Текст книги "I'll Never Let You Go"

Автор книги: Mary Burton

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Six

Monday, January 16, 10:20 A.M.

The air cut and bit as Alex got out of his SUV and stared at the flashing blue lights of the cop cars ringed in the cul-de-sac of the town house community. He burrowed gloved hands in his coat pockets and moved across the yard, wondering why his brother had summoned him to another crime scene in less than forty-eight hours.

He nodded to a couple of uniformed officers who scowled and folded their arms over their chests. Irritated by the childish behavior, he didn’t ask for approval as he ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. Without thinking, he swapped the warm leather gloves for black plastic ones. Pausing at the threshold, he noticed that the front door lock had not been pried open, nor did there seem to be any other signs of forced entry.

As he stepped forward, a uniformed officer blocked his path. The tall man’s frame was well muscled like that of a much younger man, but it was his well-worn eyes and lined mouth that gave him away as a couple of decades older.

“Orders are not to let anyone inside,” the officer said.

Alex looked up, knowing his gaze reflected restrained annoyance. “Detective Deke Morgan sent for me. I’m Agent Alex Morgan.”

The officer shifted his stance and met Alex’s gaze. “I got orders to keep everyone out but essential personnel.”

“You telling me I’ve got to call Detective Morgan and have him come out here? He called me.” This bullshit was getting old.

The lines in the officer’s face deepened with defiance but he had the sense to step aside.

Alex brushed past him, tired and more annoyed than usual. He’d spent most of the night reading through Deidre Jones’s case files. So far, no red flags. She was one hell of a cop.

Instead of quizzing the officer about the victim’s identity, he opted to wait for Deke’s explanation. He paused in the entryway and noted that the victim had left a purse on a long slim table. Beside the purse sat a ring of keys. Above the table hung a mirror, clean and sparkling and perfectly aligned. Whatever had happened to her, it hadn’t been here.

Alex’s gaze settled on the picture of two young girls, who were clearly sisters. Smiling, arms wrapped around each other, the girls appeared to be separated in age by about ten years. The older sister had dark brown hair and wore hoop earrings and a peasant top and the younger one sported a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and a gap-toothed smile.

Beside the first picture was another one of a group of people. Six men and one woman clustered around the courthouse sign. All were grinning. He remembered the picture. The task force had caught a major cocaine dealer who’d later been sentenced to life in prison. He scanned the collection of blunt haircuts, practical shoes, and holstered guns until he settled on Deidre Jones. He allowed another look at the sensible black purse that couldn’t have cost more than twenty-five bucks. No gun.

Drawing in a breath, he distanced himself from the waiting crime scene. He’d learned distance when he’d been eleven. Against his mother’s orders, he’d decided to be the first of the Morgan boys to climb Miller’s Falls. He’d been inches from the top, feeling mighty proud of himself, when a rock under his right hand had given way. He’d fallen fast and hit hard.

When he’d awoken, stars twinkled in the sky and he’d been perched on a ledge, his arm twisted and broken. Pain had sliced through him and his heart pounded like a fist. He’d tried to sit up, desperate to get away from the edge, when a portion of the ledge crumbled under him. He’d realized if he kept moving or panicked, he’d die. So he’d closed his eyes and stepped back from the fear. He’d called for help until his voice was raw, finally, he’d stopped. He’d slowed his breathing and steadied his heartbeat. In the quiet of his mind, he’d found a refuge away from fear.

He’d lain on that rock for nearly three days, never moving as the crows circled, rain drizzled, and bugs crawled over him. When he’d been rescued, he’d been so calm the searchers had thought he was in shock. Later, when he’d faced his first crime scene, he’d stepped back again and returned to the emotionless place that allowed him to see clues that others, overcome with emotion, missed. This talent, honed to cutting sharpness, resisted corralling more and more. In recent years, personal relationships had suffered. He’d lost touch with too many. And worse, he didn’t care.

“Iceman. Ice on the outside. Ice in his heart,” Georgia had declared at the most recent family Christmas celebration. A few glasses of wine in her, she’d bemoaned the trials of love. Stone sober, he’d suggested she overrated love. That comment had earned him the “Iceman” moniker.

“Alex.” Deke’s voice rushed across the sparsely furnished living room.

“Yeah.” He turned from the pictures to see Deke standing in the doorway, backlit by the bright sunlight shining in from the kitchen.

“The victim is Deidre Jones, isn’t it?” Alex asked.

“Yes.”

Yesterday, he’d smelled the lies on her like overdone perfume when she’d challenged him at the TBI offices. He knew he’d hit some kind of nerve with his questions, and she was hiding something big. He’d been right but didn’t relish the victory. “What happened?”

“She was stabbed multiple times. She’s in the kitchen.”

Dozens of questions rattled in his brain, but he silenced them all. Look first. Then ask. His old man had said that a million times. Don’t let anyone else’s analysis cloud your perspective.

He moved past a couch and a coffee table. On the table sat a half glass of water, red lipstick on the rim. No furniture beyond the couch, other than a television and a small end table with a lamp on top.

He imagined Deidre had clicked on the light and sipped her water when cop radar prompted a return to her purse to retrieve her gun. Had it been a knock at one of the doors?

Alex shifted his attention to the kitchen and moved carefully past the breakfast bar. He saw his sister, Georgia, dressed in a Tyvek suit and booties, her red hair tucked into a surgical cap as she leaned over the body, snapping photos. Blood pooled around the body and under Georgia’s feet. Judging by Georgia’s equipment and grim face, she had been here several hours documenting the scene. He knew this because she would never have stepped into the blood and disturbed the evidence until it was well documented.

Georgia’s body blocked a full view of Deidre, but he caught a glimpse of one pale arm, slashed and cut. The upturned palm, gashed and gaping, conjured images of Deidre blocking the blade with her arms and grabbing the knife’s edge. She was a tough woman. Could hold her own against most men. How had this killer gotten close enough to stab her?

Georgia rose up, moistened dry lips, and turned from the body. A glance up at Alex revealed anger mingling with sadness.

Refusing to acknowledge the liquid emotion in Georgia’s eyes, he took his first hard look at the body.

Deidre lay on her back, her arms and feet splayed. She was fully dressed in the pantsuit he’d seen her wearing when she’d faced him in the lobby at TBI. Knife cuts had slashed the white silk top, cutting into flesh and soaking the delicate fabric with the dark ruddy brown of blood. Knife wounds slashed through her pants, cutting deep into flesh.

Who the hell would do this to her? What the hell had she gotten herself into?

Sympathy warmed in the pit of his belly. She might not have been totally clean, but she’d done good work as a cop, and that counted in the big scheme. Loyalty for a fallen comrade threatened to melt the ice before he summoned cold winds to burn it away. Later, after the killer had been caught, he’d allow anger. Outrage. But not now.

Alex turned from Deidre’s body and faced his brother. “Who found her?”

“Leah Carson.”

“What?” He was rarely caught off guard. “Leah Carson?”

An open notebook in one hand, Deke clicked the end of a pen in the other. “Yeah, ain’t that something? Your date found the body.”

He’d seen her at the clinic yesterday. What was the time? Four? “Why was she here?”

“Deidre missed running practice this morning, and when she didn’t answer her phone, Ms. Carson came by to check on her.”

He’d been at the park this morning, watching the group run. He’d noted Deidre’s absence but hadn’t worried too much. She’d missed before. Cops always missed because of the job. But this morning he’d been drawn to Leah and her dogged determination to keep up with the group. Even when it was clear she’d finish dead last, she’d kept moving.

Alex folded his arms. “Continue.”

“She saw her purse inside through the front window. Front door was locked so she walked around to the back. It was ajar.”

Georgia met his gaze. “Did you know they ran together?”

“Yes.”

Georgia eyed him closely, shooting him a demanding look.

Alex disregarded the silent demand. “How’s Ms. Carson doing?”

Deke shrugged. “She’s rattled. Siting in the back of a squad car.”

An urge to go to Leah surprised Alex. And the struggle to refrain surprised him more. The case first. “What happened?”

Georgia stepped out of the blood pool onto a tarp, where she rolled her head from side to side. Crime scenes like this one could take days to process. So much data to be collected and sorted, and Georgia wouldn’t leave until she’d found every trace. “Leah apparently came into the house through the back door, saw the victim in the kitchen, and then ran to the bathroom, where she threw up. She called nine-one-one from her cell outside.”

The image of her fragile frame, pale and drawn, chipped at the ice. More pity flickered. Another struggle to contain.

Lines of worry etched deep in Deke’s face. “No signs of forced entry. Nothing appears to have been taken from the town house, but we’ve got a call in to her sister. She’s coming in from California and won’t be here until very late tonight. Gun, money, credit cards all appear to be in her purse.”

“Where’s her husband?” Alex asked.

“Haven’t contacted him yet,” Deke said. “You said they were getting a divorce? Not friendly, correct?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. I don’t have details.”

Hands resting on his hips, Deke shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “I know her husband. He’s a sheriff in a small town about twenty miles north of Nashville. Given the basic facts, he’s at the top of my suspect list.”

“That’s a logical conclusion.” When a woman was murdered, statistics proved it was someone she knew and at one time loved.

“Signs of sexual assault?” Deke asked Georgia.

“None from what I can tell,” Georgia said. “The medical examiner will have to make the last call on that.”

“The bedrooms weren’t disturbed, but there’s a window in the back bedroom that’s slightly open. My guess is the killer came in through the window and surprised her.”

“Deidre was no fool,” Alex said.

“Whoever did this was smart,” Georgia said. “I’ve found very little forensic data.”

Alex tugged at his cuffs. “I want to hear every detail, but first, I’d like to talk to Leah Carson.”

Brow arched, Deke slid his hand into his pocket and rattled the loose change. “I’d like you involved in this case.”

Georgia raised her gaze to her brother’s. This was an unusual request from Deke, and one he wouldn’t make lightly. Her gaze narrowed, suspecting there was more but knowing other officers were within earshot, stayed silent. The questions would come later.

Alex leveled a cool gaze on his older brother. “I want lead.”

The Morgan family could be surly and, behind closed doors, could fight like cats and dogs. In public, they banded together into a united front. “You’ll need to keep me posted. Daily.”

“Done.”

Alex turned and left, passing several uniformed officers. He paused at the door and turned to the guard-dog officer who’d stopped him initially. “What car is the witness in?”

“The one in the back, next to the ambulance.”

Alex stripped off his rubber gloves and tossed them in a medical waste disposal bin before making his way toward the squad car where Leah sat. The crisp, cold air felt good as it sizzled through his skin to his molten core. Anger could do that. Boil the blood. He’d now use his anger as fuel. It could drive him for days without much sleep or much food.

He moved toward the squad car, keeping his steps purposeful and steady. It never did well to rush in front of others. Rushing telegraphed a lack of control or fear. He never showed either.

As he approached the backseat, he noticed Leah was staring sightlessly toward the row of town houses and the ring of onlookers who’d braved the morning cold to watch the scene unfold.

Her hair was dark, though, judging by the faint blond roots, not her natural color. The other night her hair had been swept just above her shoulders, but today it was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She wore a black jogging suit and clutched run gloves and a knit hat in her hands. A thick scarf, loosened into a long loop, hung around her neck. Her breath was slow and steady, but he sensed she counted each inhale and exhale.

He lightly rapped on the glass to serve warning before he opened the door, but the sound of knuckles against glass made her jump. She turned toward him, her green gaze wide with shock and bloodshot. She smoothed her hands over her running pants and straightened her shoulders, as if mentally collecting the threads of her composure.

He opened the door, the rush of the car’s heater reaching out to him. “Leah.”

“Alex. What’re you doing here?”

He rapped on the barrier separating the back and front seats, and when the officer glanced in the rearview mirror, Alex motioned for him to leave. Scowling, the officer got out of the car.

When the door slammed, Alex said, “Investigating the case.”

Fingers twisted around the black gloves. “She was Nashville Police.”

“I investigate cops.”

“You were investigating Deidre?”

“I’ll be investigating her murder.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Can we talk?” He inclined his head toward the seat, as if waiting for her permission to enter.

She scooted to the far side of the car. “Sure.”

He slid inside, adjusted the folds of his overcoat, and closed the door behind him. His frame was lean, and though he wasn’t as muscular as Deke, he stood several inches taller at six foot three. The long body was not a comfortable fit in any backseat, but the wire barrier walling off the back from the front made the space feel all the smaller. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks. The officer already asked.” She swiped a dark wisp from her face.

“Can I ask you about this morning?” He always led polite, even though it scraped against a natural instinct to badger. Witnesses, even suspects, responded better to soft tones.

She eyed him as if reconciling this politeness to her overly direct date on Saturday. “Deidre and I run together.” She allowed a breath to shudder over her lips. “She never misses a run. Last night we spoke on the phone, and she said she’d go running this morning. When she didn’t show, I got worried. I called her on her home and cell phones a couple of times but there was no answer.”

“Do you always check up on people who miss a training session?”

“No. But Deidre is different. I texted her and she didn’t respond. She always would text back. I just got a bad feeling.”

“So you came by the house?”

She twisted her gloves in her hands before releasing them and flattening her palms on her thighs. “I don’t live all that far from here, and I had the morning off so I thought I’d check.”

“How did you meet Deidre?” Her nails were cut short but were neat and polished. She wasn’t wearing perfume, but there was a faint hint of soap that blended with the fresh air from her run.

“The gym. She mentioned the running group. I joined in just after the first of the year. It became kind of a New Year’s resolution for me. Fresh start.”

“Why did you need a fresh start?”

Her gaze rose abruptly, as if she hadn’t realized what she’d said. “Doesn’t everyone start over at the new year?”

“I suppose they try.”

She arched a brow. “I was doing more than trying. I even quit smoking.”

“I don’t picture you as a smoker.”

“Nervous habit.”

Around the animals she was relaxed. That smile she’d tossed Tracker had melted some of the ice. But she’d been a different person in the restaurant. Nervous. Jumpy. As if she expected trouble. He did that to people. Set them on edge. And he might have taken her reaction personally if not for the scars marring her hands. Defensive wounds.

Alex relaxed back against the seat. “I heard Deidre had been an avid runner for years. Apparently, she was always talking about the races she ran. She started this group last fall.”

That tweaked a small smile. “She was trying to convert me, but I’m not such a good recruit.”

“You look like you’re in good shape.”

“Not really. I needed a goal. I’m tackling a half marathon.”

“Why the half marathon?”

“Just because I want to know I can, I suppose.” Her cheeks flushed a pale pink.

A small lift of her shoulders reminded him of a defiant child’s. She was a grown woman. Why summon defiance? “How has the training been going?”

A slight shake of her head negated her words. “It’s going. I’ll never win a race, but the plan is to finish, not win.”

“So Deidre didn’t show up for practice and you came by the house?”

Some of the hard-gained luster in her cheeks faded. “The front door was locked, but the back door was ajar.”

“It was?”

“Yes. I pushed it completely open and called out to Deidre. When she didn’t answer, I peeked inside and saw her laying on the floor.” She pressed trembling fingers to her lips and drew in several calming breaths. “I got sick.”

“I heard.”

She shook her head, clearly embarrassed they’d been discussing her. “And then I called the police.”

“Did you see anyone leaving the property?”

“No. When I saw her, I kinda got tunnel vision. After I got sick, I ran out of the house. I don’t even remember talking to the police.”

“Do you know if Deidre was having trouble with anyone?”

“She said she was going through a divorce. She told me her ex-husband was giving her a hard time. She thought he keyed her car. She also said he made her sign over their property to him or he wouldn’t sign the final decree. She was angry. And, I think, embarrassed by it all.”

Alex knew of Deidre’s husband, Tyler Radcliff. Good reputation. But putting a best foot forward in public did not ensure a happy home life. “No one in the group had an issue with her?”

“No. No one.” She smoothed a small hand over her ponytail, and he noticed the small scar on her palm. Healed, but too reminiscent of Deidre’s.

The other night he’d asked Leah about the scars and she’d blamed it on an accident. He’d save the scar for another day. “You and Deidre see each other outside of the running group?”

“We did. I visited her at her hotel, and once here.”

“Hotel?”

“It was temporary, she said. Until she found something more permanent. She’d just signed a six-month lease on this place.”

“Do you know where the hotel was?”

“Yeah. Germantown.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and scrolled through the contacts. She rattled off the address. When he didn’t move, she asked, “Aren’t you going to write it down?”

“I’ll remember it.”

“You’ve got a great memory?”

“When I want to remember, I never forget.” The scars on Leah’s palms, her wrist, and the hair color change: details like that stuck with him.

“Look, do you mind if I go home? I’ve been here for hours and I’m exhausted. I gave my contact information to the officers.”

Alex hesitated, not wanting to let her off the hook so easily. “I may have more questions.”

“You’ve got my number.”

“At the clinic. Do you have a cell number?”

Hesitation, and then she rattled off the number.

He keyed it into his phone. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

He knocked on the window, and the officer came around and opened the door, which only opened from the outside. Once out, Alex walked around the car and opened Leah’s door. She rose, glancing back at the town house one last time and then tensing. “There was so much blood.”

“There was.” He watched her closely, wondering what other questions hovered behind those troubled eyes.

Her breath hitched. “She was stabbed, right?”

“Yes.”

For a moment she swayed, and he thought she’d fall down. “Right.”

He sensed weakness and wanted to push just to see what she’d do. Reactions under stress revealed so much. “Multiple times. Lots of defensive wounds. Hands, arms, chest.”

She raised her hands to her mouth and turned, as if she’d be sick again. He waited while she wrangled control of her body.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was a bare whisper. “I’m fine.”

“This is your first crime scene. The stress and nerves are understandable.”

“Yes.”

If he hadn’t been looking at her, he’d have missed how her gaze skittered away for an instant. She was lying. She’d been at another crime scene somewhere. The blood she’d seen inside Deidre’s house hadn’t been the first time she’d encountered destruction. The scars. Where had they come from? “You’ve seen this kind of thing before?”

“Seen? No. No. I’ve never found a dead person.”

He believed that. Somewhere along the way, she’d been the one who had been found. This crime scene—no, this stabbing—had rattled not just her but old memories loose. She’d been stabbed. “Let me get an officer to drive you home.”

She cleared her throat. “No. I don’t need help.”

Leah Carson didn’t like taking orders, real or imagined. He couldn’t fault her there. He’d never cozied up to direction either.

“Okay. But one of my guys will follow you. You’re rattled, and he’ll be hovering in the background, keeping an eye on you, just in case.”

“Hovering in the background.’” Distaste coated her words.

“Is there a problem?”

“No. No. It’s okay.”

He held out his hand. “I’m sorry you had to see this, Leah. And thank you for waiting to speak to me.”

She took his hand. Her scars scraped against his palm. “Thanks.”

Leah turned and, without another word, moved toward her CR-V. For a few beats, she simply sat behind the wheel. Finally, she slowly turned on the ignition and pulled away.

He knocked on the window to alert the officer. “Can you follow that CR-V home? She’s my witness and she’s rattled.”

The officer looked up. He wouldn’t dare argue, but there was defiance. “I’ll keep a close eye on her. Do you want me to stay outside her house for a while?”

“Maybe an hour. See if she goes back out.”

“Sure.”

The officer settled sunglasses over his eyes and, closing the window, followed Leah.

Alex stepped back, watching Leah drive carefully down the residential street toward the main road. The uniform stayed close behind.

“So what did you think of her?” Deke asked. His brother moved to his side as the two cars turned the corner.

Alex slid his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “She’s rattled as hell.”

“Understandable.”

“This struck a major nerve. Somewhere along the way . . .”

“What . . . ?”

“I don’t know.” In his pocket, he fingered a receipt for the tank of gas he’d bought that morning. “But I’ll figure it out.”

As the medical examiner’s van arrived, Leah Carson shuttled to the edges of his thoughts. The mystery of Leah would have to wait.

Alex and Deke stood outside the town house as the medical examiner’s technicians entered the house with the gurney. The crowd of residents ringing the edges of the crime scene tape watched as if they were on the set of a cop show. Out here, it was easy for a bystander to pretend it wasn’t all that real.

Twenty minutes later, the technicians rolled out the gurney carrying the body bag. A few startled gasps rose up from the crowd. A couple pointed. One or two took pictures with their cell phones.

Alex moved toward the crowd, wondering if the killer lingered to watch the chaos. At the edge of the tape he caught the gaze of a tall man with a thick stubble of beard, wide-set eyes, and short, dark hair. He wore plaid pajama bottoms, a UT sweatshirt, and a thick sheepskin-lined jacket.

Carefully, Alex pulled out his badge. “Alex Morgan, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. Mind if I ask you a few questions.” A question that didn’t sound like a question but an order.

“Sure.” The guy lowered his phone and tucked it in his pocket.

“Your name?”

“Tim Rogers.”

“You know the resident of that town house?”

“Leggy tall brunette. Liked to run. She just moved in a few weeks ago.” He leaned in a fraction. “Is she dead?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Seen anyone coming or going from her town house?”

“No.”

“But you noticed her.”

“I mean, I’d steal a look or two when she jogged. Hot. But I didn’t track who came and went.”

“Anyone around here who would have noticed?”

“You could ask Carol. She lives next door. She pays attention.”

“She here now?”

“No. Likely at work. She’s a lawyer.”

“Okay. Carol got a last name?”

“Rivers. But I don’t know the name of the law firm.”

Alex glanced at the town house next to Deidre’s and noted the address. “Are all the places here furnished?”

“No. The guy who owns that unit works for a bank. Got transferred to New York or Charlotte. He’s renting because he can’t sell. Left a few pieces of furniture, hoping it would rent.”

“Thanks.” He walked back toward Deke, careful to keep all trace of emotion from his face. The less fodder for the news crews and cell phone cameras, the better. They didn’t need footage ending up on the Internet or networks.

Only when he turned away from the crowd and stood shoulder to shoulder with Deke did he speak. “I’m going to nail the prick who did this, Deke.”

His brother’s face resembled chiseled granite, but his eyes sparked. “I’m letting you off the chain on this one, Alex. Good hunting.”

After the medical examiner removed the body, Alex took a few minutes to stand in the cold and allow his mind to inventory and process what he’d seen.

None of the furniture, drapes, or carpet appeared to have been disturbed in Deidre’s town house. Of course the killer could have taken something, but he had no way of knowing now. No signs of sexual assault. Whoever had come into her home appeared to have come with one goal in mind: kill Deidre and cover his tracks.

He turned and strode back toward Deidre’s place. “Have you searched the premises yet?”

Deke nodded. “We’ve got officers going through her room and the back end of the house, and then they’ll move into the living area. Georgia is still working the kitchen. She’s dusting for fingerprints now.”

Alex imagined Leah’s pale face and the very faint scar that ran down her cheek. It had darkened the longer they sat in the car. He hadn’t noticed it on their date. No doubt she used a special makeup to hide it. “She’s rattled. But she had a good command of the facts.”

“Does she have any theories?” Deke asked.

“Deidre told Leah the divorce wasn’t easy. Her car was keyed. It won’t be hard to find her husband and pay him a visit.”

“Regardless of what she did, I want her killer found,” Deke said. “I want to know what she was doing before all this happened.”

“Understood.”

Deke eyed Alex. “If I didn’t know you, I’d say this didn’t affect you at all.”

Alex arched a brow. “You’re more emotional than I ever was.” His voice monotone, he might as well have been reciting the alphabet. “You hide it well, but it’s there, boiling below the surface. But for me, emotion has never been a significant factor when I’m on a case. It clouds my judgment.”

Deke’s eyes blazed darker. “RoboCop has nothing on you, Alex.”

“That’s the perfect description for Alex since Miller’s Falls,” Georgia said as she exited the kitchen. She’d stripped off her Tyvek suit and booties and now wore her khakis and a long-sleeved, collared forensics shirt. She still wore rubber gloves. “But my all-time favorite Alex description is ‘Iceman.’”

Alex didn’t like references to Miller’s Falls and refused to acknowledge them. Instead, he flipped through a mental catalogue. “Should we share some of the nicknames we had for you?”

She shrugged. “Carrot top, daywalker, ginger. Give it your best shot, bro. Mine are hair-related. Yours stem from a much deeper place.”

If outsiders were eavesdropping on their conversation now, they’d peg them all as heartless and unfeeling. But jokes and jibes at times like this eased the pressure valve on explosively deep emotions.

“You’re the only person I know who can take your emotions, put them in a box, and lock them away until you need them. And, I might add, you need them almost never.”

“Don’t forget agent orange,” Alex offered.

Georgia stuck out her tongue.

Alex only tolerated this kind of guff from Georgia. She was a pain in the ass, but, as he and his brothers often noted, she was their pain in the ass. “How many knife wounds did you count, Georgia?” Alex asked.

Her lips flattened in a stark line. “At least a dozen, but there could be more.”

“I would say this is a case of overkill,” Alex said. “It wasn’t just enough to stab her once or twice, which would have done the job, but the killer stabbed her at least twenty times. Legs, arms, the face several times. This attack carries all the hallmarks of rage. This killing was personal.”

“She’s arrested and pissed off a lot of very bad guys over the years.”

“And, so far, the killer hasn’t left any trace evidence,” Georgia said.

“Nothing?” Deke asked.

“If you plan it right, you won’t leave evidence,” Georgia said. “All cops know about Tyvek suits.”

“So it could be Deidre’s soon-to-be ex-husband, Tyler Radcliff?” Deke asked.

“Statistics suggest Radcliff, but time and evidence will tell,” Georgia said. “There’s always something.”

“When will you have a report?” Alex asked.

“Need time to sort, bro. Will keep you posted.”

“I expect this case closed,” Deke said.

“It will be.” Alex moved past Georgia into the kitchen to stare at what remained of the blood evidence.

Not only was there blood on the floor but it had also splattered the walls and the ceiling. A thin red spray of blood indicated the killer had struck an artery. And the dots and dashes of blood on the back wall had flicked off his knife as he drew it back before plunging it again.

This killer would have been covered in blood. There’d be no way to escape unmarked. But the blood trail stopped outside the back door. Georgia’s theory of a Tyvek suit made sense.