When Gage’s assistant came back, he instructed her to finish the photographs and start mapping out the crime scene. They had purchased a state-of-the-art forensics program last year when they had a onetime budget increase. It was amazing that the lab pinched pennies when ordering common supplies and couldn’t hand out more than nominal pay raises, but could purchase a multimillion-dollar computer system simply on the whim of state politicians.
“I’ll be back to work with the black light after we finish upstairs.”
Gage and Will left, both carefully looking for potential evidence on the floors. “Where are the drops of blood?” Gage asked. “Being that close, the killer would have been slick with it.”
“Maybe they had an extra layer of clothing and removed it.”
“That would take planning.”
“Premeditated murder makes for a much longer sentence,” Will said.
At the base of the stairs, on the bleached wood railing, a bloody handprint stood out.
Will and Gage proceeded upstairs to Emily Montgomery’s bedroom. They walked slowly, carefully observing. The marble stairs were carpeted with sea blue Berber, keeping with the ocean theme of the mansion. Where the carpet met the marble were several drops of dried blood. Two more drops were closer to the top. Another faint, dark red handprint was pressed into the carpet, left of center, this one smeared.
“There doesn’t seem to be a lot of blood,” Will said, “which holds with the idea that maybe the weapon and clothing were put in a bag or disposed of.”
On the radio, Gage asked his second assistant to methodically go through every room looking for blood, no matter how small, and to start processing the garbage.
Gage said, “Logically, there was more than one person involved. The accomplice could have left with the weapon and clothing.”
Will didn’t know why it made him feel better to think that Emily Montgomery hadn’t been the one to do her stepfather’s amputation, though being an accessory was almost as bad.
“But they didn’t make any effort to clean up the stairs.”
“Panic? Fear? Diaz said the daughter’s room smelled of alcohol.”
Emily Montgomery’s room was the first door on the right, as evidenced by the slight splintering of the doorjamb when Diaz had broken in earlier.
The room was in disarray, partly from the paramedics who had worked to stabilize Emily before transporting her to the hospital.
Nothing stood out to the cops. Again, the carpets were white, but the decorations were more in line with the tastes of a teenaged girl: dark purples, black, and red rather than the subdued, cool elegance of the main house.
But in the bathroom, one towel had blood smeared on it, and the sink faucet had another smear.
“I’m going to have to call in a larger team, or processing this house is going to take all night,” Gage said, making the call.
Will noted the empty flask and the pill bottle. “What type of pills?”
Gage bent down and picked up the bottle with gloved hands. “Xanax. Prescribed to Emily Montgomery and refilled two weeks ago. Empty.” He stood, pointed to pills all over the floor. “There are at least twenty on the floor. She could have had half a bottle, or almost full. The prescription reads
“This kid’s pharmacy is bigger than mine,” Will commented.
Eight or nine prescriptions, all prescribed by Dr. Garrett Bowen, lined the top shelf. Two bottles were on their sides, and another three were unopened on the floor. “Another Xanax, but an older prescription. Antidepressants. Tylenol.”
“Tylenol in a prescription bottle?”
“Prescription strength. And here’s Imitrex, primarily for migraines.”
“Sixteen and has more legal drugs in her cabinet than I’ve taken in my entire life,” Will muttered.
Gage frowned. “Some of these shouldn’t be taken together. Someone needs to talk to this Bowen doc and see what’s up.”
Will made a note. “I’ll talk to the mom first.”
“Until we’re done processing the evidence, there’s nothing for you to do here. I’ll let you know what we find.”
“I’ll be downstairs with Mrs. Montgomery.” Will paused. “What’s your best guess?”
“At this stage, I can’t possibly guess.”
Will stared at him. “I need something to go with.”
Gage shook his head. “Theory, but only theory: at least two perpetrators, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were three. No sign of forced entry. Someone let them in. One or more known to the vic or to the stepdaughter.”
“And this blood?”
“We have a lot of work to do tonight, both here and downstairs, but I’d say Emily Montgomery was in Judge Montgomery’s office during or after he died. It’s looking a lot like murder-suicide, only she failed in the latter.”
“Or maybe Santos’s men threatened her,” Will offered as an alternative.
“Then why leave their witness alive?”
THREE
Julia Chandler was playing with fire. She didn’t care, she was used to it. But this time it wasn’t her job. Emily was in trouble and Julia would do anything to protect her niece.
She didn’t have to show her identification to be let into the crime scene. While it was rare to have a deputy district attorney show up at the beginning of a murder investigation, it wasn’t unheard of. Considering her take-no- prisoners reputation, no one wanted to cross her, cop or criminal.
Perhaps because of her high-profile background as a Chandler, where putting names to faces was required learning back in preschool, or because of her naturally sharp memory, or simply because she worked closely with law enforcement, Julia made it a point to recognize on sight those in uniform. Officer Diaz was manning the door, and her colleague was handling the prosecution of the gang member who shot him last month. The defense council was pushing for a plea, which the district attorney himself had refused. Andrew Stanton was not moved by the circumstances of the kid’s tragic upbringing. Neither was Julia, not when innocent bystanders were hurt.
“How’re you doing, Officer Diaz?” she asked. “Looks like you lost a few pounds.”
“Hospital food. I just started exercising full-time last week. I’ll bulk up.”
“Glad you’re back in form.”
She brushed by him, hoping the small talk had distracted him from asking her purpose.
“Um, Ms. Chandler?”
She stopped as she was about to follow Dr. Gage’s assistant down the hall to the presumed crime scene.
“I’ll need to tell Detective Hooper you’re here before you can go in.” He fidgeted. “You understand.”
She plastered a fake smile on her face. “Of course.”
“No need.” Will Hooper sauntered down the stairs, appearing laid-back and casual, but Julia knew better. The man was a shark, and she loved it when he took the witness stand. It was precisely because of his easygoing, flirtatious manner that he could turn a jury. She never had to spend much time prepping him for trial, which made her job a lot easier. And it was because of his testimony the other month in appellate court that she was able to keep a convicted murderer on death row. He held firm under fire.
“Hi, Will. Where’s your partner?”
“Vacation.” He pinned her with a curious blue-eyed stare and nodded toward the formal dining room off the main entrance. Her goose was cooked.
She closed the pocket doors behind her for privacy and turned to face the detective. “I know what you’re thinking.”
