Bree made eye contact. Her facade slipped for a second, and he could see more small signs that the scene inside that house had deeply disturbed her. Her eyes were too focused, and there was a barely decipherable unease in their depths. Before becoming sheriff of Randolph County the previous winter, Bree had been a homicide detective in Philadelphia. She was no stranger to murder. It took something truly shocking to disconcert her. Then she blinked, and the emotion was gone again.
She glanced around, as if to make sure there was no one within hearing range, then lowered her voice and dropped the bomb. “One of the victims is Oscar.”
Shock flattened Matt like a steamroller. “As in former deputy Oscar?”
Grim-faced, Bree nodded. “The farm is owned by Camilla Brown. The neighbor confirmed the name of her son is Eugene Oscar. Camilla remarried after Oscar’s father died.”
Nodding, Todd hooked a thumb in the front of his duty belt. “We ran the plates of two vehicles parked in the shed. The pickup is registered to Ms. Brown. The Explorer belongs to Oscar.”
“You want to see the bodies?” Bree asked.
“Yes.” Matt didn’t want any more information prior to viewing the scene with his own eyes. He preferred to have no preconceived ideas, even those from an experienced investigator like Bree. The same scene could leave varying impressions on different detectives. Matt wanted a clean slate when he viewed it for the first time.
“You’re going to want to suit up.” Bree sniffed her own shoulder and made a face. “The smell . . .”
The faint odor of decomp wafted from her. Matt returned to his vehicle and put on PPE coveralls to prevent his clothes from absorbing the smell. They walked toward the back door, which stood open.
Bree gestured to the rear of the house. “I initially made entry through the back door, as that lock seemed to be the easiest to breach without causing damage.”
No one wanted to kick in a door for a well-being check and then discover the homeowner was on vacation or in the shower.
Todd trailed behind Matt and Bree.
At the back-porch steps, they all paused to don shoe covers and gloves, then went inside. The smell of decay washed over him. The lighting wasn’t adequate for crime scene inspection. Matt pulled a flashlight from his pocket and turned it on.
Bree shut the door. As much as the closed space trapped odor, an incoming breeze could disturb evidence. Matt took in the kitchen, the flies, and the obvious signs of meal preparation. The normality under the horror disturbed him. He shoved aside the emotions threatening to rise. He could feel for these people later, after he’d brought their killer to justice.
He braced himself as he approached the doorway, then stopped just before entering the living room. The worn blue couch sat at an awkward angle, as if it had been pushed back to make room. Two victims were tied to chairs in the center of the large space. Nylon ropes bound the victims’ ankles, wrists, and torsos to the high, straight backs. The female’s death was relatively neat—a single shot to the forehead, like putting down a horse. The male’s had been messy. The killer had taken his time with him.
“The chairs were brought from the kitchen,” Matt noted. “There was too much preparation, and too much follow-through on those plans, for this to be a crime of passion or self-defense.”
“Yes,” Bree agreed. “This was straight-up murder.”
They walked through the doorway. Todd took up a position near the wall. Bree and Matt walked a few steps closer.
Matt crouched and shone his light on the male’s face. Yep. Definitely Oscar. “Killer beat the crap out of him and shot him four times. Must have been pissed off.”
“Or trying to make a point,” Bree added.
“There is something cold about the setup.”
“That’s the impression I got too.”
“Oscar was what, late forties? And in decent shape. He wouldn’t allow himself or his mother to be tied up and shot. He’d fight back.”
“The killer was armed, and it’s possible there was more than one of them.”
Matt checked Oscar’s belt. “He’s not wearing a holster.”
“I took his weapon and his badge when I suspended him.” Bree’s voice was tight and edged with just a touch of guilt.
“Yes, but he ended up retiring, right?”
“Right,” Bree said. “It seemed best for the department to move on.”
Originally, Oscar had been put on administrative leave for not following protocol on several occasions and for mishandling evidence in a big case. Though Matt and Bree suspected he’d done the latter on purpose at the request of a local politician, they hadn’t been able to prove his intent. The prosecutor had been reluctant to pursue formal charges, and a deal had been struck. Retired law enforcement officers were allowed to carry guns per federal law, as long as they met a few guidelines. Oscar would have. If he’d been fired for cause, he’d have been treated like any other private citizen. Any charges brought against him would have affected his application for a concealed carry permit.
“Most cops have additional guns. Let’s find out if any weapons were registered to Oscar.” Matt straightened and glanced around the room. Lamps, knickknacks, and framed photos were arranged neatly on tables. Except for the staging of the scene with the chairs, the room looked normal. “I don’t see any signs of a struggle here. How does the rest of the house look?”
“Same. Generally tidy. I found men’s clothes, a few suitcases, and boxes in a secondary bedroom upstairs when I cleared the house.”
A sick feeling swept over Matt at the image of Bree clearing the house alone. Rural policing was a bitch sometimes. Backup could be too far away to be immediately useful.
Todd spoke up. “This whole scene feels . . . elaborate. Why tie them up? Why not just shoot them?”
“All good questions.” Matt shrugged. Potential motives rolled through his mind. “The woman died fast, but Oscar didn’t. So maybe they didn’t want to talk to her, but they could have wanted information from him.”
“Or this was retribution.” Bree stared hard at Oscar’s body. “Punishment.”
Matt added, “I don’t see blood anywhere else in the room. Oscar’s wounds bled. If he was shot and moved through the house before being restrained, there should be a blood trail. I think they were both tied up before the bleeding started.”
“I can’t see Oscar surrendering that easily.” Bree frowned. “Even to an armed intruder.”
“Unless the assailant grabbed his mother first,” Matt suggested.
Bree’s frown deepened. “Yes. A gun to his mother’s head might have persuaded him to give up without a fight.”
Matt envisioned someone aiming a gun at the old woman and giving Oscar instructions. “I can see that working.”
Bree moved closer to examine the binds used to restrain both victims. “These knots are distinctive and identical on both victims, as if they were tied up by the same person.”
“Can’t tie someone up and hold a gun against their head at the same time,” Todd said.
“Those knots will need to be preserved.” Bree stepped back. “We’ll consider both single and multiple assailants at this time. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find prints.”
But Matt doubted anyone who had orchestrated this crime would have left prints. The overall scene was too organized. This killer had successfully killed two people, one of them former law enforcement, with little fuss. He checked Oscar’s hands. The fingers were purple and bloated, but Matt didn’t see any scrapes on the knuckles that would indicate Oscar had fought back. The assailants had known what they were doing. Matt thought it likely they’d killed before.
He spotted a hole in the plaster wall. “There’s one bullet.”
“I see another down by the baseboard,” Todd said. “Might have ricocheted after it hit one of his legs.”
Bree’s radio crackled and a voice said, “The medical examiner is here.”
A few minutes later, Dr. Serena Jones appeared in the doorway. The tall African American woman wore scrubs and carried her kit. Her assistant followed, carrying an additional kit and standing aside to wait for the ME to complete her initial assessment. The group exchanged professional greetings, and then Dr. Jones paused to scan the overall scene before advancing closer to the bodies and giving them a cursory inspection using her own flashlight.