CHAPTER SIX
Lacey felt ill from bouncing around in the backseat of Terry’s SUV. A long stretch of the road was a mass of switchbacks that worked their way up over a hill and then back down the other side to the river. She’d politely allowed Jack the front seat for his long legs. She barely topped five feet and was still the same size as during her years as a college gymnast. She was used to squeezing into small spaces, but she hadn’t known this ride would jolt her around like a roller coaster. Her blond ponytail had smacked her in the face so many times that her cheek started to sting.
She glanced at the road behind them to make certain the two cruisers with Garcia and Mathews were close behind. Clouds of dry dirt flew up behind Terry’s vehicle. Garcia and Mathews hung back to avoid the worst of the dust. Terry pulled to a stop at a wide part of the road, and Lacey scooted forward to look out the front windshield. A hundred yards ahead was a small cabin. Parked to the side was a pickup truck that used to be red. Now it was more of a faded brick color.
“That his truck?” Jack asked.
“Yep.” Terry scanned the area. They were surrounded by tall firs on both sides, but the cabin sat on a wide cleared patch of packed dirt. Lacey could see that the land fell away behind the cabin, down to the river, she assumed. Terry honked the horn.
“He have registered weapons?” Jack said softly.
“Yep to that question, too,” answered Terry as he honked the horn again.
Jack turned around to meet Lacey’s gaze. “I want you to stay in the vehicle.”
“What are you, made of steel?” she retorted. “I’m a much smaller target. Besides, I assume Terry’s not going to let you out either.”
“Smart girl,” said Terry.
Jack glared at her, but closed his mouth. She gave a wide smile.
“I assume you’re not armed?” Terry asked Jack.
“I’m on vacation. And property developers don’t walk around armed. Usually.”
After leaving the police force, Jack had sworn to himself to never pick up another gun. He’d broken that promise when he walked into a killer’s den to find Lacey. Now he kept a weapon in a lockbox next to the bed. A quick press of a code popped it open.
No one stepped out of the cabin. Terry inched his vehicle closer. As the road widened into the yard area, the two cruisers pulled up behind him. At about fifty feet away, he stopped and honked again.
“Maybe he went fishing,” Lacey whispered.
Terry looked at the two of them. “Stay here,” he ordered. They both nodded.
Lacey watched Terry meet up with Garcia and Mathews for a quick talk before moving in. Mathews and Garcia went to either side of the cabin while Terry purposefully walked toward the front door. “Will?” he hollered.
Lacey held her breath, waiting for the curtains to flutter or the door to open.
Terry stepped up to the door, moved to the side, and pounded on it.
Nothing. He pounded again.
He looked from Garcia to Mathews, who were positioned to get a good view of the sides of the home. The only place for someone to leave was straight out the back and down the steep bank.
Terry reached out and turned the knob, and the door swung open. With his hand on his weapon, he stepped inside.
“Aw, shit. This is the worst part,” Jack mumbled. He’d closed his eyes, and his hands clenched his thighs. After being shot, he couldn’t mentally handle the unknown aspects that came with a cop’s job. He needed to know he could always control his situations. An impossibility for a police officer.
Lacey squeezed Jack’s shoulder and held her breath as Terry vanished from view. The cabin looked small from the outside; there couldn’t be many rooms to search. Terry reappeared seconds later and waved in the other officers and Lacey and Jack. “He’s back,” she informed Jack. He sat straighter and immediately reached for his door handle.
“That was fast,” said Jack as he helped Lacey step out. “He couldn’t have checked everything in that short of time.”
Mathews and Garcia were headed back to their cars.
“What’s going on?” asked Jack.
“Got another body. Need the crime-scene equipment,” said Garcia.
“What? Who?” Lacey asked, stunned to a stop.
“My guess is Will Marino,” Garcia said over his shoulder. He popped his trunk and grabbed two large plastic cases.
Jack and Lacey slowly walked across the packed dirt. Terry waited on the two-step concrete entry, his hands on his hips, watching his men get their gear.
“Two bodies in one day,” he said as they stopped at the bottom of the stoop. “I don’t know whether to blame my dumb luck or yours,” he said to Jack.
“How about we each take credit for one?”
Terry didn’t smile.
“Is it Will Marino?” Lacey asked.
“Looks like his driver’s license picture. The hair anyway. I’ll have Mathews take a look when he gets done puking.” Terry was looking past them, a grim scowl on his face.
Lacey followed his gaze. Sure enough, Mathews had one hand propped up against a tree as he heaved at its roots. “He didn’t even step inside, did he?” she asked.
Then it hit her. The scent of death that had been locked up in an airtight house with the sun pounding on its roof for a day. Her own stomach heaved.
“I smelled it the second I opened the door,” said Terry. “That’s something you never forget. Mathews hadn’t gotten any closer than you, when I told him to go get his kit. He’ll get over it. He’s a good officer. He’s just a bit green.”
Garcia stepped up and handed out booties and gloves. He had a camera in his hand.
“Let’s get started,” Terry sighed. “Shoot everything.” He stepped out of the way and let Garcia click his way into the cabin.
Lacey followed the men, who stepped carefully behind Garcia as he took photos. She breathed through her mouth, wishing she had a mask. The cabin was dim, but she could see that it was decorated in what she thought of as fraternity style. Every piece of furniture looked like it’d been picked up from a yard sale. A dartboard hung on one wall, the area around it covered with holes from missed throws. Two mismatched couches, one plaid, one striped, were pushed up against the far wall, with a large coffee table filling the space between the couches and the big-screen TV.
No matter how poor a man’s furniture was, he always had a big screen. She wondered at the logic of leaving such an expensive piece of equipment out here in the wild but didn’t try to understand it. Fishing and hunting magazines covered the coffee table. But things appeared rather neat and clean for a male residence. The magazines were in tidy stacks, and blankets were folded at the end of a couch. Even the three beer cans on the end table were lined up in a row.
A low hum met Lacey’s ears.
“Oh no,” Lacey whispered. She knew what the hum could mean.
Stretched out on the plaid couch, like he was sound asleep, was their body. Jack carefully switched on a light. There was the source of the hum: a huge mass of black flies had found the dead man’s facial orifices.
“Dear God.” Garcia crossed himself and then wiped at his brow.
Lacey tried to see past the flies. The hair looked like it could belong to the face she’d seen on Will’s license photo. His body was already starting to swell, his abdomen tight against his shirt as his internal organs started putrefying from the inside out.
One arm dangled off the couch, a small gun just out of reach of his fingertips. Lacey stepped closer and studied his head. She didn’t see an entrance wound or an exit wound. “You got pictures all around his head?” she asked Garcia. The young man nodded and continued his photography. Lacey gently lifted the dead man’s head, feeling for an exit wound or some blood in his hair. She didn’t find either one. She looked over the length of his body. No blood. No injuries.
“It’s a .22. A Ruger,” Jack said. He’d crouched down to get a better look at the gun.
He’d probably put the gun in his mouth. She studied the small black weapon on the floor. She knew crap about guns. But if the caliber was small enough, like a .22, she knew it could ricochet inside the skull and never find an exit.
“Did he kill himself?” Garcia asked.
“I don’t know,” Lacey said. “It’s possible.” She met Terry’s questioning look. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “I can’t see an entrance wound from a gunshot with all these flies in his mouth. He could have taken pills or had a heart attack. We’re making assumptions based on the fact that there’s a gun at his fingertips.”
Mathews stepped into the cabin, blocking the light from the front door. He moved into the room, determination on his face. “What is that noise?” He froze at the sight of the flies swarming over the dead man on the couch. He spun on one foot and left. Lacey pulled away from the body and ran into the kitchenette area, breathing deeply of the slightly better-smelling air. Terry followed close behind.
“So what do you really think?” he asked. “Do we have a suicide?”
She shook her head. “Ask the medical examiner. All I can tell you is that he’s dead and there are a lot of flies that aren’t dead.”
“I called it in. Dr. Pillai said he could be here in an hour,” Terry said.
“Can your men process this scene?” she asked. She’d never seen such an inexperienced pair of cops. She was used to the big Portland Police Department with its high-tech equipment and well-trained personnel. From the other room, she heard Jack suggest camera angles to Garcia.
Terry nodded. “We’ll wait until the body is gone. Once that happens, I think they’ll be okay. They’re good at following instructions. They’ll get to the knowing-what-to-do stage eventually.”
Jack stepped into the kitchenette. “Garcia will do fine. He’s got good instincts.” He held up a wallet and a set of keys. “Garcia slipped these out of the body’s pocket while I held the camera. The wallet has Will Marino’s driver’s license. And as far as a gun being fired, I could smell it when I got a closer look. There was definitely gunfire.”
He pulled Lacey into his arms, and she buried her nose in his chest, feeling instantly calmer. Jack had a way of sucking the nasty out of her world and replacing it with a soothing coolness. He pressed his lips against the top of her head. She loved that he’d show affection for her in front of other men.
“When are you two getting married?” Terry asked.
“Next summer,” she said, her words muffled against Jack’s shirt. “If we don’t run away first.”
“My wife and I got married in Reno,” said Terry. “Just the two of us. It was great.”
Reno sounded good to Lacey.
“There’s no sign of any sort of struggle in here,” said Jack.
Back to death talk. Lacey lifted her head and moved out of Jack’s arms.
“I noticed that, too,” said Terry. “Looks like Will felt a bit regretful about killing his ex-wife. Or else was really worried about what could happen to him in prison I’m thinking our morning murder mystery might be cleared up before midnight. Although I’d like to know why Patty was in a wedding dress. And I wonder why he came all the way up here to shoot himself,” he said. “Why didn’t he just do it at home?”
Was Terry assuming Patty’s murder was solved? “Are you sure you’re done?” asked Lacey. “You don’t know that Will killed Patty for certain.”
Terry eyed her, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the tiny kitchen counter. “Well, I guess if the ME says Will’s death wasn’t suicide, then we’ll take another look at things.”
“Dr. Pillai won’t have anything for you until late tomorrow,” pressed Lacey. “He won’t have time to look at Will tonight. If Will isn’t your killer, you’re wasting some precious hours.”
Annoyance flashed across Terry’s face, and Lacey instantly felt horrible, but she stood her ground.
This isn’t my case.
But the sight of that dead woman in a wedding gown would never leave her brain. It could have easily been her in that hot tub. She’d been stuck in a marriage with a man who struggled with depression and anger. She’d stood in Patty’s shoes but found the strength to get out. She felt she owed it to the woman to make certain every rock was overturned in finding her killer.
Something about the scene in the next room was poking at her. From what she knew of her single male friends, it was nearly impossible for them to leave a room that uncluttered. There was almost nothing out of place.
An idea lit up her brain. She opened the fridge and studied the contents.
“Careful what you touch,” said Terry.
She was still gloved. “I know.” Her mind raced at full speed. She closed the fridge and rooted through the garbage. She pulled out an empty plastic fifth of rum and several Coke cans. Rum and Coke. Then she found a plastic grocery bag with the receipt still inside. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she read the slip.
“Here. Look at this grocery receipt. It’s for yesterday. Someone paid cash for steaks, two bags of Doritos, and beer in the midafternoon.” She held the receipt for Terry to see. “Where is this store?”
“That’s about halfway between here and Seaport.”
“Okay. So somebody bought food on the way up here.” She opened the fridge again and pointed. “Look, the steaks are still here. All three pounds that are on the receipt. If you’re going to kill yourself and have a last meal of steak and beer, why wouldn’t you eat your steaks first? Rib eyes, good cuts of meat. Someone was looking forward to this meal and spent the money for a high-quality steak.” She looked in the fridge again. “And where’s the beer? There should be a six-pack of Coors Light. I saw three empties in the other room next to Will. Where are the rest? They’re not in the garbage can I just looked through.” She carefully rooted around in the other cupboards. “Maybe there’s a recycling bin outside?”
“I’ll check.” Jack stepped out the back door.
She looked at Terry. She could tell his mind was making leaps and bounds.
“You’re right. I stopped too soon. I saw what I wanted to see,” he admitted.
“We’re all tired,” Lacey agreed, but her skin was tingling. She knew she was on to something.
Jack came back in. “There’s nothing outside for bottles or any other garbage. Lacey has a good point. Someone must have taken them. Or else Will is one of those assholes that drinks while he’s driving and hurls the beer cans out the window when they’re empty.”
“And what about the steaks?” Lacey asked. “That’s food for at least two men, not one. Same with the two bags of chips. You don’t go stock up on food when you plan to kill yourself. And why would somebody remove three cans? Because he drank out of them and worried he left a DNA trace behind or fingerprints? Seems our killer likes to watch CSI,” she said with a grin.
“Will may have killed his ex-wife, but there’s a good chance he didn’t kill himself,” stated Jack. “He wasn’t alone up here.”
“Maybe Will didn’t kill Patty,” Lacey pointed out. “The same person might have killed both of them.” She and Jack looked to Terry. His deep scowl would have made a child cry. He pulled out his cell phone and started tapping the screen.
“Damn it. We need to find the other guys that share this cabin,” Terry said firmly. “And I want a look inside the Marino house.”