things like the Tiffany. And it wouldn’t get in her way if she had to fire her weapon unexpectedly. The gesture was overwhelming, and she’d almost told him to find a church that very moment. He knew what she was thinking, and that had been enough. She hadn’t decided whether she was ready to try again.
She dragged herself back to reality when Fitz harrumphed at her. He was turning onto Jocelyn Hollow Road, and Taylor could see the parade of vehicles lined up at the end of the normally quiet street.
The attendance to an unnatural death often seemed a three-ring circus to the uninitiated. The entrance into the cul-de-sac was blocked by a confluence of vehicles. There were five Metro blue-and-white patrol cars. First responders had already left the scene. Whenever 911 dispatched the police, the closest fire engines and an ambulance were actually sent before the squad cars. Standard operating procedure. The clues were apparent; there was no hurriedness, no rush. There was nothing that could be done for this particular victim, so the next steps were being taken.
The why had begun.
Fitz stopped the vehicle three houses away and they exited the car, making their way to the command station at the base of the driveway. A sign on the black mailbox had the name WOLFF in curly letters. Taylor always wondered exactly why people would want to advertise their names on their domiciles. An address she could understand, but the name…it seemed silly. And a safety issue. The last thing in the world she would ever do is publicize where she lived. Of course, she wouldn’t know what name to put on the mailbox. Jackson? Baldwin? Jackson-Baldwin? That just sounded like a funeral home.
A crowd of people had gathered directly across the street, standing in the yellowish grass, waiting. Recognizing the authority in Taylor’s stride, they started yelling when she came close. One voice rose above them all.
“What happened? We have a right to know what’s going on at the Wolffs’.” Fear made the man’s voice tremble.
Taylor turned, took in the speaker. He was an older man, with black hair that looked suspiciously dyed. Unshaven, thick glasses, pajama bottoms, jean jacket over a dirty sleeveless undershirt. Her immediate thought was widower and she stopped, feeling sorry for him.
Realizing he’d caught her attention, he repeated the question. “What’s going on in there? Did something happen to Corinne or to Todd? Is Hayden okay? My God, you can’t protect us from anything, can you? You and that damn police chief, you’ve got this all locked up, don’t you?” He swiped a handkerchief across his nose.
“Sir,” Taylor began, but the rest of the crowd began in on her. The sentiments turned from fear to vitriol in a heartbeat.
“All you do is give speeding tickets!”
“The gangs are running this town!”
“We live out here in the suburbs and expect to be safe. This is a good neighborhood. I’m going to talk to Channel Five about this. Phil Williams should be checking you out!”
Taylor held up her hands for silence. “People, please. My name is Taylor Jackson, and I’m the lieutenant in charge of the homicide division. I haven’t even been briefed on this incident. Perhaps you’d like to give me some time to get acquainted with the scene and determine what’s happened before you tear me apart?”
They grumbled, but the logic shut them up.
“Thank you. Please know that we’ll be doing everything in our power to solve this case. I appreciate that you’re upset, and I can’t blame you. But let me get a sense of the scene, and I’ll come back and talk to each of you again. All right?”
She stepped away before the crowd could respond. She’d be talking to them. Interviewing them. Trying to ascertain if there was someone in that mix who’d had a hand in the murder she was about to dissect.
“Fitz, can you get their names? Just in case. I don’t want to miss anyone.”
“Sure,” he answered, pulling a notepad from his shirt pocket.
She crossed the street and met up with Bob Parks. He was twiddling his finger in the curled edge of his mustache, ruminating to a uniformed officer about the chances of the Tennessee Titans after a scandal-rocked combine.
“Hey, how’s my favorite LT? You happy to be home from your grand tour?”
“Not really, Parks, but thanks for asking. I’d hop on a plane back in a heartbeat. Don’t give up on the Titans too soon, my friend. They’ll recover. In the meantime, go root for the Predators.”
He looked shocked. “Hockey? Are you kidding, LT? I’m a pigskin man, tried and true. I’m a Volunteer. I bleed orange.” He thumped his chest with a closed fist. Fervent was an understatement when it came to fans of the University of Tennessee football team.
“Well, our Volunteers need to take the SEC Championship this year or Phil Fulmer will wake up to a moving van in his driveway. Besides, being a good Tennessee fan, you should understand the importance of us having a well-rounded professional sports system to augment the college faithful. We need to sign the UT boys when they graduate, right?”
Fitz crossed the street to their position, waving the notebook. “Got ’em.”
“God, a woman talking football is a beautiful thing, eh, Fitz?”
Fitz just shook his head. Taylor spoke again, dispensing with the chatter this time.
“What do we have here?”
The smile left Parks’s face and he became all business.
“It’s not pretty, I’ll give you that. Decedent’s name is Corinne Wolff, female Caucasian, twenty-six, married and preggers. We’ve been really careful about who’s gone in the house, there’s a lot of latent blood around. I’ve got everything ready to put in my report, if you want the particulars now?”
“Just run it down for me. Highlights.”
“Okay. I got the call around 9:40 a.m., came straight here. Met the sister, who was being attended to for shock by the EMTs. House 37 got the call, they were here first with two trucks and the ambulance at…” He looked at his sheet. “9:38 a.m. Sister’s name is Michelle Harris. She was holding the decedent’s daughter, Hayden Wolff, who was covered in blood but seemed in stable condition. She relayed that her sister was dead inside the house, facedown on the floor in her bedroom. She didn’t recall touching anything, but we printed her for exclusion. First entry was made at 9:48 a.m. by me and EMT Steven Jones. We entered the home, cleared the downstairs, noted the amount of blood, made our way upstairs to check the victim.”
Parks had gotten ashen under his normally swarthy skin tone. “It’s stinky up there. Looks like she’s been dead for at least a day. Got smacked around pretty hard. Jones touched her wrist, just to confirm, and we agreed it was too late for his assistance. We retraced our footsteps and I started the evidentiary procedures. We had three more patrols on the scene at that point, so we got started setting up command and control while we waited for you. Despite the biologicals everywhere, the scene is pretty much contained to the master bedroom. That’s where the action took place. The rest is secondary transfer.”
“Fitz said there was a little girl. Did the transfer come from her or the killer?”
Parks nodded. “Looks like the kid. You’ll see when you get in there. I talked to the sister, got her story. Apparently they had a date to play tennis and she dropped by to pick the victim up. She entered the house, saw her sister, grabbed the kid, called 911 and skedaddled. She’s been questioned already, but I knew you’d want to talk to her. I’ve got to warn you, the victim’s parents are here. The sister called her mom after she finished with 911. Everyone is pretty shaken up.”
“Where’s the husband?” Taylor asked.
“On a business trip. Convenient, huh?”
“I’ll say. Can you find out where he is for me?”
“Already done. The mom called him, he was in Georgia and is on the road now, driving back. Should be in this afternoon.”
Taylor looked at Fitz, who was writing in his notebook. “Wouldn’t you fly home if it were you?”
“Yep,” Fitz said.
Parks gave her a wry grin. “I asked the same thing. No direct flights. It was quicker for him to drive. At least, that’s what the mom said.”
Parks handed over some of the items Taylor would need to enter the house-booties, latex gloves. He offered a blue paper mask, similar to one her dental hygienist wore, but she shook her head once, declining. No sense in that. No matter the precautions, the scent of death would sneak into her sinuses, settling for hours. She slipped her
