instead of a man. But he couldn't help thinking, What the hell am I doing here?
'Bad time to quit smoking,' Bobby said.
'Okay,' Hank said, 'here's the lay of the land.' He walked over to the bed, stepping carefully to avoid the blood on the floor. 'Trey was found lying on the far side of the bed, away from the deck doors.'
Scott turned the pages of the murder book until he found the photos of the victim: Trey Rawlins lying naked in that bed, the butcher knife embedded in his chest, his body soaked in blood. Scott looked up from the photo to the bed. Nothing had changed, except the blood seemed a darker shade and Trey's body was gone.
'Your wife slept on this side, near the doors. Said she woke at three-forty-five Friday morning with a chill, said the doors leading to the deck were open. She got up to close the doors but went out onto the deck.'
'Any blood on the doors or the door handles?'
'Nope.'
'So the doors were open?'
'Yep.'
'Prints?'
'His and hers.' Hank motioned to them. 'Come on… watch out for the bloody footprints. Hers.'
They followed Hank out the doors and onto the white wood deck, stepping around more bloody footprints, and over to the far railing. Scott inhaled the sea air. Seagulls circled above the surf in search of fish. A shrimp boat headed into port with that day's catch, and an oil tanker headed out to sea. From the judge's house down the street came the sounds of Spanish and hammers. A lone jogger ran past on the beach below and gave them a wave. Little egrets darted after sea life stranded out of water as if they could care less that a human being had died in this house just five days before.
'Said she stood here at the railing,' Hank said, 'looking out to sea. Spray hit her, she wiped her face, felt wet, looked at her hands. Saw something dark, ran inside and turned the lights on.' Hank turned to Scott. 'You ready?'
'For what?'
'To go back in.'
He wasn't. He did not want to confront the blood again. But he took a few more deep breaths and followed Hank back inside. Hank pointed at blood on the white curtains and the wall around the light switch.
'That's when she saw Trey. She called nine-one-one.'
He pointed at the white phone. More blood.
'Cops came up the back stairs to the deck and through these doors, found her standing right here, holding the phone.'
'She talked to the dispatcher the entire time?'
'Yep. Nine-one-one call's in the book. On a CD.'
'She didn't do anything after she called?'
'Nope. Just before.'
Scott viewed the photos of his ex-wife from that night, standing there in a short white nightgown soaked in blood and looking like a frightened child.
'Detective came out, questioned her, arrested her, took her to jail. They collected a blood sample and her clothes. It's all in the book.'
'All the bloody prints-on the floor, the wall, the phone,' Scott said, 'they're hers?'
'Yep.'
'No other prints in the entire room?'
'Not in blood. But we lifted the maid's prints and two other sets, both unidentified. Not in the system.'
'Where?'
Hank pointed. 'One set on the headboard, about middle of the bed-'
'Film this, Bobby.'
— 'like someone was holding on.'
Bobby raised an eyebrow to Scott.
'No other prints?'
'Nope. And we dusted damn near every inch of this room.'
'What about the other set?'
'In the closet.'
Hank led them into the master bathroom. The center room featured a glassed-in shower and a Jacuzzi tub. Scott imagined Rebecca reclining in a bubble bath with a glass of wine after a hard day at Neiman Marcus, as she often had in their bathroom. Leading off each side were separate his and her vanities and dressing rooms.
'This one was Trey's,' Hank said.
They followed Hank into a spacious dressing room with wood shelves and drawers, a leather sofa and chair, a full-length mirror, and a flat-screen TV on the wall. The racks were filled with men's clothes, mostly golf apparel and golf shoes.
'Right there,' Hank said, 'two full palm prints on the mirror. Probably female, from the size.'
Hank was pointing at the mirror about six feet up. The prints were aligned in a way that suggested the person was leaning into the mirror with her hands spread out above, as if being frisked by a cop or…
Another raised eyebrow from Bobby.
'These unidentified prints,' Scott said, 'the ones on the kitchen counter, the bed headboard, and this mirror- they're all from different persons?'
'Yep.'
'And no matches?'
'Nope. They're not in the FBI database. You get fingerprinted once, you're in the database forever.'
'So we know at least three different people other than Trey and Rebecca and the maid were in this house at some time and none of them has ever been arrested?'
'Or worked in child care or as a school bus driver or a federal employee.'
'What do you mean?'
'You want to work for the federal government or do anything with kids, you gotta get printed and pass a criminal background check first.'
'Really?'
'Yep. When I started with the Bureau, I did background checks for federal agents, attorneys, judges… Pretty damn boring, so I transferred to the Drug Task Force, over in El Paso.'
'When did you say the maid came?'
'Mondays and Thursdays.'
'So she was here that same day?'
'Yep.'
'Did she clean the surfaces where the prints were found?'
Hank frowned. 'Good question.'
'If she wiped those surfaces Thursday, then the prints would have been made between the time she left and when the cops arrived and sealed off the house as a crime scene Friday morning.'
'Cops' prints are in the system, and everyone who entered the house wore gloves.'
'Hank, those prints might belong to the murderer.'
'Except only your wife's prints are on the murder weapon.'
'You got the maid's number?'
'In the book.'
Hank took the murder book from Scott and turned to the witnesses section. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. After a moment, he said, 'Rosie Gonzales?… Hank Kowalski, with the district attorney's office… That's right, we spoke Friday. Rosie, when you cleaned the Rawlins house last Thursday, did you wipe the island counter in the kitchen?… With soap and Clorox and Pine-Sol?… Okay, what about the headboard in the master bedroom?… Unh- huh… And what about the mirror in Mr. Rawlins' closet?… Was anyone else in the house that day?… When did you leave?… Okay. Thanks.'
Hank ended the call and turned to Scott.
'She cleaned the kitchen counters Thursday, finished at noon, so those prints were put there sometime after
