“That’s possible.” Maggie stood and let her eyes take in the rest of the room. “If he did interrupt or surprise her, that didn’t happen until they were up here. She may have been waiting for him, or perhaps she invited him up. That’s probably why there’s no signs of a struggle until we get into the bedroom. She may have changed her mind. Didn’t want to go through with whatever they had agreed to. This spatter pattern here on the door is strange.” She pointed to it, careful not to touch. “It’s so far down, one of them would need to be on the floor when this wound was inflicted.”
She walked to the window, feeling the men’s eyes follow her. Suddenly she had their attention. Through the sheer curtains she could see the backyard, similar to her own, spacious and secluded by flowering dogwoods and huge pines. None of the neighbors’ houses were even visible, all hidden by the foliage and trees. No one would see an intruder come or go back here. But how would he maneuver the steep ridge and the stream? Had she overestimated the strength of that natural barrier?
“There really is not much blood,” she continued. “Unless there’s a lot more in the bathroom. Perhaps there’s not a body simply because the victim left on her own.”
She heard Manx snort. “You think they had a nice little lunch, he beat the shit out of her because she decided not to fuck him, but then she left willingly with this guy? And in the meantime, the whole goddamn neighborhood didn’t notice?” Manx laughed.
Maggie ignored his sarcasm. “I didn’t say she left willingly. Also, this blood is much too congealed and dry to have happened a few hours ago during lunch. I’m guessing it happened early this morning. She glanced at the medical examiner for confirmation.
“She’s right about that.” He nodded in agreement.
“I don’t think they had lunch together. He probably fixed the sandwich for himself. You should bag the sandwich. If you can’t get a dental imprint, there may be some saliva for a DNA test.”
When she finally turned to face him, Manx stared at her. Only now his frustration had turned to wonder and the crinkles at his eyes became more pronounced. Maggie realized he was older than her initial assessment. Which meant the clothes and the hair might be part of a midlife crisis rather than a youthful indiscretion. She recognized Manx’s stunned look. It was the same look that often followed her on-the-spot, blunt profiles. At times, that look made her feel like a cheap fortune-teller or a psychic. But always beneath their skepticism lay just enough amazement and respect to vindicate that initial reaction.
“Mind if I check out the bathroom?” she asked.
“Be my guest.” Manx shook his head and waved her through.
Before Maggie got to the bathroom door, she stopped. On the bureau was a photograph. She recognized the beautiful blond-haired woman who smiled out at her, one arm wrapped around a dark-haired man and the other around a panting white Labrador retriever. It was the same woman she and Tess McGowan had met the first day Maggie looked at her new house.
“What is it?” Manx asked, now standing directly behind her.
“I’ve met this woman before. Last week. Her name’s Rachel Endicott. She was out jogging.”
Just then, in the bureau mirror, she saw more blood. Only this was smeared on the bottom of the bed ruffle. She stopped and turned, hesitating. Was it possible that whoever had been bleeding was still under the bed?
CHAPTER 5
Maggie stared at the bloodied ruffle then slowly walked to the bed.
“Actually she was walking,” she said, keeping the excitement from her voice. “She had a dog with her, a white Lab.”
“We haven’t found any fucking dog,” Manx said. “Unless he’s out in the backyard or the garage.”
Carefully, Maggie got down on one knee. There was blood in the grooves of the hardwood floor, too. Here the intruder must have taken the time to mop it up. Why would he do that, unless some of it was his own?
The room grew silent as the men finally noticed the blood on the hem of the bed ruffle. Maggie felt them standing over her, waiting. Even Manx stood quietly, though out of the corner of her eye she could see the toe of his loafer tapping impatiently.
She lifted the ruffled material, avoiding the bloodied area. Before she could get a closer look underneath, a deep-throated growl caused her to jerk her hand away.
“Shit!” Manx spat, jumping back with such force he sent a nightstand scraping into the wall.
Maggie saw the glint of metal in his hand and realized he had drawn his service revolver.
“Move out of the way.” He was next to her, shoving her shoulder and almost knocking her over.
She grabbed his arm as he recklessly took aim, ready to fire at anything that moved underneath the bed even though he couldn’t see it.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled at him.
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”
“Calm down, Detective.” The medical examiner took hold of Manx’s other arm and gently pulled him back.
“This dog might be your only witness,” Maggie said, getting down on her knees again but staying back a safe distance.
“Oh right. Like a dog’s gonna tell us what happened.”
“She’s right,” the M.E.’s voice was amazingly calm. “Dogs can tell us a lot. Let’s see if we can get this one under control.”
Then he looked to Maggie as if waiting for her instructions.
“Most likely, he’s wounded,” she said.
“And in shock,” the M.E. added.
She stood and looked around the room. What the hell did she know about dogs, let alone how to subdue one?
“Check the closet and grab a couple of jackets,” she told him. “Preferably thick, something like wool and something that’s been worn and not laundered. Maybe there are some clothes on the floor.”
She found a tennis racket leaning against the wall. She rummaged through the bureau’s drawers then noticed a tie rack on the back of the closet door. She snatched a silk pinstripe and knotted one end of the tie to the handle of the racket. She made a slipknot at the other end.
The medical examiner came back with several jackets.
“Officer Hillguard,” he instructed. “See if you can find some blankets. Detective Manx, get at the end of the bed. We’ll have you lift up the bedspread when we’re ready.
Maggie noticed Manx’s impatience did not extend to the doctor. In fact, he seemed to regard the older man as an authority figure and willingly took his post at the end of the bed.
The medical examiner handed Maggie one of the jackets, an expensive wool tweed. She sniffed the sleeve. Excellent. There was still the faint scent of perfume. She pulled the jacket on backward, pushing the sleeves over her bare arms but keeping enough at the end to ball up in her fists. Then she grabbed the tennis racket and kneeled about two feet from the bed. The doctor kneeled next to her as Officer Hillguard set a quilt and two blankets on the floor beside them.
“Are we ready?” The medical examiner glanced at all of them. “Okay, Detective Manx. Lift the bedspread up, but slowly.”
This time the dog was prepared, his eyes glazed, teeth bared, the growl deep and low. But he didn’t lunge at them. He couldn’t. Underneath the bloody mess of fur that was once white, Maggie spotted the main wound, a gash just above the shoulder and barely missing the throat. The matted fur must have temporarily stopped the bleeding.
“It’s okay, boy,” Maggie told the dog in a quiet, calm voice. “We’re going to help you. Just relax.”
She scooted closer, extending a part of the sleeve and letting it hang beyond her hand. He snapped at it, and Maggie jerked backward, almost losing her balance.
“Jesus!” she muttered. Had she completely lost her mind? She tried not to think of her aversion to needles, yet found herself wondering if the treatment for rabies was still six shots.
