I blink a few times and take a long breath. Bad decision. My senses burn with the onslaught. I cough.
I wrench my glove compartment open with shivering hands. Everything clatters down the floor. I barely catch the thick mask most of us carry for situations like these. I pull it on as Serena watches me with wide eyes, her eyebrows practically in her hairline. “The fuck, dude?”
I take another breath, already feeling better. “Sorry,allergies acting up again,” I say, coughing.
Her eyes narrow, but I ignore her and get out of the car. The smell is still horrible, but manageable.
Crime scenes are never easy for me, my werewolf especially hates them. But that’s the job I’ve chosen. Still, this is a whole new level of bad. It literally feels like an attack.
When we walk inside the mansion, the reason behind the sensory attack becomes clear.
The pictures didn’t do justice to the chaos in this place. The floor is covered in clothes, furniture shavings, and pieces of glass. Plants and soil are scattered in the corners. Not a single surface is untouched by the mess.
In the middle of it all, there’s the wooden chair with wooden handles and a large back. They’ve already moved the body and bagged the ropes as evidence.
“Fuck, why does it smell so rotten here?” Serena covers her nose with her hand.
Better late than never. “Maybe because of the food spilled in the kitchen?” I can’t see past the living room, but I know it’s there.
Serena stalks inside, trying not to step on anything. Too late now. With the number of people who have already trampled over the scene, she wasn’t preserving anything.
“Ugh, it’s gross,” she gags.
I walk around. “Even for a big celebrity, I bet Mr. Robertson didn’t live like this until the cleaning lady visited,” I call out.
“Hmm, the killer did it,” Serena says with certainty.
I follow her voice to the second bedroom. The cupboard door is almost detached, hanging on by a screw and a prayer. “We’re not getting anything here. This has to be the weirdest way of hiding the evidence,” I say.
Serena nods. “Yeah, let’s take a look around, then we can start talking to the neighbors. This much destruction must have caused some serious noise.”
Half an hour later, we walked out with nothing to show for our efforts.
“The patrol officers reported no one heard anything,” I tellSerena as we walk to the next-door neighbor’s place, which is still a good distance away. I’ll completely believe it if they say their human ears didn’t pick up anything, especially if the point of the destruction was hiding evidence in the first place.
***
When we drive back to the station, we’re irritated, hungry, and without any new information about the case beyond Tyler’s apparent love of killing plants. Mrs. Connie, two houses over, wasn’t happy about that. Enough to torture him for days, destroy his house, and kill him? I can’t say. But she’s definitely going on the murder board, if only for annoying us for twenty minutes. I’ll even let Serena do the honors.
“Can it be one of them?” Serena asks.
“We’re definitely checking their alibis. Especially Mrs. Connie. And I don’t believe for one second the model didn’t know he lived next door to Tyler Robertson.”
“Already texted Fallon,” she says.
“Poor guy. His only mistake was taking a bathroom break in the morning, and now he won’t see his bed for weeks,” I shake my head in pity.
“Well, if you’re so hydrated that you need to peethatearly in your shift, you’re basically showing off. He deserves every second of that extra work,” Serena says with an evil glint.
Once we’re back, we make a beeline for the poor overworked man through the bustling station. He’s hunched over his screen but looks up at us, excited like a puppy.
“Do we have the finances yet?” Serena asks.
“The DA has approved the subpoenas. We’ll have everything by tomorrow,” Fallon informs.
“Perfect,” Serena says and strides over to her desk.
“You did great,” I assure the man before I follow Serena.
