the same path Shannon took.”
Alison is holding her camera tightly at her side, her knuckles white from the strength of her grip. I can tell it’s killing her that she can’t snap any photos in here.
Hurley says to Izzy, “There’re no signs of a struggle, but you never know. We need to swab all this blood evidence and make sure it belongs to Shannon. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and discover she managed to injure her killer. Maybe some of his DNA is in this mess.”
“Even if we don’t get any DNA evidence here,” I say, “we might be able to get some from her hand. She had some abrasions on her knuckles.”
Izzy says, “I’ll get a crew working on the blood evidence straightaway.” I sigh as he takes out his cell phone and dials a number, knowing that the “crew” he’s referring to will consist of him, me, and Arnie Toffer, our primary lab tech. It’s going to be a long, bloody night.
I take a moment to look around, trying to see past all the gore to the kitchen beneath. I can tell the room would be a bright, sunny spot during the light of day, thanks to the pale yellow walls, white cabinets, and two large windows on the eastern and southern sides of the room. It saddens me to think of Shannon sitting here in the morning sunshine, sipping her coffee, reading the day’s paper, and readying herself for the day ahead, not knowing it would be her last.
Who would want to kill her? And why? I flash on her husband, Erik, who I’ve known since grade school. He’s always been a kind, gentle, and well-humored soul so it’s hard for me to imagine him doing this, no matter how acrimonious his and Shannon’s separation has been. Then I remember all the hideous tortures I imagined inflicting on my own husband in months past and rethink things. Of course, imagining them is one thing, doing them another.
I consider myself a fair judge of character—ex-husband aside—and decide I want to be there when Erik is notified of Shannon’s death so I can judge his potential guilt for myself. Plus, if Hurley lets me go along it will give me time with him and might get me out of the blood-gathering duties. I am about to suggest this scenario when things take an unexpected turn.
From the front of the house, where Al and the baby-faced uniform cop are standing guard over Shannon’s body, we hear loud voices and the sounds of a scuffle. Careful not to tromp on any of the blood evidence, Hurley turns tail and heads back to the porch. I fall into step behind him, managing to nudge Alison out of the way just long enough to take over the lead.
Out front we find Al and his partner restraining a man who is staring at Shannon’s wrapped body with an expression of disbelief and horror. His face is the color of my dress.
“Oh my God,” the man mutters, his voice cracking. “What the hell happened to my wife?”
Chapter 4
“Erik?” I say gently. I work my way around the blood pool and move to his side. He allows me to take his arm and turn him around so his back is to the horrific scene on the stairs. He blinks hard several times and then looks at me as if he has no idea who I am.
“Erik, it’s me. Mattie.”
He nods slowly before stealing a glance over his shoulder. I feel a shudder rip through his body as he quickly looks away, moaning.
Hurley steps up in front of us. “Mr. Tolliver?”
Erik nods.
“Let’s talk,” Hurley says. He takes Erik’s other arm and steers him across the yard toward one of the police cars. I follow along, not only because I want to hear what is said, but because I’m not sure Erik will make the trip without collapsing if there isn’t someone on either side of him. Plus, there’s the whole being-with-Hurley thing.
Hurley opens the front door to a cop car and between the two of us we manage to ease Erik down onto the passenger seat. He glances about the yard and the look of horror on his face deepens so I step in front of him to block his view.
“Mr. Tolliver!” Hurley barks sternly, and it works. Erik shifts his focus back to us. “I understand you and Mrs. Tolliver are separated. Is that right?”
Erik, looking as miserable as any human being can, nods. He leans forward and buries his face in his hands. “Why?” he groans. “Why did it happen?”
At first I’m not sure if he’s referring to his and Shannon’s separation, or her death. But then he adds, “Why would anyone want to kill her?”
Hurley ignores the question and asks one of his own. “When is the last time you saw your wife?”
Erik looks up at him and his face screws up in thought for a moment. “The day before yesterday,” he says, “around three in the afternoon. I went to Dairy Airs to talk to her about . . .” He hesitates, looking sheepish. “About some personal stuff,” he concludes.
Hurley isn’t about to let him off the hook that easy. “Such as?”
A cloud passes over Erik’s face and he sighs. “She sent me some separation papers to sign and I wanted to talk to her about them.”
I see Hurley’s eyebrows shoot up and can tell he has picked up a scent. “How did the meeting go?” he asks.
“I tried to talk her out of it. The separation was her idea, not mine.”
“Did you sign the papers?” Hurley asks.
Erik shakes his head and looks away for a second. “No. I . . . um . . . left them there.”
I sense he is hiding something and can tell Hurley thinks so, too.
Erik leans back and braces himself with his hands on his knees. “Do I need a lawyer?” he asks.
Hurley shrugs. “I don’t know. Do you?”
Erik stares at him for a couple of beats as a long, uncomfortable silence fills the void. Then Erik looks away and asks, “What happened to her?”
“She was shot,” I tell him, and from the corner of my eye I see Hurley give me an irritated look.
Erik winces and says, “Is this someone’s idea of a Halloween prank? Ring the doorbell and then shoot whoever answers? What kind of sick, depraved bastard would do something like that?”
I start to explain that Shannon wasn’t shot on the porch but Hurley shuts me up with another look. Then he asks Erik, “Can you give me an overview of your whereabouts yesterday?”
Erik, who was an honor roll student throughout high school, is smart enough to understand the implication behind the question. His expression turns angry and he glares at Hurley. “I was at work at the hospital during the day, from seven in the morning until three-thirty in the afternoon. After work I went to the bank, then I stopped in at Duke’s for dinner with a friend.”
“Can I have the name of this friend, please?” Hurley asks.
Erik’s cheek muscles twitch and I can tell he’s on the verge of blowing but he manages to contain his ire and provide the name. “Jacob Darner.”
“Continue,” Hurley says once he has the information written down.
Erik sucks in a deep breath and blows it out very slowly before going on. “I left there around six and went home.”
“Alone?” Hurley asks.
“Yes,” Erik snaps. “Alone.”
“And where might home be these days?” Hurley asks, scribbling away in his notebook.
Erik rattles off the address, an apartment on the other side of town.
“Did you go anywhere else?”
“Not until this morning when I went to work,” Erik says tightly, his hands coiled into fists at his side. “Same hours as yesterday.”
“Is there anyone who can verify that you were at home yesterday evening?”
“No.”
“Nobody? No phone calls in or out, no visitors, no deliveries?”
