Faith mumbled in an equally low voice, “You couldn’t pay me to share my bathroom with a man.”
“Amen,” Sara answered as she trailed Nell down the hallway. She stepped over a white chalk outline on the floor where Charlie had taken some DNA. Sara guessed from the look of it that someone had spat in the hall, probably to make a point.
Which further supported the idea that the shooters hadn’t randomly chosen their victims.
There was a spare bedroom on either side of the hall. The first one was being used as an office. The second appeared to be another unfinished project. The walls were a cheery yellow. The closet door was propped up on two sawhorses. Nell shook her head as she passed by, probably adding it to the list of Possum’s chores. She stopped a few feet from the master bedroom.
Sara heard Nell draw in a sharp breath. The woman’s hands shook as she grabbed the doorframe.
Charlie’s estimate may have been too conservative. Despite the passage of time, the pool of blood where Jared had fallen was still congealing. Light glimmered on the wet surface. The edges had curdled into a dark rust that seeped into the hardwood floor.
The rest of the blood had dried hours ago, leaving burgundy stains that told the story of violent altercation. The ceiling and walls weren’t the worst of it. Large boot prints mixed with Lena’s bare footprints back and forth across the floor. Splatter. Spatter. Spray. Drops. Knee prints. Handprints. Smears where an area rug must’ve gotten bunched up beneath Jared’s body. Tracks that showed where someone had crawled toward the bed. Still more shoe prints indicated where the neighbors and first responders rushed in to work on Jared. They must have all been covered in blood by the time they left. Long trails of red even managed to seep into the grout lines in the bathroom floor.
But the area around the door to the bedroom told the real story. This was where Jared had been shot. This was where Lena had
first taken on the intruders. The dried blood splattering and spattering the walls and ceiling could fill a forensic textbook. They varied in size and shape, in coverage and scope, and would help map out every second of what had obviously been an extremely violent struggle. Even with the pieces of tooth and bone gone, the hammer and weapons taken into evidence, the shadow of death lurked in every corner.
Nell’s voice caught. “I can’t … I don’t know what …”
Sara didn’t say anything.
Nell sniffed, but no tears came. “Do you think a wet-vac would …” Her voice trailed off again. Her grip tightened on the splintered wood around the door.
Sara looked at Faith, who just shook her head.
“All right.” Nell thrust herself into the room. She picked her way toward the dresser. Though she was careful, there was no way to avoid the carnage. Her sneakers walked across dried footprints. Boot prints. Shoe prints. Handprints.
Her voice came out at a higher pitch. “Jared’s always been more comfortable in his pajamas.” She started opening drawers, which had presumably been photographed and inventoried by Charlie’s team. “No self-respecting man sits around in a hospital gown. I know he’ll want to put on something normal as soon as possible.”
Sara stood outside the door with Faith. They both silently watched the woman riffle Lena and Jared’s private things. The top three drawers obviously belonged to Lena. Her underthings were mostly utilitarian, though Nell managed to make a huffing sound when she found something that crossed the line. The bottom drawers belonged to Jared. They were filled with basketball shorts, T-shirts, and boxers. He wore a uniform eighty percent of his day. He probably had one suit in the closet for weddings and funerals and a couple of polos and khakis for less formal occasions.
Nell stopped her search. She rested her hands on her hips as
she looked around the room. “I know he hasn’t stopped wearing pajamas.”
Sara kept her mouth shut right up until Nell made her way to the bedside table. “Nell.”
She looked up, but kept her hand on the drawer pull.
“That’s probably Lena’s.” Sara indicated the flattened book, which was clearly a romance novel, beside the hand lotion and tube of lip balm.
When Nell didn’t move, Faith said, “You probably don’t want to know what your son’s wife keeps in her bedside table.” She added, “Or your son, for that matter.”
“What on earth does that—”
She was cut off by the sound of motorcycle engines. Sara turned around. The front door was wide open. She saw at least six motormen in the street. If Sara knew cops, they’d come here to look after Jared’s mother. And just in time, too.
Faith seized on the opportunity, suggesting to Nell, “Why don’t you go talk to Jared’s friends? I’m sure they want to know how he’s doing.”
“I don’t have time to be everybody’s mama,” Nell grumbled, but she stomped out of the room anyway.
“Man.” Faith waited until Nell was out of earshot. “That woman has a razor for a mouth.”
Sara kept her own counsel. “Did you talk to Charlie?”
“He briefed me earlier.” Faith looked back at the bedroom. “Nell’s gonna get a call in a few minutes from the hospital. Jared’s fever is up.”
“He has an infection?”
“That’s what the nurse said.”
Nurses were seldom wrong about these things. Sara thought of Nell’s steely determination, all the plans she’d made in the last few hours for when Jared finally woke up. “I don’t think she’ll make it if he dies.”
“It’s always the strong ones who break the hardest.”
Sara tucked her chin to her chest.
Faith entered the room, walking across the dried blood with a cop’s impunity. “I guess I should look for those pajamas. Maybe that’ll make her feel like she’s helping him.”
“Maybe.” Sara leaned against the doorjamb as Faith searched the closet. She stared at the footprints scattered across the floor. The blood was so dry that it had skeletonized, but Charlie had been careful. Sara could still track the progress. It helped that Lena had such small feet. Sara always forgot how petite she was, barely five-four and probably one-ten on a heavy day.
Charlie Reed had said that four initial responders came from the neighborhood. Judging by the bloody prints on the floor, they had each waited by the bathroom door as the others took turns working on Jared. That left the two sets of boot prints to the assailants. They had both sported the cowboy variety, with flat plastic soles that left distinct exclamation points in the blood. One had a skull and crossbones carved into each heel. The other pair was an off brand with a generic set of furrows. Both of the attackers pronated, probably from riding motorcycles.
But that didn’t account for all of the prints.
Sara walked over to the bed. She knelt down, asking Faith, “Two attackers, right?”
Faith’s voice was muffled as she dug around the closet shelves.
“That’s right.”
“Four responders?”
“Uhhh …” She drew out the word. “Yep. Two cops, an off-duty paramedic, and a chick with the fire department.”
“What about this?”
Faith turned around.
Sara pointed to a shoe print right up against Jared’s bedside table. This one was also from a boot, but it was larger than the other two and the heel had the distinctive logo of a Cat’s Paw no-slip rubber sole.
Faith turned back to the closet. She didn’t seem interested. “I’m sure Charlie got it.”
“But look at the prints. Lena was barefooted. The attackers wore cowboy boots.” She pointed to the other prints. “Two of the neighbors wore sneakers, the third one probably had on bedroom slippers, and the fourth one was wearing socks.”
Faith pulled a couple of pairs of sweatpants off the shelf. She added a T-shirt from the dirty-clothes basket. “These can pass for pajamas, right?”
Slowly, Sara stood up. “Aren’t you concerned that a third assailant might’ve been here last night?”
“Are you saying that I’m not doing my job?”
“No.” Sara felt properly chastened. “No, of course not.”
“You’re forgetting the EMTs.” Faith counted it off on her fingers. “Three crews, right? Jared was taken out first. The second shooter was next, the first was taken to the morgue, so that’s six more guys at least, which is twelve more possibilities for prints. And God only knows who traipsed in here from Macon PD.”
“Charlie told me the cops from the 911 call stayed out of the bedroom.”
“Really?” Faith didn’t sound happy, but Sara kept talking.
“He also said that the first ambulance took a while to get here. The extraneous blood would’ve been dry in five, ten minutes tops. So unless an EMT purposely stepped in the pool of blood around Jared, then walked over here, there’s no way that any of them could’ve made this third print.” Sara put a finer point on it. “Whoever left this boot print was here when the crime occurred.”
“That’s where the second assailant fell,” Faith said, her voice straining to sound reasonable. “I’m sure one of the first EMTs checked on him. Right? They wouldn’t just rush in, see one body, and leave the other two without checking on them.”
“The EMTs were most likely in 5.11 Tacticals.” Sara was familiar with the boots, which were specifically designed for paramedics
and firefighters. “And even without that, the blood was obviously dry by the time they got here. You don’t see any other prints from the EMTs, do you? Not even around Jared.”
Faith gave a heavy sigh. “There was a lot going on in this room last night. There’s no telling where that print came from. All right?”
Sara nodded, but only to keep the peace. It was absolutely possible, even probable, that one of the EMTs had checked on the second assailant before leaving the house. But there was no way in hell he’d stood over the body and leaned down to do it. The EMT would be on his knees as he ran vitals. Unless he was a contortionist, there was no reason for him to wedge his foot against the bedside table.
“Look.” Faith closed the closet door. “I know you’re good at this, Sara, but this is Charlie’s scene. He’s been here practically from the minute Jared was carried out. Maybe it’s Charlie’s shoe that made the print, or one of his guys. Or maybe he’s tracked it back to an EMT who tripped or stepped where he should’nt’ve or whatever. Charlie will do all the rule-outs and trace it back to someone. You know the process. No stone unturned.”
“You’re right,” Sara agreed, but she had seen Faith lie enough to know what it looked like. Obviously, something else was going on.
Faith said, “Come on. Let’s see if my plan worked.” She left the room.
Sara assumed she was supposed to follow. She took one last look at the boot print before heading back up the hallway. Her medical examiner’s mind wouldn’t shut off just because she hadn’t done the job in years. The Cat’s Paw logo said a lot about the owner of the boot. He was frugal, the type of person who would resole a shoe rather than throw it out. Going by the size, he was at least six feet tall or more. He worked in a job that required a nonconducting, nonslip sole—probably a mechanic or electrician or builder. Analysis would show if there was any oil or residue transferred
from the porous rubber sole. Known associates of the assailants could be narrowed down from there. Barring that, a simple phone call to the shoe repair stores in the area could easily generate a list of customers who’d purchased Cat’s Paw soles.
Which was probably what someone on Charlie’s team was doing right now.
Faith was right. Charlie was very good at his job. So was Faith, for that matter. If they were hiding something, it was probably for a good reason. As much as Sara felt otherwise, she had to keep reminding herself that she was firmly on the outside looking in.
Faith stood at the open front door. In the street, the motormen had surrounded Nell in a protective huddle. They all seemed relaxed and talkative. Sara was sure they were telling Nell stories of Jared’s many exploits. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. There was no better liar than a cop spinning a yarn.
“I’m shocked they listened to me,” Faith admitted. “I told them to take up donations for the cleaning service. I figured even old Razor Mouth wouldn’t be rude enough to say no.”
Sara laughed despite herself. “That’s pretty smart.”
“One of Amanda’s tricks—but don’t tell her I’m using it. People think they’re gonna be judged if they hire someone else to clean up their mess. I think it’s a southern thing.” She walked back to the kitchen. “I’ll see if I can get them to pitch in and finish the kitchen, too. Jesus, I woulda killed him myself if I had to wash dishes out of a bucket.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sara pointed out. The bucket had a hole in the bottom that led to the drain. A garden hose was threaded to the faucet to extend the reach. It was exactly the kind of thing that Jeffrey would’ve done—completely rigged yet unquestionably functional.
By contrast, Will would’ve been horrified by the contraption. He shared a lot of qualities with Jeffrey, but he would not rest until a project was not just finished, but finished right. Or at least the way he felt was right. It drove Will crazy that the builder who’d
worked on Sara’s apartment hadn’t painted the top edges of all the doors.
“Do me a favor?” Faith was rummaging through the stack of mail on the kitchen table. “Check to see if Nell’s still outside.”
Sara stood on the tips of her toes to see down the hill. Nell was still talking to the cops. “Yes. Why?”
Faith ripped open one of the envelopes.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Only if I get caught.” Her eyes skimmed what looked like an invoice. “Jared opened it, right? Only he can’t remember because of his head injury.”
“That’s inviting some bad karma.”
“And it wasn’t even worth it.” Faith folded the invoice. “You’ll be pleased to know that Lena’s Pap smear was normal.” She tucked the paper back into the envelope. “I should go tell Nell about Jared. The doctor should’ve called by now.”
“Wait.” Sara said, “I know it’s not likely to come up, but Nell doesn’t know about Will. I mean, me and Will. Together.” She felt her heart start to jump, like she was telling a fib to her mother. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
If Faith was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
Sara felt compelled to give an explanation. “It’s just that Will’s still legally married and …” She let her voice trail off. There was no reason to lie. “They just loved Jeffrey so much. They wouldn’t understand how I was able to move on.” Sara paused. “Sometimes, I wonder how I did it myself.”