Open Wounds (Harbour Bay #2)(65)
“I’m used to women throwing themselves at me, but this is ridiculous,” he joked. “Slow down, it’s not a race.”
“No, it isn’t, so you slow down. I’m not the one with a six-foot stride.”
He grinned and stared down at her. “No, you aren’t. You’re pint-sized. Are you okay?”
Kellie nodded without checking herself over. She bent down and jerked her caught heel away from the carpet, taking a strand of hard wool lodged between the rubber cap of her stiletto and the heel with her before following him into the elevator.
“So…you and Darryl, huh?” he asked, grinning as he rocked back on his heels.
Kellie blushed. “I’m not discussing that with you.”
He ignored the comment. “You two are good for each other.”
“We are?” Kellie asked, seeming surprised by his statement.
“Sure. That and every time you’re in the same room the heat ratchets up several degrees. Is this a temporary thing?”
“What if it is?”
“I don’t think Darryl sees it that way.”
Kellie gnawed on her lower lip. “He told me that when the case is over he’ll be coming for me.”
He wasn’t surprised. He’d seen the discreet glances between the two when they thought no one was looking, and he hadn’t missed the glares he’d received from Hill when he stood too close to Kellie. One thing was sure, Darryl had it bad for her.
He grinned. Two down…
***
The house on Charles was built in the fifties, the blue paint chipped and faded. The weatherboard rotted and in places missing. The red-orange rust dulled the glint of the iron roof in the sunlight. Unfortunately for the residents on Charles, it wasn’t unusual. All the houses lining the cul-de-sac could have used a fresh coat of paint and a good gardener, the grass dry and brittle.
Kellie opened the door to Nick’s dark green Holden Commodore and followed him up the overgrown pebble path leading to the front door. He flashed his holographic ID and introduced them both to the uniformed officer guarding the door, who dutifully wrote their names on the sign-in sheet.
“Detectives Matthews, Hill, and Donovan are already in there,” the officer told them.
Nick donned a pair of booties and handed a pair to Kellie, who followed suit. When they finally entered the house the first thing she noticed was the smell and almost gagged.
“You okay?” Nick asked her when she felt the blood leave her face.
She waved him off, not wanting to appear weak.
He rolled his eyes at her bravery—or stupidity—and opened a jar of Vicks VapoRub, then dipped his index finger deep in the gel before swiping it under her nose.
“Hey!” she snapped, stepping back.
“There’s no shame in admitting the truth. Many a man has emptied the contents of his stomach on a stench like this. Unfortunately, we pros get used to it.”
Kellie frowned as she followed him through the maze of empty Domino’s pizza boxes, James Boag beer bottles, and what appeared to be a year’s supply of TV Guides, some torn into long strips that when rolled up would bear a striking resemblance to a cigarette or something less legal.
“I wouldn’t think that would be unfortunate, Nick. You should be happy the smell no longer affects you like it does us rookies.”
Nick gave her a sideways glance. “That all depends on how you look at it. Yeah, it’s great I no longer have the need to chuck my guts up but that also means—”
“You’ve seen too many. I get it,” she interrupted, understanding.
They stopped as they reached the crime scene. The LAC’s forensic team was already bagging and tagging evidence and taking photos. Dean, Amelia, and Darryl were hovering over the victims, waiting for Doctor Stone to examine the bodies.
Kellie looked about the room and regretted it immediately. Blood pooled beneath the bodies and splattered against the wall. Flies had found their way into the house—or had already been there at the time of death—and had set up shop within the bodies. A large rat had gnawed on their faces, leaving a bloody skull peeking through the muscles and cartilage. The rat itself had been caught and now sat sulking in a cage off to the side.
“Oh God,” she said and turned away from the bodies to find more blood and an intestine that had spilled out of a victim’s stomach.
“You’re looking at the remains of Jeff Carlton and Brian Mitchell. They worked at the local Shell on alternating shifts and as far as we can tell have kept their noses clean,” Nick said, reading from his notepad as he motioned towards the room as if she had somehow missed the bloody chaos in front of her.
“In this neighbourhood, steering clear of trouble and Coleani himself is something that isn’t done. How old were they?” she asked, keeping her gaze on Nick’s face.
“Mitchell was sixteen, Carlton only fifteen.”
“Son-of-a-bitch,” she muttered.
Darryl brightened, his frown turning into a smile when he found them there. “You made it. Good. We can use all the help we can get on this one. You okay?” he asked, noting what she could only imagine was a green tinge to her skin and a dollop of Vicks under her nose.
“No.”
She had hoped to find Wayne Burton by now, though she wasn’t looking forward to confronting him. But she wanted this all over and done with.