Amy reached over and placed her hand on Franks's forearm as he steered. "You're really not thinking he won't return to work, are you? Of course he'll be back. Being a detective is in his blood. If he's able to physically handle the job, he'll be back. I have no doubt about that. What else is he going to do? He's not the kind of guy who can sit still. He'd go nuts sitting behind a desk or retiring early. Nope. He'll be right back by your side, listening to your horrible jokes, watching you eat greasy foods, and teasing you about your lack of social skills."
"I don't lack social skills. I just hate being social," Franks objected, ignoring the fact that she had pegged him correctly on all the other things. Focusing on following the GPS, he got them to the scene in less than ten minutes. Red and blue lights lit up the neighborhood while people stood in their front yards, watching the activity.
Amy waited on the sidewalk for Franks to join her. "Please tell me those kids didn't witness this." Her gaze was on two girls and a boy sitting with an officer on the front porch.
Franks guessed their ages to range from around six to sixteen. He wasn't good at guessing ages, but it was clear the boy was oldest. He had his arms around each of the girls as they both cried. The boy just stared ahead, as if watching, but not seeing. The uniformed officer looked concerned but didn't speak to the kids. Franks guessed she was there to keep the kids from going back into the house. "Glad we weren't first on scene."
"We'll still have to talk to them. Find out what they might have seen or heard." Amy paused at the door to show her ID, sign in, and pull the covers over her shoes.
Franks did the same. He was barely inside the door and could already smell the coppery scent of blood and feel the heaviness that seemed to invade every home they entered when a death occurred. He couldn't explain the feeling. Had tried many times. There was just something in the air that felt different. It had to be his imagination, but it was something he noticed every time he walked into a building where someone had died recently.
"What do we have?" Amy asked a male officer as they moved toward the living room.
Franks could see an arm from one of the bodies beside the couch, but he wasn't in position yet to see more. He guessed it to be the woman from the longer, red painted fingernails.
"Son saw it all happen. Said that his parents were fighting. Father pulled out his gun, shot the mother, then shot himself," the young officer told them.
"Shit, he saw it? Where were the girls?" Amy asked.
"In their bedroom. The brother made them stay there until we arrived. We were able to make sure they didn't see anything as we walked them outside once we'd secured the scene.Grandparents are on the way here. Husband's parents. They're aware of what happened." The officer shook his head. "Horrible. How can any parent do this kind of thing in front of their kids?"
"I'll never understand half the things I see on this job." Franks moved farther into the living room. A man lay beside the coffee table in a mess of blood and brain matter. Half of his face was gone, and the rest was a jumbled mass of stuff Franks didn't want to think about. The woman was several feet from the man, lying face down in a pool of blood. "Where was she shot?"
"We think the chest, but we didn't move her once we confirmed she was dead." The officer stood back, away from the scene. "Medical examiner is on the way. We'll know more once he gets here."
"Will probably be Mack." Franks was careful not to disturb the scene as he crouched down to get a better look at the gun that rested on the floor, inches from the dead man's right hand. He tried to imagine what happened by the placement of the bodies but was having trouble seeing it. Of course, the man could have shot the woman, then moved. He would need to interview the son. Find out where the parents were both standing. He'd also have to wait on the crime scene unit to come in and do their job to better understand why it appeared the woman fell toward her husband and not back from the power of being shot in the chest. Most victims who were shot in the chest ended up on their backs and not face down. There were too many factors to consider. Maybe the woman didn't go down quickly. Perhaps she somehow managed to stay standing, then fell to her knees, then forward. Something just felt off.
"Any history of domestic issues?" Amy asked the officer.
"Nothing. No calls to this location on record. We'll speak to neighbors and of course the kids, but nothing in the system." The young officer glanced toward the front door. "Will you talk to the kids tonight?"
Amy nodded. "At least with the son since he witnessed everything. We'll see if the girls heard anything. We'll have to wait for the grandparents to get here to speak with the girls. They're too young to interview without a guardian. The boy's old enough to speak with us on his own."
Franks stood, walking into the kitchen, looking around as he tried to get an idea of what the mood in the house was before the shooting. A pound of hamburger sat on the counter, still in its packaging. A backpack sat on one of the chairs, and an open laptop sat on the kitchen table. Franks walked closer, then used his gloved hand to bump the touch pad, hoping that despite his gloves, it would bring the computer to life. He was in a gray area. Legally, he would need a warrant to see what was on the computer, but he couldn't help it if he accidentally bumped it. He smiled as the screen flashed on and then sighed, seeing what appeared to be information on the bookGreat Gatsby. He figured it was the son's computer, and he was working on something from school. It was the only tab that was open on the computer, and he didn't dare do anything more until they had a warrant to back up any investigation they had to do.
"Thawing meat for dinner?" Amy asked as she joined him in the kitchen.
"Probably. Looks like someone was doing homework here." He nodded to the computer. "Probably the son.Great Gatsbywas a high school read, wasn't it?"
"God, I hated that book. Yeah. I think I was a junior when I had to read it. Too long ago to remember." Amy glanced out into the backyard. "Nice home, well kept yard. What the hell happened here?" Amy turned to him.
"Let's go talk to the son and find out." Franks hated the idea of putting the son through everything, but they needed to understand why this happened.
As they made their way to the front door, Sam walked in with Kyle carrying everything they would need to confirm the deaths and load the bodies to head back to the Medical Examiner's Office.
"How's Angus?" Sam paused as he came through the door and saw Franks.
"Same. Stable, but unresponsive. Just how they want him right now." Franks tried to sound positive, but the memory of Angus in that bed sent a feeling of loss and dread through him. "Not sure how long they'll keep him in that coma."
"As long as they need to if it keeps him alive." Sam glanced toward the living room. "Bad?"
"Bad enough, but something's off. Can't put my finger on it. Hopefully you'll see whatever it is I'm missing. We're about to go talk to the son who witnessed it all happen." Franks shrugged. "Maybe I'm just tired, but my gut is telling me there's something more to this."
Amy nodded. "Mine too. Maybe it's just the fact that it happened with the kids home that makes me uncomfortable, but there's no sign of any physical aggression. Furniture isn't overturned. No history of domestic issues that we know of. Usually there's a lot of physical fighting before we see these kinds of things happen."
"I'll see what we find. Thanks for the heads up." Sam nodded to Kyle to head on into the living room. "How's Lance? Can we do anything for him?"
Franks shook his head. "He's holding up. Won't leave the hospital, but we're all making sure he's taken care of. Maybe bring him a hot coffee or something he likes to eat if you visit. I'm sure he'll tire of cafeteria food. Honestly, I'm not sure what to do for him. He's just so worried about Angus."
