Open Wounds (Harbour Bay #2)(2)

Donovan bent down, producing a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and expertly put them on as Doctor Eric Stone, the LAC’s coroner, arrived with his liver thermometer.

“Large calibre weapon. A forty-five would be my guess, judging by the damage,” Doctor Stone told them as he knelt down beside one body.

Donovan waited until Stone nodded his permission before searching through the pockets of the closest victim. She found a wallet, flipped it open, and slid out the licence. “Carl Benedict.”

Darryl did the same for the other man. “Kevin Butler.”

A young uniformed officer stopped beside Donovan and cleared his throat, trying hard to look her in the eyes. It was common knowledge to all uniforms that Amelia Donovan was a hard woman. If you stuffed up in her presence, you were blacklisted on further assignments. Darryl figured she got some perverse pleasure out of scaring the green officers.

“Detective Donovan, a neighbour from across the road witnessed a car leaving this address at about midnight last night,” the officer said.

Amelia glanced at the young man, her gaze hard. The young rookie sweated nervously and shifted on his feet under her scrutiny.

“Where’s the neighbour?”

The rookie turned and pointed to an older gentleman standing beside the sign-in officer at the front door.

“Over there. His name is Albert Carter.”

She nodded briskly. “Thanks.”

Darryl followed her as she made her way to the neighbour.

“You know you could give him a little more encouragement. A little ‘good work’ or ‘well done’ goes a long way,” he pointed out as he saw the rookie’s crestfallen face. “They may fear you but they also idolise you.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Why should I be the one to pat them on the back? That’s what they’ve got supervisors for.”

Darryl sighed loudly, his point lost on her. It wouldn’t kill her to acknowledge work that had been done well. She could easily make their day by remarking on their jobs. But she wouldn’t be Donovan if she did. Amelia Donovan had to do it the hard way. She saw no reason why others couldn’t do the same.

The neighbour, Albert Carter, looked at them as they drew near. His bushy eyebrows knitted together as he waited for his tale to be heard. His portly stomach strained at the buttons of his linen shirt and his hair had been well oiled and combed.

“Mr. Carter?” she asked.

Carter, who appeared to be in his late sixties, nodded. “Yes?”

“I’m Detective Donovan. This is Detective Hill,” she introduced, pointing first to herself then to Darryl.

“How do you do?” Carter asked politely.

“Better than these guys,” Donovan replied casually, but Darryl saw Carter pale at her comment. “Mr. Carter, I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure.”

She produced a notebook from her pocket. “At what time did you say you saw the vehicle speed away last night?”

“Around midnight. I’m on the neighbourhood watch committee, so it’s my job to record strange circumstances.”

She made some notes, her hand moving speedily across the page.

“And what made you think that was a strange circumstance?”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “The car skidded away. Like the person was in a real hurry.”

“You didn’t hear any gunshots or loud bangs?” Darryl asked. “A car backfiring maybe?”

Carter shook his head. “No. I thought it was strange, yes, but I had no idea illegal stuff went down in the house. The owner seemed nice enough. You know the type. Kept his garden clean, brought in his garbage bins. It came as a real shock to wake up to the police across the road and to hear that not just one person but multiple people had been murdered. My property value just went down.”

Donovan nodded as if she gave a damn about his property values.

“Did you happen to catch the make or model of the car?”

Carter’s dark eyes twinkled. “I did better than that.” He handed her a piece of paper. “I got the number on the licence plate.”

“Thank you, Mr. Carter.”

Darryl turned away from Carter and spoke to the nearest officer.

“Put a BOLO out on this vehicle.”

The officer nodded. “Yes, sir.” He relayed the request into the radio that rested on his shoulder.

Darryl turned back to his partner. “Gotta love nosey neighbours. They make our jobs so much easier.”

Donovan stared out at the picture perfect street with its green lawns and painted houses. The place resembled a cover for House and Gardens.

“Yeah, although I wouldn’t like to live in this neighbourhood, what with every move you make being scrutinised.”

“Got something to hide, Donovan?” he teased.

“Hardly.” She scoffed. “But I wouldn’t want some joker with no life telling me how many times a week I ‘entertained’ or if I forgot to mow my lawn this month.”

He agreed. There was little privacy to be had these days, let alone your neighbours keeping tabs on you. It was no way to live life, being inside a fishbowl—which was clearly the case for everyone on this street. However, no privacy was good for solving cases.

He and Donovan moved back to the crime scene, just as Stone finished zippering the last body bag closed.