Bleed (Detective Ellie MacIntosh)
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Authors: Kate Watterson
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Contents
August 12
They came in through the window.
Two of them, one dropping down and getting out of the way so the other could jump. The gleam of steel reflected the light from the one small lamp.
The story could have had a different outcome, she thought as she stood in the shadows, the .38 in her hand, her heart admittedly beating much faster than she anticipated.
Cool. Steady
.
Both hands
.
The first shot went home, or so she thought, because the tall one jerked and stumbled. The second one didn’t seem to know what to do, and when he turned, trying to finding the source, his face was set like soapstone, shiny with sweat.
Maybe he said something, but it was hard to hear since the first shot made her ears ring.
Finger on trigger … it was easier the second time, more confident, the die cast already.
Right at the heart.
Pull
.
August 13, 10:10
A.M.
“This just came in. Double homicide.”
Metzger slapped down a file on her desk and Detective Ellie MacIntosh looked up from her paperwork, pen in hand. The chief had his perpetually serious expression in place.
“What? When?”
“Looks like last night.” The chief was a burly ex-marine with a receding hairline and hefty shoulders. “I’m going to say right now I have no idea what is going on, but you and Grasso had better get your asses over there.”
“Where?”
He leaned on his hand and said emphatically, “Pricey address near the lake … it’s going to be a political nightmare for me if you don’t handle this right, and I have enough headaches, thank you very much. So go and do what you do, okay? Figure out what happened. Fast, clean, and as quiet as possible.”
What did that mean? She nodded and picked up the report, registered the name of the person involved, and instantly understood. “Absolutely, sir.”
“I’ll let you fill Grasso in, and you and Carl keep me up to speed. This going to be volatile and I am uninterested in some sort of media event. Milwaukee was just all over the news with The Burner deal. Can we keep this low profile as possible?”
“Point taken.”
Her current partner in homicide was at his desk on his day off, but that was not her problem. Carl Grasso was nice-enough-looking, early forties or so, nondescript in a way,
except he had the most striking gray eyes. They were full of intelligence and maybe even a hint of ruthlessness she wasn’t sure would ever get used to. Grasso was a born hunter, pure and simple. It wasn’t just reflected in his history with the department, but she’d known it the moment they first met.
Ellie walked over and said without preamble, “We have a double shooting down by the lake and Greta Garrison is involved, apparently. It’s ours.”
“Greta Garrison … wait.” He frowned as he signed out of his computer. “I know the name, but you’ll have to help me here. Who is she?”
“Actress. Picture long curly red hair, a striking figure, and two Emmy Awards. She’s the new darling of entertainment shows and tabloids.”
“Okay … yeah, I know who she is now. I don’t watch too much television. What the hell is she doing in Milwaukee?”
“Actually, she’s from here. When she’s not filming, she’s in town pretty often.”
“Huh.” He opened a drawer. “Learn something new every day.”
True enough. A multiple homicide in the home of a celebrity was going to make the news, hands down. Ellie inclined her head toward the front of the building. “Want to drive, or should I?”
“You drive. I’ll read the report on the way.” He got to his feet with alacrity, taking a set of keys from his pocket and tossing them. “Let’s take my car.”
She wasn’t positive she wanted to drive his expensive sports car, but on the other hand, she hadn’t cleaned out her four-wheel-drive in a couple of weeks, so she nodded. “Fine.”
The sleek BMW was not representative of a cop’s salary, so she guessed the gossip about his parents leaving him pretty well-off when he was just twenty years old might be true. He’d never discussed it, but then again, they had just been assigned together.
She slid into the car, started it experimentally, adjusted the seat, and was about to back up when her phone beeped. She pulled it out, pushed a button and read the text, said dryly, “That’s from Metzger. Seems like we already have media there, blocking the street. Welcome back to homicide, Lieutenant.”
There
were
television trucks when they arrived, completely in the way, like that was okay … sometimes Ellie wondered what these people were thinking. “We should have them arrested.”
Grasso got out and asked neutrally, “I’ve handled this situation before. Want me to take care of it?”
She did. Completely. Ellie unclipped her seat belt. “Help yourself. It won’t hurt my feelings at all.”
* * *
The scene wasn’t pretty.
Good.
Carl Grasso was itching to get his hands on a real case again. Not the bullshit dead-addict-in-an-alley-with-a-needle-still-in-his-arm—that did not particularly require much detective work—but something like this that was different.
There was blood splatter and lots of it on the walls, the window still open. Two bodies were sprawled in the mockery of death, one victim on the floor on his back, eyes still open, his dark shirt soaked in blood. The other one sat against the wall, as if he’d been thrown back by the impact of the bullet and slid down, which from the dark vertical stain must have been the case, like a snail leaving a slimy trail. This was obviously the dining room, with tall windows that overlooked a terrace, a long table with ten chairs, a crystal chandelier that illuminated the whole mess, and an obviously expensive oriental carpet that would never be the same.
The new medical examiner was busy taking notes. Grasso hadn’t met her yet, and he had to admit she handled the scene in a capable fashion, her voice clipped as she gave instructions, her dark hair drawn back in a slick ponytail. Dr. Hammet glanced up as they approached and acknowledged their brief greeting and the flash of their badges. “Hello, Detectives. Word of warning, this is an interesting one. As usual, I’ll be able to tell you more once I’ve got them back at the morgue and do a thorough autopsy, but on the face of it, we have both of them shot with the same weapon, from a fairly close range. Your perpetrator has excellent aim. They both went down with one shot to the heart. From their position, I am going to say it happened in rapid succession, for it doesn’t look like either one of them had a chance to try to run.”
First clue.
A marksman.
Not easy to do
.
MacIntosh crouched down and stared at the first victim. “I’ve never seen him before, but I’m almost as new to the department as you are, Doctor. Were they carrying identification?”
“I think so.” The ME snapped off a glove. “This one’s front pocket is partially pulled inside out. “Whoever shot him probably took it, or that would be my interpretation. If you want ID, it isn’t here.”
“Well … that’s a disappointment.” Carl meant it, looking at the victims. They were both maybe average height—was hard to tell on the one who was sitting up—white males, in their twenties, probably. One had slightly darker hair than the other, but was otherwise not very distinguishable from about a million other men in the state of Wisconsin.
Ellie laughed and when they both looked at her, she just smiled ruefully. She was a slender, pretty blonde that had come from a county sheriff’s department up north, and she’d been assigned to homicide thanks to a serial murder case where she’d tracked down a killer that had been terrorizing that area for over a year. “I worked with Detective Santiago on my last multiple homicide case. Let’s just say his language would have been much more colorful. I’m still adjusting back to working with normal human beings.”
There might have been a glimmer—just a hint—of a smile on Dr. Janis Hammet’s face. She rubbed her cheek with her ungloved hand. “I’m new and I’ve already been warned Santiago is somewhat of an acquired taste. Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t give you more, but it isn’t here. I am not going to say it is a professional hit necessarily, but I
am
going to say the shooter was prepared. It looks to me like they cleared the window, and he took them down one by one. Bang-bang and done.”
When Carl surveyed the sprawled bodies and crime scene tape, it looked like that to him too. “I agree. They are both armed and it wasn’t a firestorm, but an execution.”
“Whoever shot them knew they were coming.” MacIntosh knelt by the closest body without flinching. “Waited for them. A .38 maybe. It would have to be decently close range to be this accurate. The real question is: where was Ms. Garrison?”
“Sleeping in her bedroom upstairs.” A uniformed officer answered from the doorway. He offered a clipboard. “I have her statement. She heard the shots.”
Carl had to lift his brows. “Is there some reason we are just being called now?”
The young man shook his head. “She says she went back to sleep.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I know. But she takes some medications and swears she thought maybe it was a car backfiring on the street.”
MacIntosh straightened abruptly. “That must be some medication. It would sound like an atomic bomb going off in here. Twice.”
“It’s a big house.” Carl should know. When his parents died, he’d inherited a virtual mausoleum of a place, and he could see if he was sound asleep and far enough away how he might not realize that a sound like that had come from inside. “Where is she?”
“Her manager took her to a hotel. She was really upset, and you can’t blame her.” The young officer was obviously upset on her behalf. A fan? Carl thought maybe so, or just maybe someone with an idealistic weakness for very pretty females in distress.
“Does he have that authority?”
“There was no residue on her hands, and she did call it in. Claims she does not own a gun nor has ever fired one. The crime scene unit hasn’t found one either.”
“Tell us where she is and we’ll go talk to her.” There was resignation in MacIntosh’s tone. She looked around the expensive elegant room. “Doesn’t this place have a state-of-the-art alarm system? How did these two get in?”
“It’s disabled. The light says it is set, but you can open a door or window and nothing happens.”
Second clue
.
“That’s interesting.” MacIntosh exchanged a glance with Carl. “I suppose the real question is, who disabled it? The shooter? Or the victims?”
He raised a brow. “Let’s go ask Ms. Garrison if she knows.”
* * *
The young woman had obviously been crying, but her face was dry, white, and still. Ellie was sure no one could look beautiful after a serious jag of weeping, but Greta managed to pull it off pretty well. The hotel suite was impersonal, with white walls, a striped couch in tan and cream, and an armoire in the corner that hid the television. The actress sat with her hands loosely clasped and resting on her knees, and there was not one trace of makeup on her face. “I have no idea what happened.”