She entered the large living room, complete with furniture that looked a century old and extremely expensive. The couches, chairs, and tables were at odds with the massive TV monitor affixed to the far wall. Looking around, she saw Goodwin in a corner talking to a burly, uniformed guy with a thick mustache that she assumed was Sergeant Brasov. She headed that way.
Goodwin caught sight of her and waved. Sam Goodwin was the newest edition to the HSS team, having transferred in just last year. At 33, the man was lean and tall, easily six foot two, with irrepressible brown hair. He made a habit of wearing corduroy sport coats over checkered shirts and black ties, which Jessie told him made him look like either a young, absent-minded professor or the past-his-prime bassist in a band that played Americana music. But his looks belied his reputation.
He had served eight years as a uniformed officer, followed by three as a detective in Vice Division’s Exploitation and Investigative Section, which focused on human trafficking, exploitation of minors, and prostitution connected to organized crime. He may not have formally handled homicide cases prior to joining HSS, but he’d seen ugly things. Since coming aboard, he’d proven to be a valuable asset.
“Thanks for coming, Jessie,” he said. “Sorry you had to come down here when you’re still technically on leave.”
“No worries,” she told him. “I didn’t want you to get lonely.”
“I appreciate that,” he said with a smile before nodding at the officer next to him. “This is Sergeant Brasov. He was running the scene prior to our arrival. I asked him to hold off on a status update until you got here.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Hunt,” Brasov said, extending his hands. “I hear good things.”
“Thanks Sergeant, and sorry to keep you waiting. I was driving in from Irvine. What have we got?”
Brasov sighed heavily before launching in.
“Our victim’s name is Maria Cain,” he said. “Preliminary indications are that she was killed in the kitchen before being moved to the dining room.”
“The medical examiner was already able to determine that?” she asked, surprised.
“When you see the scene, it will be pretty obvious. There’s a ton of blood in the kitchen, and bloody drag marks on the floor and carpet leading to the dining room, where she was placed.”
“Placed?” Sam repeated.
“That’s the word I’d use for it, but you can judge for yourself,” Brasov said. “Would you like to go in there?”
“In just a minute,” Jessie said. She always preferred to look at the victim last so that didn’t color her perceptions as she reviewed the rest of the crime scene. “Maybe we start in the kitchen?”
“Sure,” Brasov said, leading the way.
“What can you tell us about the victim?” Sam asked as they followed the sergeant.
“As I mentioned, her name is Maria Cain, originally Maria Delgado. She was 28, a native of Colombia. Married to Edward Cain. I’m assuming that you’re here because of his connection to her?”
“You assume correctly,” Jessie told him. ‘Where is he now?”
“There’s a pool house out back,” Brasov said. “He seemed pretty upset so we moved him out of the main house. There are two officers waiting with him there.”
“Did he find her?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Brasov said, pausing at the entrance to the kitchen. “He said he got up around 6:30 for an early tee time at his club. Apparently Maria wasn’t in bed and he assumed she’d gone for her morning walk already. He claims that he headed straight out because he was running a little late. He found her when he returned around 10:30 A.M. You might want to prepare yourselves,” he said, looking into the kitchen.
Jessie wasn’t sure how she was supposed to do that as she stepped in the room. Immediately, she understood the reason for his warning. There was blood spray all over the walls and appliances. The front of the stainless steel double refrigerator looked like some kind of horrifying abstract art piece. The giant kitchen island was covered in the stuff. As she moved around to the far side of it, she saw where the blood had pooled on the floor. There was a lot of it. Mixed in were what looked like shards of glass.
“We think she was holding a wine glass when she was attacked from behind,” Brasov said, answering her unasked question.
She saw the tracks of blood on the floor near where it had pooled. It looked like she had been dragged out of the kitchen and her heels, covered in blood, left two thick lines along the path. Jessie and Sam followed it out of the kitchen and into the carpeted dining room. She wasn’t prepared for what she saw there.
CHAPTER THREE
Jessie had to blink several times to fully process the scene.
Maria Cain was seated at the dining room table. Her head and body were being held in place, attached to a high-backed chair by what looked like cords that had been cut from the curtains along the window. There were multiple large gashes in her neck. A big flap of skin hung loosely from one of the wounds. Her top was drenched in blood, both from the neck wounds and ones to her chest, where the clothing had been repeatedly punctured. Her eyes were closed tight, as if she’d clenched them to stave off the pain.
She could only imagine what the woman had gone through. Was Maria Cain still alive when she’d been dragged in here? Had she struggled against the cords now clinging to her? Had she even understood what was happening to her?
Jessie had to fight the urge to look away. She’d seen dozens of disturbing murder scenes since becoming a profiler, but something about how Cain had been posed was deeply unsettling.
