she slowed down and nodded to the three gang members sitting on the hood of a beat-up old Chevy. It was as if they had never moved. Maybe hanging out was their job. As before,they flashed her their gang sign. It wasn’t the young gangsters that bothered her today, though. What she felt was more elusive than that, and far more dangerous.
As they drove through the neighborhood, she was surprised to see how many of the small two- or three-bedroom houses had fresh graffiti sprayed on their walls. When they pulled up to one of the dwellings, a beige mass-produced home thatwas one of a few untouched by the tagging, Ella saw Wilson’s familiar truck parked in the driveway beside a late-model compact car. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the Jeep. A strange, intense feeling of danger assailed her. She studied the houses around her, yet she saw nothing threatening. If anything, the street looked almost deserted, like an anthill in winter.
Justine glanced at Ella.“What’s wrong? You’ve got that look on your face.”
Ella knew that her intuition was well known among the members of the department, especially Justine, whom she’d worked with closely for nearly two years now. “It’s a feeling, that’s all. Stay on your guard,” she said, knowing no further explanation was necessary.
They approached the house slowly, hands on the butts of their pistols. A neighboracross the street appeared at a window to satisfy her curiosity. Ella reached the front door first and found it ajar. One of the keys from a large brass ring was in the lock. Looking at the other keys closely without touching any, Ella could find only one car key, and it was to Lisa’s make of vehicle, not Wilson’s truck. The keys apparently belonged to the victim.
Ella knocked on the front dooranyway to let Wilson, who she presumed was still inside, know someone was there. She reached up high to avoid smearing any potential fingerprints and, as she knocked, the force moved the door back another three inches. Ella bent down and studied the latch and the edge of the door, now easily viewed. Though she hadn’t noticed it at first glance, the door had apparently been jimmied. Fresh indentationsgouged the metal and the wood around it.
“It looks like somebody used a big screwdriver or a wrecking bar to force the lock. They didn’t leave much in the way of marks, though. Make sure you get good photos of this,” she said, turning to Tache and Ute, who were already putting on their skintight rubber gloves. Ella and Justine did the same, taking a pair each from Ute.
Once she was ready, Ellawalked into the entryway and looked around for Wilson. “We’re police officers! Where are you?”
Wilson appeared from the kitchen, his steps halting. He looked devastated. The color had drained from his face, and his shoulders were slumped.
He gestured by pursing his lips, Navajo-style. “She’s … the body … is in the living room.”
When Ella stepped into the living room, the first thing that struckher was the chaos, a scene typical to residential burglaries. Drawers had been pulled open and their contents tossed on the floor, potted plants had been overturned and soil was everywhere. Two lamps had been smashed. The TV stand was empty, a dust-free spot where the television had rested left a telltale mark. Based upon the rectangular dust-free spot on the shelf beneath it, the VCR that belongedthere was also gone.
As she took in the rest of the room, she saw Lisa’s broken body just a few feet from the couch, on the far side. Blood had soaked into the carpet beneath her, where it had dried. More specks of blood could be found on items along the floor, including papers from a drawer and a teacher’s grade book, indicating that she had been killed after at least part of the room had beentossed.
Mingling with more crimson splatter marks on the closest wall was a small smear of a transparent, gooey-looking substance. Ella drew nearer and studied it. A fleck of
As they drove through the neighborhood, she was surprised to see how many of the small two- or three-bedroom houses had fresh graffiti sprayed on their walls. When they pulled up to one of the dwellings, a beige mass-produced home thatwas one of a few untouched by the tagging, Ella saw Wilson’s familiar truck parked in the driveway beside a late-model compact car. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the Jeep. A strange, intense feeling of danger assailed her. She studied the houses around her, yet she saw nothing threatening. If anything, the street looked almost deserted, like an anthill in winter.
Justine glanced at Ella.“What’s wrong? You’ve got that look on your face.”
Ella knew that her intuition was well known among the members of the department, especially Justine, whom she’d worked with closely for nearly two years now. “It’s a feeling, that’s all. Stay on your guard,” she said, knowing no further explanation was necessary.
They approached the house slowly, hands on the butts of their pistols. A neighboracross the street appeared at a window to satisfy her curiosity. Ella reached the front door first and found it ajar. One of the keys from a large brass ring was in the lock. Looking at the other keys closely without touching any, Ella could find only one car key, and it was to Lisa’s make of vehicle, not Wilson’s truck. The keys apparently belonged to the victim.
Ella knocked on the front dooranyway to let Wilson, who she presumed was still inside, know someone was there. She reached up high to avoid smearing any potential fingerprints and, as she knocked, the force moved the door back another three inches. Ella bent down and studied the latch and the edge of the door, now easily viewed. Though she hadn’t noticed it at first glance, the door had apparently been jimmied. Fresh indentationsgouged the metal and the wood around it.
“It looks like somebody used a big screwdriver or a wrecking bar to force the lock. They didn’t leave much in the way of marks, though. Make sure you get good photos of this,” she said, turning to Tache and Ute, who were already putting on their skintight rubber gloves. Ella and Justine did the same, taking a pair each from Ute.
Once she was ready, Ellawalked into the entryway and looked around for Wilson. “We’re police officers! Where are you?”
Wilson appeared from the kitchen, his steps halting. He looked devastated. The color had drained from his face, and his shoulders were slumped.
He gestured by pursing his lips, Navajo-style. “She’s … the body … is in the living room.”
When Ella stepped into the living room, the first thing that struckher was the chaos, a scene typical to residential burglaries. Drawers had been pulled open and their contents tossed on the floor, potted plants had been overturned and soil was everywhere. Two lamps had been smashed. The TV stand was empty, a dust-free spot where the television had rested left a telltale mark. Based upon the rectangular dust-free spot on the shelf beneath it, the VCR that belongedthere was also gone.
As she took in the rest of the room, she saw Lisa’s broken body just a few feet from the couch, on the far side. Blood had soaked into the carpet beneath her, where it had dried. More specks of blood could be found on items along the floor, including papers from a drawer and a teacher’s grade book, indicating that she had been killed after at least part of the room had beentossed.
Mingling with more crimson splatter marks on the closest wall was a small smear of a transparent, gooey-looking substance. Ella drew nearer and studied it. A fleck of
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