Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(5)

“Third,” Sawyer said confidently.

“When you get off, stay to the left,” the officer said. “You’ll have to go the long way around. We’d appreciate it if you stayed in your apartment for the next few hours.”

The elevator lurched to a stop. The doors opened. As Sawyer walked slowly behind the old woman, she had to stop herself from looking over her shoulder, since she could feel the officer’s gaze burning a hole into the back of her skull.

She hardly took a breath until she heard the buzz of the elevator as it returned to the lobby. While Nancy dug around inside her purse for her keys, Sawyer looked at the apartment across the way. Markers dotted the walls. The door was wide open; an officer stood guard.

When Nancy opened the door, Sawyer followed her inside. A minute later, Vivian, the next-door neighbor Nancy had mentioned earlier, joined them in the kitchen. Caught up in the drama of having a homicide right across the hallway, neither woman paid Sawyer much attention as she emptied the grocery items onto the counter, taking her time, hoping they would forget she was there.

According to Vivian, Kylie Hartford worked for Good Day Sacramento, a popular morning show. “She was dressed up as a banana the other day, and it made me laugh,” Vivian told Nancy.

“I thought it was a bit corny,” Nancy said. “But I did chuckle. Funny girl.”

“That was Kylie,” Vivian said. “She was a bright and shining star. A dose of morning sunshine.”

“Nancy said you thought Kylie’s boyfriend might have killed her,” Sawyer chimed in.

Vivian looked her over as if seeing her for the first time. “Do I know you?”

“She just moved in,” Nancy told her friend.

The suspicious look on Vivian’s face disappeared. In a low, conspiratorial voice, she said, “I heard that Kylie’s boyfriend was some sort of engineer . . . No, not an engineer, an arborist?” She swatted her words away as if they were gnats. “Something to do with trees. Anyway, Kylie and this boy had been dating for five years, but according to Ruth on the second floor, Kylie recently went on a date with a handsome young man who also works on the morning show. Jealousy. Motivation. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Do you know the handsome man’s name?” Sawyer asked.

“Of course I do. His name is Matthew Westover.”

Sawyer made a mental note of it. The two women chatted on about their favorite crime show and how the murderer was usually the most obvious suspect. Once it was clear Vivian was merely playing a guessing game, Sawyer said goodbye and made a quick exit. This might be her only chance to chat up the security officer she’d seen outside the crime scene.

As she approached the elevator, she realized she might have lucked out. The uniformed officer she’d seen earlier was gone.

Sawyer grabbed her camera still strapped around her neck, ready to shoot, and walked toward the apartment. Voices sounded in the back room. She knew how important it was not to disturb anything. Evidence had to be protected. Reaching into a bucket stationed outside the door, she grabbed a pair of shoe protectors and slipped them on.

The place was a mess. From the looks of things, Kylie had put up a good fight. Plants had been knocked over; there was an open book on the floor and a broken picture frame. Fingerprint powder covered the coffee table. Drops of blood made a path across the hardwood floor. Markers followed the same path.

Click. Click. Click.

Down the hallway, she saw more blood. Had Kylie encountered her killer in the main room and then run to her bedroom? Sawyer had never seen so much blood. It was smeared on the walls and floor. She passed a closed door where someone was clearly losing their breakfast. Before reaching the room at the end of the hallway, she heard voices.

“He’ll be fine. Give him a few more minutes.”

Drawers were being opened and closed.

“Looks like the girl lived alone.”

The voices quieted. Sawyer took another step forward. She was about to turn around and head out when she glanced toward the room to her left and saw her.

The dead girl.

Kylie Hartford.

She’d been strangled to death. Wire was still wrapped tightly around her neck, cutting into flesh. Her face was ashen, her eyes open, staring up at the ceiling fan. Other than Kylie’s body, a sewing machine, and a toolbox, the room was empty. Why, Sawyer wondered, did she run into this room and not straight ahead into her bedroom?

She adjusted the lens of her Canon.

Click. Click. Click.

A puddle of blood had gathered to the left side of Kylie’s head, where Sawyer could see a gash. Her hair was matted and clumpy. In her grasp was a hammer. That’s why Kylie Hartford had come to this room.

She zoomed in. Click. Click. Click.

“What are you doing?” a male voice asked.

Shit!

He grabbed hold of her shoulder.

“Get your hand off me,” she warned. Her heart pounded as she felt his fingers dig into her skin. Her vision blurred. She bent over, removed the memory card, then came up fast and grabbed hold of the man’s arm, twisting hard until he cried out.

A second man appeared. “What the hell is going on?”

“Let me go!” the first man said.

The second man held up his badge. “Detective Perez. Do as he says. Release him.”

She grudgingly let go of the man’s arm. He stepped away, his face red, his pride damaged. It took a moment for her mind to clear. The panic she’d felt when he’d touched her morphed into worry. Would she be arrested for entering the apartment?