Rachette eyed her skeptically.
“I may be out here in Hicksville but I have some experience under my belt.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“I said it’s no problem,” Wolf said.
He grabbed gloves and a jacket from his SUV. Putting both on, he went back to the front of the house and ducked into the bushes, putting up his jacket-covered arm to ward off the tiny thorns.
“That’s cheating,” Rachette said. “You’re supposed to lead with your face, right, Cain?”
She said nothing.
“What? I’m kidding. We’ll get along just fine.”
“You think?” she said.
Wolf smiled to himself as he reached the window and pushed up with both hands against the glass. It slid easily with a creaky spring sound, letting out the unmistakable scent of death that hit Wolf’s nostrils like a punch.
He ducked away and turned his head. Through the branches he saw Cain’s eyes watching him.
“You smell it too?” she asked.
“Smell what?” Rachette asked. “Ah, shit. Never mind. Yeah.”
“Be right back," Wolf said, hopping up and into the house. His belt buckle caught on the windowsill and threw him off balance, and with a crash he fell, his elbow knocking hard against the wood floor.
“You okay?” Rachette asked.
Wolf put a thumbs up out the window. Trying to look nonchalant as he stood, he ignored the pain firing down his arm.
Stacked cardboard boxes filled a small front room. To his left was the entryway. He walked past the front door to another anterior room, where he scanned a pile of junk mail, magazines, and old newspapers on an antique desk. Bloody paw prints marked the sill of the other front window.
The floor creaked as he walked down the hallway to the kitchen table, and another pile of mail. He took his time in the kitchen, delaying the sight of what he knew waited for him if he turned left.
A collection letter. Coupons. Dirty dishes. An unmade pack of mac and cheese on the counter.
The smell was getting unbearable. He needed to get this over with, so he blanked his mind and looked.
Mary Ellen Dimitri sat in the darkened family room, in the middle of the couch, her head back, opaque eyes open and staring through the ceiling above her.
Her cat perched on the top of the couch behind her, licking the wound on top of Mary Ellen’s head.
“Get off of there!” Wolf stomped his foot. The cat jumped off, zipped across the room, and disappeared out of sight at the back of the house.
Wolf’s eyes returned to Mary Ellen Dimitri. A red hole pierced her chin, from which a stream of dried red led down into her tank top.
His entire body started with shock as he noticed she was moving. With mute horror he watched as she tilted sideways with impossible slowness and stopped after a few degrees. His breathing returned as he realized the cat must have jostled her when it jumped.
His radio scratched. "What do you got in there?"
He plucked it from his belt and pressed the button. “Mary Ellen Dimitri dead on her couch. Call Lorber.”
“You got it,” Rachette said.
"I'm going to clear the rest of the house."
Wolf put the radio back on his belt, pausing to study the scene in front of him.
In front of Mary was a coffee table, on top of which stood two tall cans of those fruity alcoholic seltzers, two remote controls, a cell phone, and a brimming ash tray. Both cans were opened and marked with lipstick. A fabric lounge chair was positioned next to the couch, and between them sat an end table. Two beer bottles stood at attention on the table.
Ignoring Mary’s body for the moment, Wolf walked over and saw there was no lipstick on the bottles.
The ashtray was filled with white filters, sucked down to the same level before being smashed out, all slathered in the same shade of lipstick. Two brown filters of a different brand stood out, smoked down the filter’s edge. No lipstick.
Wolf looked at Mary’s phone screen and saw numerous fingerprint smudges. He knew he should leave it untouched for Lorber’s team, but curiosity won out. He nudged the phone, getting no response, then tilted it with two gloved fingers. The screen came alive, indicating twenty-three percent charge on the battery and five missed text messages.
The cat appeared behind him, the hair on its back standing on end, ears laid back. When Wolf turned around the feline went to the sliding glass door and stood expectantly.
Wolf inhaled another breath saturated with death.
“Good idea,” he said, following the cat to the door. He flicked open the lock and slid it open.
The cat squeezed out, running into the backyard, hopping the fence and disappearing into the dirt back alley.
Wolf stuck his head out, pushed all the air out of his lungs, and sucked in a breath of mouthwash-clean air.
"Everything okay?" Rachette called from the fence. Deputy Cain’s face floated next to his.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Wolf pulled another lungful of the good stuff and went back inside, shutting the door behind him. Quickly now, he went into the back hallway where two small bedrooms flanked the bathroom.
He poked his head inside each room, seeing nothing of interest at first. Mary Dimitri was not a stickler for order and hygiene, he decided. Just like she rarely opened her mail, she rarely folded clothes, or hung them on hangers. Her entire wardrobe seemed to be laid out on the bed in some stage of a laundry routine. The bathroom counter was completely covered in beauty products and makeup.
With every passing minute he felt the stench coating his skin and the inside of his lungs. Worst of all, he was starting to get used to it. With that thought he made his way for the front door, and out into the world of the living.
Chapter 12
"You have to be kidding me right now." The voice scratched through into Rachette's ear.
"Sorry, sir. Not kidding. She's DOA inside her house. We need the forensic team back up here ASAP."
Lorber made a noise
