I knew it. I’ve seen bodies before in the service and one other time here in Ames. There are tells like the odor, the deep reddish brown color of the blood on the floor, the body temperature. She’s cold, but rigor hasn’t set in yet and the odor isn’t overwhelming. Not yet.
Reaching for the radio on my shoulder, I press the button. “10-35, 10-78. 1320 Coconino Road, number 2-1-3. Officer needs assistance.”
“10-4. 11-44. 1320 Coconino Road, number 2-1-3. Units responding.”
As soon as the call is in, I stand and back out of the bedroom, making sure I don’t touch anything else. My hand has been on the top of the bedroom door, the front doorknob, and the stove. I’ll have to report that as soon as the others get here.
Stepping out into the hallway, I turn so I’m facing the door across the hall. This is where I’ll wait for the homicide team, which will include the coroner, the detective on duty, and several uniformed officers. We’ll need to knock on all these doors soon so we can start asking questions. The more people we have on hand, the faster that will go.
It’s then that I see movement to my right, followed by the sound of a click—like someone just shut their door. The source of the sound is across the hallway and one over. Walking to that door, I raise my hand and knock. The sound I heard earlier, before I entered the deceased’s apartment, came from this location too. Whoever lives in this place has been watching me. “Police. May I speak to you?”
When there’s no response, I knock again. “Police. Open up.”
I hear the clicking sound again and realize it’s the deadbolt sliding open. Staring down at the knob, I watch it turn slowly. I’m about to knock again because I’m getting impatient when the door begins to open. Begins is the right word for it, because that’s all it does. The thing is open between a quarter to half an inch. My line of sight follows the opening until it meets one eye. One eye that’s peeking out the sliver of an opening.
“Yes?” the voice says so softly it’s barely audible. But it’s enough for me to tell the voice is female. Good thing because I can’t tell from the eyeball peering back at me.
I point to the badge on my chest. “Officer Golden. Ames PD. What’s your name?”
There’s a long pause. Is she trying to figure out what her name is?
“D-Daisy.”
“Daisy? Daisy, what’s your last name?”
“B-Buchanan.”
I reach into my front pocket and retrieve my small notebook and pen, quickly jotting down the name.
“Daisy Buchanan? Can I speak to you for a moment?” The eyeball moves up and down. I’m going to take that as a yes. “Would you mind opening up the door?”
The eyeball moves up and down again.
Okay. I guess she doesn’t want to open the door.
“I’m not dressed.” Her voice is now above a whisper but only slightly.
“Can you get dressed so I can speak with you? It’s urgent.”
“I-Is she okay?” The eyeball looks to my left. Toward the open door of the apartment with the deceased.
“I’m not at liberty to say at this time. Can you please get dressed so we can ask you some questions?”
“We?” she squeaks. Why does she sound terrified?
“Yes. We. There’ll be more police here soon.”
“Wh-What?” she says, sounding terrified. “Why?”
“If you’ll get dressed, I’ll be able to tell you more after you answer a few questions.” Which isn’t entirely true. I can’t tell her anything other than her neighbor is dead. She’ll have to find out everything else the same as the rest of the world—in the news.
Without another word, she shuts the door, and I hear the latch click back into place.
Great. Hopefully the detective will have better luck when he gets here.
Chapter Two
Gage
“What the hell’s going on, Gage? Tayler didn’t kill anyone. She can barely kill a spider.”
I knew this was coming. Well, I expected a visit from Quinn Maxwell, at least, since Tayler’s her best friend, but she’s still in England, apparently. With the boyfriend. In her stead, the rest of the women who lived with her on Beedle Drive have cornered me outside of the Ames police station just as I was heading home for the night. Now I’ve got to deal with the rest of her tight-knit group of friends.
Right now, it’s Patsy.
“Patsy.” I place my hands on my hips. “I can’t talk about an open case.”
“This is fucking ridiculous.” Robbi, short for Roberta, is the outspoken one and sort of intimidating, if I’m being honest. “Quinn’s so upset she’s about ready to jump on a plane even though Cooke’s still recuperating.”
I’d like to see Quinn, but not under these circumstances. “This can’t be helped.”
“Sure it can,” says Susanna, Patsy’s sister, from the back of the group. “Just let her go. This is crazy.”
“She’ll be arraigned. After that, I’m sure she’ll be able to post bail.” I don’t know why I said that. I’m not sure about anything.
“Arraigned?” Lindsay squeaks. “Bail?”
“How’s Luke handling all of this?” Robbi’s got her arms crossed in front of her, and her hip is jutted to the right. Yeah, she’s angry.
“I couldn’t say.” Because while I’ve seen him, I haven’t spoken to him. Tayler’s attorney showed up and told her not to speak. Then she was placed in a cell, and that was that.
“How is Tayler?” Patsy’s sounding a bit forlorn.
“She’s holding up.” I checked on her right before I changed out of my uniform. She’d been crying, but she seemed to be okay. “You all just need to head home and let this process play out.”
“This ‘process’”—Robbi uses air quotes—“is bullshit.”
“Uh-huh.” I start to walk away from
