“So, the killer”—Vera did a slow one-eighty turn—“likely entered the cabin—the door was probably unlocked—or came from upstairs and walked right up to where Parson stood at or sat on the sofa.” Vera shifted her attention back to Bent. “Once Parson was down, the killer headed toward the kitchen area. My guess is that about that same time, the second victim entered the kitchen from wherever—presumably the deck—and the two intersected in front of the refrigerator.” Vera looked to the French doors that led out to the deck. “I’m assuming the unidentified female came from outside since the final two vics—if the wife is a vic and not the perp—were outside, right?”
“Right.” Bent started in that direction. Vera followed as he explained, “Wilton was in the hot tub. Stab wound in the back. Defensive wounds on his arms. When he was lifted from the tub, there were other wounds. Two more stab wounds to the chest—one of which was likely the fatal strike. Right hand was sliced along the palm, so he attempted to stop his attacker but wasn’t fast enough. Judging by his build, I don’t think strength was the problem. Especially if someone smaller, like his wife, was the one wielding the knife. For me, the only way that scenario makes sense is if she was in the hot tub with him. I can’t see her putting him in after—unless she had help.”
“He may have been too inebriated to put up a proper fight. Alcohol or whatever drug they were partying with.” Vera had seen the man in town a few times, and Bent was right. He had a very athletic build. “Any idea as to why the wife may have wanted her husband and their guests dead?”
Bent shook his head. “Not yet. The only thing we have is the fact that the knife was under her body as if she had been holding it when she ran.”
“She’s lucky she didn’t stab herself as she went down.”
“True. She was on the steps there.” He indicated the stairs leading down to the yard. “Her pulse was so weak, we thought she was dead too, but she somehow managed to hang on. If Erwin hadn’t come by today, she wouldn’t have lasted another day.”
“But she wasn’t stabbed, and she had the knife—assuming it wasn’t planted under her to mislead the investigation.” Whatever the case, the wife was the one variable among the victims.
Bent nodded. “She hit her head on the edge of a step when she fell—hard enough, it seems, to put her life in jeopardy. When the ME was examining her—before turning her over—she discovered the knife. With the knife close by, and since she wasn’t stabbed, it’s reasonable that she is our prime suspect for now.”
Vera surveyed the yard and the woods that lay beyond. “There’s always the possibility the killer wanted the wife to look guilty.”
“Agreed.” Bent led the way back into the house and secured the French doors. “We can hope the killer injured him- or herself with all that stabbing. If so, maybe we’ll get lucky and pick up some DNA that will give us a firm direction.”
That would only be useful if said killer was the wife or someone in a database, but no need to say as much. Bent knew the deal. Like anyone investigating a murder case, he could hope.
“You’re interviewing Erwin again when we finish here?” Based on the woman’s statement from that morning, she hadn’t appeared to know much beyond the fact that the Wiltons were spending the holiday weekend at the cabin with friends, and the boss hadn’t shown up this morning for a scheduled meeting.
“Weare interviewing her,” he corrected. “I’m sure you’d like to get back to Luna, but I could use your insights on every aspect of this one.”
Vera held up her hands. “No problem. Eve will take care of Luna until I can get there.”
“I appreciate it.”
Vera smiled. “Anytime.” She decided not to mention that she really was grateful for the distraction, as tragic as it was. Besides, she enjoyed working with Bent.
Right now he looked tired. Murders didn’t happen often in his jurisdiction, and to have three—potentially four—at once was deeply troubling for the county’s top cop. He was a good sheriff, and Verawas always happy to pitch in. Since leaving her career at the Memphis Police Department and coming back to her hometown, she had found a comfortable place as an adviser and analyst to law enforcement agencies in this as well as the surrounding counties. Over the past year she had built a damned good reputation, if she did say so herself. It was actually going better than she’d hoped. As some would say, it appeared to be her true calling—even when things hit too close to home.
But then, that was the way of things in a small town. Everyone knew everyone else, and most were related by blood or marriage in one way or another, even if several times removed.
“I’ll make a walk-through before we go and take some pics.” Later she would use those pics to follow up on her thoughts about the case.
“Sounds good.” He hitched a thumb toward the French doors. “I think I’ll take another walk along the tree line. Make some calls.”
Vera hesitated. “You said Erwin didn’t notice anything missing.”
“Right. She found the bodies and pretty much lost it. After the vics were removed, she and I did a walk-through. She didn’t notice anything missing except cell phones.” He frowned. “And there was no purse or ID for the deceased female.”
“Thanks.” Vera headed deeper into the house, and Bent headed out back.
He knew she had her own way just as he had his. She preferred to look at a crime scene as a whole—not just the bodies or the murder weapons. It helped to take note of the way the victim or victims, in this case, lived. Equally important was getting the feel of the scene. Everything from the decor to cleaning habits. It all mattered.
Vera explored the house while Bent did his thing. She wandered through the main living area. The great room some would call the combined kitchen and living/dining area. Beyond where the vics were discovered, the place was cleaner than she would have expected after a weekend of partying. There was a small office and a powder room on the first level just beyond the stairs. Upstairs were the bedrooms. The primary bedroom extended over half the second level’s floor space.There was an en suite. Again, all was spotless. There were a few changes of clothes in the closet, intimate essentials in the drawers, and toiletries in the bathroom. The only money or jewelry lying around was, presumably, the husband’s Rolex and his cash-filled wallet on the dresser. No weapons or notes or anything at all that appeared out of place or unusual. Not even a dust bunny under the bed. Just one lone sock. The only indication the room had actually been used for anything other than storage was the unmade bed.
She moved on to the second bedroom. Also clean. She dragged a finger across the wood dresser. Not a speck of dust. Nothing in the closet or drawers. Bed didn’t appear to have been slept in.
The final bedroom was another story. Clothes littered the floor. Skimpy lingerie as well as shorts and tanks. A bikini. A few underthings were tossed into drawers. A couple of shirts and blouses as well as jeans hung in the closet. A pair of running shoes—women’s—lay on the floor next to the bed. Flip-flops, larger, so probably the man’s, were in the bathroom. Discarded towels were scattered on the tile floor. A razor on the sink as well as a few cosmetics. As Bent said, if the woman had brought a purse, there was no sign of it anywhere in the house.
Vera did her due diligence. She checked under the bed and most any other hiding place and found nothing. When she would have left the room, she decided to check the bed more thoroughly. With the tips of her fingers, she drew back the sheet. Nothing but a couple of pubic hairs. She checked under one pillow and then the other.
Something fell from one of the pillowcases. Vera leaned down, studied it. White powder in a neat little packet. Cocaine, she suspected. No surprise. She’d seen the residue on the coffee table downstairs.
Since she didn’t have gloves or an evidence bag, she would leave that for Bent or Conover.
