“Are you seriously suggesting my half-brother murdered his girlfriend?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“We need to consider the possibility.” He leveled his gaze at her, and it was a look with which she was familiar. He was baiting her to break the silence. If she didn’t, they’d remain locked in eye contact forever.
“You know I can remain objective.” That’s all she said. All she was going to say. Her record should speak for itself. Chad Palmer, the drunk driver who took out her husband, six-year-old daughter, and unborn child, and made her barren, was murdered four and a half years ago. She was allowed to work his case and had followed it all the way through to its heartbreaking conclusion.
Malone bobbed his head. “Fine, you can stay for now. But we may revisit this conversation.” He gave it a few beats before adding, “Let’s get inside before I melt to the deck.”
SEVEN
The air-conditioning was a welcome relief but chilled the sweat on Amanda’s neck and arms where she’d rolled up the sleeves on her jacket. She fell behind Malone and Trent when her phone rang, and she stopped to check it. They continued upstairs while she stared at Spencer’s name on the screen.
There was no way she was answering this now. He’d be looking for an update, and she had none to give him. It seemed likely Christine was in the tarp, but she preferred to share facts not speculation. And even though she wasn’t close to Spencer, she wasn’t a skilled actor. Unless he was completely obtuse, he’d hear anxiousness in her voice. She rejected his call and sent him to voicemail.
She pocketed her phone again and caught up with Trent and Malone in the doorway of the primary suite. Her phone beeped, notifying her of a new voicemail. Trent looked at her, and she read the curiosity in his eyes. She shook her head and turned her attention to the CSIs, not about to say that Spencer had called. Especially not in front of Malone. He might twist it as Spencer trying to stay involved in a murder investigation of his own making.
As the CSIs photographed the room, Amanda caught the smaller details that matched the rest of the house. There were no personal effects, knickknacks, or photographs here either. It looked more like a hotel room than someone’s bedroom. Amanda stepped into the walk-in closet. It was bigger than Amanda’s bedroom, with a racking system around the perimeter and an island of drawers. On top of it was a watch-winding case and a glass cabinet displaying some jewels. Diamonds, emeralds, and rubies winked in the light.
“As we thought before, we can rule out robbery,” Trent said, joining her in the closet.
“I’d say.”
“Those Rolexes alone… Whoa.” Trent angled his head, studying the timepieces.
Amanda wasn’t as impressed by material things as he seemed to be. To her, they represented excess but to each their own. If a person had the cash, all the power to them. Life was too short not to do or acquire what brought joy.
She moved on from the island to look at the clothing. She wasn’t a fashionista, but she could tell by the sheen to the dresses and pantsuits hanging on racks, they would have been expensive. Without touching them, she saw the label on one was Gucci. A rotating rack showcased the shoes: Jimmy Choo, Louboutin, and Louis Vuitton. Behind one section of glass doors, another rotating rack housed designer purses, including more Gucci and Louis Vuitton, Brunello Cucinelli, and Bottega Veneta.
When they returned to the main part of the bedroom, CSI Keller was lifting shoeprints from the floor with electro-charged Mylar. She looked at the result and shook her head.
“You didn’t find any footwear prints?” Amanda asked, unable to hold back her curiosity.
“Not one.” Keller played the beam of her flashlightacross the wood floors and stopped when it reached Amanda’s and Trent’s covered shoes. She turned it off.
The killer must have cleaned up after themselves, including erasing all trace evidence for whoever was in the tarp.
“We’ll be taking a closer look throughout the home, of course,” Stuart piped up.
Amanda knew all about Stuart’s meticulous attention to detail. She took hours processing a scene that would have taken a fraction of that time if worked by CSIs Blair and Donnelly. Her downfall, in Amanda’s opinion, was her fussiness over what to collect and what to process. Stuart’s viewpoint was that countless lab tests cost time and money. Amanda couldn’t argue with that, but she’d still appreciate it if Stuart were a bit more flexible in that regard.
“If I could get some help over here, that would be great.” Stuart stood next to the bed and flicked a finger toward it. She had a way of asking for help that bordered on a petulant whine. “I’m thinking it would be far easier to get to the body if we removed the bed from over her,” Stuart explained. “We’ll take it apart piece by piece.”
“Of course.” Amanda stepped forward, willing to do anything that would get them closer to the victim’s ID.
Trent and Malone moved in to help too while Keller took up position beside Stuart.
The five of them lifted the mattress on Malone’s count of three. They walked it to the side of the room and leaned it against the wall.
Malone puffed out a deep breath afterward, but he waved Amanda off when she shot him a look of concern. He wasn’t out of shape for his age, but he wasn’t exactly a gym rat either. The point wasfor his age.He was in his late fifties, a time when the body starts becoming less cooperative. Something she knew from her parents.
“Well, the box springs should be easier, since each piece is half the size,” Trent said.
“If you’re having a hard time, young man, leave the rest to us,” Malone told him.
“Very funny, old?—”
Amanda shook her head at Trent. It was one thing for Malone to jest about age, but a volley back wouldn’t be a smart move. “I’m ready when the rest of you are,” she rushed out, trying to deflect Malone’s attention from Trent.
Not long later, the two box springs were resting against the mattress.
