch of guilt.

“Yes, but he ended up retiring, right?”

“Right,” Bree said. “It seemed best for the department to move on.”

Originally, Oscar had been put on administrative leave for not following protocol on several occasions and for mishandling evidence in a big case. Though Matt and Bree suspected he’d done the latter on purpose at the request of a local politician, they hadn’t been able to prove his intent. The prosecutor had been reluctant to pursue formal charges, and a deal had been struck. Retired law enforcement officers were allowed to carry guns per federal law, as long as they met a few guidelines. Oscar would have. If he’d been fired for cause, he’d have been treated like any other private citizen. Any charges brought against him would have affected his application for a concealed carry permit.

“Most cops have additional guns. Let’s find out if any weapons were registered to Oscar.”

Matt straightened and glanced around the room. Lamps, knickknacks, and framed photos were arranged neatly on tables. Except for the staging of the scene with the chairs, the room looked normal.

“I don’t see any signs of a struggle here. How does the rest of the house look?”

“Same. Generally tidy. I found men’s clothes, a few suitcases, and boxes in a secondary bedroom upstairs when I cleared the house.”

A sick feeling swept over Matt at the image of Bree clearing the house alone. Rural policing was a bitch sometimes. Backup could be too far away to be immediately useful.

Todd spoke up. “This whole scene feels . . . elaborate. Why tie them up? Why not just shoot them?”

“All good questions.” Matt shrugged. Potential motives rolled through his mind. “The woman died fast, but Oscar didn’t. So maybe they didn’t want to talk to her, but they could have wanted information from him.”

“Or this was retribution.” Bree stared hard at Oscar’s body. “Punishment.”

Matt added, “I don’t see blood anywhere else in the room. Oscar’s wounds bled. If he was shot and moved through the house before being restrained, there should be a blood trail. I think they were both tied up before the bleeding started.”

“I can’t see Oscar surrendering that easily.” Bree frowned. “Even to an armed intruder.”

“Unless the assailant grabbed his mother first,” Matt suggested.

Bree’s frown deepened. “Yes. A gun to his mother’s head might have persuaded him to give up without a fight.”

Matt envisioned someone aiming a gun at the old woman and giving Oscar instructions. “I can see that working.”

Bree moved closer to examine the binds used to restrain both victims. “These knots are distinctive and identical on both victims, as if they were tied up by the same person.”