The Last Sister (Columbia River)(9)

“And when you got to her home?”

“I noticed two vehicles were parked in the driveway and rang the doorbell. I waited and then rang again, very surprised that no one was answering. I called her cell from the front door, and I heard it ring inside. That’s when I tried the door handle.” She looked down at her hands, her fingers digging into her thighs. She folded them in her lap, feeling as if she were in church.

“The door was unlocked?”

“Yes. I pushed it open and called out for both of them—I didn’t want to startle anyone. As soon as I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I could feel it. The air felt thick inside—I don’t know how to explain it. It felt . . . wrong.” She looked up and spotted a brief flash of recognition in the agent’s eyes.

He knows what I mean.

“And I could smell it. The blood. I could smell the blood.” The words stuck to her tongue as she remembered how much blood she had seen in the bedroom and how hard her heart had pounded, making her entire body vibrate.

“I saw a dark trail that led from the bedroom and down the hall toward the kitchen.”

“You’d been in her home before?” he asked.

“Yes. A few times. Even though she was my employee, we were friends. We often watched Game of Thrones together, and I’d help her on the nights she fed the football team.”

“The football team?”

“Sean coached the high school’s football team along with teaching history. He’d have everyone over for dinner a couple times a month.”

“All of them?”

“It’s not a big school,” Emily pointed out. “Maybe twenty or twenty-five kids would come. Lindsay loved it. She’d plan all week to make burgers or pizza or spaghetti. Those players can eat a lot.”

“I imagine.” The agent looked slightly stunned.

“She and Sean really loved those kids,” Emily said quietly, remembering how happy the little home had felt when it overflowed with hungry teenage bodies. A contrast to how still and stagnant it had been that morning.

“This couple was popular.” It wasn’t a question.

“They were,” Emily said. “They both put out a lot of positive energy that made people feel good. Everyone liked them.”

The two seconds of silence that followed her words seemed to stretch forever.

Someone didn’t like them.



Emily Mills was a good witness, Zander admitted.

She was calm and seemed to have clear memories of the morning. Not only had she painted a consistent picture of the crime scene; she’d also given insight into the victims’ lives.

After she’d determined that Lindsay was dead, she’d followed the blood trail out of the house and spotted Sean. That’s when she called 911. A single deputy arrived first, and she waited out front as he cleared the home.

“I couldn’t believe it when I realized the deputy had cut the rope.” Emily briefly closed her eyes. “He’d taken so long inside the house, I went to check on him and found him in the backyard, essentially having a panic attack. That’s when more officers showed up. It was a bit of a mess after that. No one seemed to know what to do.”

“You sound like you were very calm about a horrific situation.”

“Trust me, I was screaming inside. But during emergencies my brain focuses on what needs to be done next. I guess I compartmentalize to get through them.”

“The sheriff told me it’d been four years since he’d had a murder in his county.”

Scorn shone from her eyes. “That’s no excuse. They should have known how—” She clamped her mouth shut.

“How what?”

“How to secure the scene. Police work 101.” She glanced away. “I was married to a cop for five years. That is basic stuff. It should have been second nature to them.”

“What about when the sheriff arrived?”

“One of the older deputies had things organized by then. Sheriff Greer walked the scene and then talked to me, asking what I’d seen. When he said it looked like a murder-suicide, my jaw nearly hit the ground. I asked if he’d seen the bloody drag marks from the bedroom to the outside. He said it could be from Sean walking outside, or maybe he moved Lindsay around.”

“You noticed the symbol on Sean’s forehead, correct?”

“Yes. When I asked the sheriff about it, he said Sean may have cut himself while killing Lindsay. He told me I was jumping to conclusions by suggesting it was a hate crime.” Emily’s eyes were hard, anger lurking behind them. “That’s when I called the Portland FBI office.”

“I’m glad you did,” Zander told her. “We might not have been notified for another day or two.”

“Did you already talk to the first deputy?”

“My partner is currently interviewing deputies at the sheriff’s office.” He mentally ran through his list of questions for Emily. “Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt the Fitches?”

“No,” she said firmly. “They haven’t been here that long, but our community immediately embraced them. They brought a spark to the town. They were such a cute couple, and Lindsay loved it here.”