All the Dark Places(4)
“Take your time, Mrs. Bradley.”
I draw a deep breath. “I went into the office and saw Jay on the floor. His neck . . . he was dead.” I drop my head to my chest and cry. Corrine’s arm tightens around my shoulders.
I hear the buzz of voices. Other cops talking to Simmons. Then they move off.
“We’re almost done, Mrs. Bradley. We’ll need a list of everyone who was here at the party last night, okay?”
I try to meet his eyes and nod. Jesus. Do they think one of our friends did this? That’s not possible.
Corrine rubs my shoulder. “We’ll work on it, Officer. I’d like to get my sister something to drink. And she needs to get into some warm clothes.”
“Take your time.” He rises from the table. “We’ve got a forensics team on the way.” He calls a female officer over. “Connors here will help you guys out, so you don’t touch anything that might be important.”
I nod and shuffle to my feet.
“Oh,” he calls after me, “we need the clothes you were wearing last night.” He shoots a glance at Officer Connors.
I choke out a breath. “Okay.” Does he think I had something to do with Jay’s death? The thought nearly buckles my knees.
CHAPTER 2
Rita
THE FIRST WEEK OF JANUARY, AND WE’VE ALREADY GOT A HOMICIDE. Times are definitely changing in our little Boston suburb. What a way to start a new year. And working a homicide is always an arduous task, the pinnacle of suffering and heartbreak for all involved. I blow out a breath, my hands gripping the wheel of my old van.
Simmons took the widow’s statement, and then she left to stay with her sister. The forensics team is still on scene, and my partner, Detective Chase Fuller, and I are on our way over there.
Chase has a holiday hangover, still jazzed about Christmas with his wife and young son, gushing about all the cool toys the little guy got from Santa. This makes me think of Christmases when I was a kid. There were so many of us jostling to get close to the tree. Ma would yell and try to rein us in with threats of sending us to our rooms and canceling Christmas altogether. And there were only two gifts apiece, one from Ma and Dad and one from Santa. Money was tight, and since there were nine of us kids to provide for, there wasn’t a lot to go around. But we had fun those Christmases until Ricky left for Vietnam and Jimmy got sick. That was the year everything went south for the McMahons.
“How did Sarah like the necklace?” I ask, slowing my van as we approach the Bradley residence. I pull up behind a police cruiser.
“She loved it.” He grins. “This was the first time I was able to give her something nice, you know?”
“Something without a cord?”
“Yeah.” Chase has been a detective for less than a year, and while we don’t make a buttload of money, he’s making more than he did as a patrol cop. I like working with the young detectives. It can sometimes take the edge off a difficult case because you’re in that teaching mode and you have that focus. Even after so many years, it’s easy to get lost in the pain and evil we witness.
I glance in the rearview mirror. A media van is pulling up behind us. Great. “Let’s head inside,” I say. Time to get to work.
We jump out into the cold, my boots sinking into a pile of slush at the curb, and we move quickly up the walk to an impressive two-story. The neighborhood is older, the lots bigger than most of these new subdivisions with their nearly identical houses and tiny trimmed yards. Simmons said the vic was killed in a detached garage, but we head inside the house first.
The ME is leaning on the kitchen island, writing in her notebook. She drops her pen and looks up. “Hey, Rita.”
I glance around. “Pretty messy,” I say. Chase trails behind me, taking in the scene.
“Yeah. The wife said they had a party last night. The husband’s birthday.”
I wince. Killed after your own birthday party. That sucks. “That’s too bad. He out in the garage?”
“Follow me.” Susan Gaines and I have been in this line of work over thirty years. We both fought our way through our rookie days when law enforcement was basically a boys’ club. Then she left for medical school, only to return to work in the criminal justice system. She and I get together occasionally for a beer and laugh about the old days and try to forget about the struggles.
The team is working the scene, and we weave around them and their equipment. I shout a hello here and there as we pass. They’ve taped off a path of well-trodden snow that leads across the yard. The sun’s shining, and their evidence is literally melting before their eyes, so they work quickly. There’s a side door in the building that had been described as a garage, but there are no cars in here. Chase and I pull on gloves and booties. The little building has all the appearance of a home office. Big desk covered in folders. A calendar with a mountain snow scene tacked on the wall, open to January. A dirty window that lets in weak sunlight. A coffee mug next to a Keurig that sits atop a filing cabinet next to the desk. Blood is drying in a big dark puddle around the body that used to be Dr. Jay Bradley.
“They find the murder weapon?” I ask Susan.
“Don’t think so. There was nothing in here, but they’ve bagged up all the knives in the house.”
I step over to the vic and drop down on my haunches. His head was nearly severed. The wound is wide and ugly. I peer up at Susan. “He was killed here, right?” Blood spatter from his severed artery decorates a nearby wall. Chase is coughing and clearing his throat behind me. “Check the desk,” I tell him, and he moves back and away from the body.