’Cuz that’s the kind of guy I am. That’s what teamwork is all about.”
There was no response to his gibe, which should have warned him. But Macy was frequently silent in the face of his remarks because, he figured, she was more used to dull lifeless guys who talked only about stocks and the weather. Her response was often easy to read, though, and he’d be lying if he denied taking a twisted pleasure in making the color flare in her creamy cheeks.
But the expression on her face when he found her, crouched on the bathroom floor, had all thoughts of teasing wiped from his mind.
“I saw this first,” she said without preamble and shifted slightly so he could crouch beside her. Not much bigger than a pinhead, it would be tough to identify the stain on the tile without the magnifying glass she’d taken out of her evidence kit.
“Blood?”
“I thought it could be. But I didn’t see any more spots on the floor. So I started looking inside the tub. Check out the hem of the shower curtain. That’s how I found it. Shut like that.”
Interest sharpening, he pulled the curtain partly open and looked first at the tub. It was clean. Far cleaner than it would have been at his place if he didn’t have a twice-monthly cleaning service, because—although he was handy enough with a vacuum and dust cloth—bathrooms grossed him out. Even his own.
Turning his attention to the inside of the shower curtain, he opened it wider and stepped inside the tub wearing the shoe covers he’d donned after taking off his boots inside the door. With a sweep of his arm he closed the curtain again and began inspecting it. He saw what she’d discovered at its hem, although if he hadn’t known what he was looking for, it would have taken him longer.
Again, it would require testing to be sure, but it looked like blood. Flecks of it on the bottom seam. None on the face of the curtain itself. None on the tile along the three interior walls. Maybe because someone had done some deliberate cleaning. But to get to the hem, they would have had to turn up the bottom edge, and they’d been too careless or in too much of a hurry to bother.
Her earlier mention of the neatness of the place took on new meaning. Dread pooled in his gut. Pulling the curtain open again, he looked at her and saw the trepidation he was feeling mirrored on her face. “We’d better get a call in to Raiker. Tell him to have Whitman send the crime scene evidence recovery unit over here when they’re done at Mulder’s.”
Chapter 3
Macy clicked through the digital pictures she’d taken at Hubbard’s and downloaded onto her laptop once they’d returned to the estate. It was well after midnight and exhaustion was creeping through her system. She wanted to think she was successful at hiding it but wasn’t certain how long she’d remain coherent. Because she knew which ones the men would be most interested in, she started with the photos taken in the bathroom.
“Damn small,” muttered Whitman, squinting at the screen. She flipped to the ones taken of the shower curtain when Kell had turned up the edge for her. “If it does turn out to be blood, we’ll be lucky to have enough for ABO blood typing and a DNA analysis.”
“You might get more after the crime techs get done with the shower drain and trap,” she said, her voice tight. There was still the possibility that the spots might not be blood at all. That they would end up belonging to the owner of the house. Or even a woman friend, who’d cut herself shaving and left behind evidence of the wound. But that wasn’t the scenario that was playing out in her head, and she knew it wasn’t the one any of the others in the room were worrying about either.
“We found a smear of blood on a bedsheet in the girl’s room, too,” Whitman announced tersely. Macy’s gaze met Raiker’s and he gave a small nod. So he’d known about it. Hopefully he’d been kept fully in the loop in their absence. The knot in her
There was no response to his gibe, which should have warned him. But Macy was frequently silent in the face of his remarks because, he figured, she was more used to dull lifeless guys who talked only about stocks and the weather. Her response was often easy to read, though, and he’d be lying if he denied taking a twisted pleasure in making the color flare in her creamy cheeks.
But the expression on her face when he found her, crouched on the bathroom floor, had all thoughts of teasing wiped from his mind.
“I saw this first,” she said without preamble and shifted slightly so he could crouch beside her. Not much bigger than a pinhead, it would be tough to identify the stain on the tile without the magnifying glass she’d taken out of her evidence kit.
“Blood?”
“I thought it could be. But I didn’t see any more spots on the floor. So I started looking inside the tub. Check out the hem of the shower curtain. That’s how I found it. Shut like that.”
Interest sharpening, he pulled the curtain partly open and looked first at the tub. It was clean. Far cleaner than it would have been at his place if he didn’t have a twice-monthly cleaning service, because—although he was handy enough with a vacuum and dust cloth—bathrooms grossed him out. Even his own.
Turning his attention to the inside of the shower curtain, he opened it wider and stepped inside the tub wearing the shoe covers he’d donned after taking off his boots inside the door. With a sweep of his arm he closed the curtain again and began inspecting it. He saw what she’d discovered at its hem, although if he hadn’t known what he was looking for, it would have taken him longer.
Again, it would require testing to be sure, but it looked like blood. Flecks of it on the bottom seam. None on the face of the curtain itself. None on the tile along the three interior walls. Maybe because someone had done some deliberate cleaning. But to get to the hem, they would have had to turn up the bottom edge, and they’d been too careless or in too much of a hurry to bother.
Her earlier mention of the neatness of the place took on new meaning. Dread pooled in his gut. Pulling the curtain open again, he looked at her and saw the trepidation he was feeling mirrored on her face. “We’d better get a call in to Raiker. Tell him to have Whitman send the crime scene evidence recovery unit over here when they’re done at Mulder’s.”
Chapter 3
Macy clicked through the digital pictures she’d taken at Hubbard’s and downloaded onto her laptop once they’d returned to the estate. It was well after midnight and exhaustion was creeping through her system. She wanted to think she was successful at hiding it but wasn’t certain how long she’d remain coherent. Because she knew which ones the men would be most interested in, she started with the photos taken in the bathroom.
“Damn small,” muttered Whitman, squinting at the screen. She flipped to the ones taken of the shower curtain when Kell had turned up the edge for her. “If it does turn out to be blood, we’ll be lucky to have enough for ABO blood typing and a DNA analysis.”
“You might get more after the crime techs get done with the shower drain and trap,” she said, her voice tight. There was still the possibility that the spots might not be blood at all. That they would end up belonging to the owner of the house. Or even a woman friend, who’d cut herself shaving and left behind evidence of the wound. But that wasn’t the scenario that was playing out in her head, and she knew it wasn’t the one any of the others in the room were worrying about either.
“We found a smear of blood on a bedsheet in the girl’s room, too,” Whitman announced tersely. Macy’s gaze met Raiker’s and he gave a small nod. So he’d known about it. Hopefully he’d been kept fully in the loop in their absence. The knot in her
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