“Given the temperature and the humidity and the exposure to the elements through the open roof sections,” Lucy replied, “I’d estimate she’s been here somewhere between four and six days.” She paused. “Possibly a little longer. The conditions have accelerated the process considerably.” She looked back at the body. “My best estimate puts the time of death before the storm hit.”
“Before the storm,” June said from behind Holt.
“Yes,” Lucy confirmed, glancing around at June. “Possibly the day before. Possibly two days before.” She reached carefully andindicated the back of Mrs. Clark’s head without disturbing the position. “I’ll know more once I have her back at the morgue. But right now I’d say the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the posterior cranium. It was a single, significant impact.” She looked at Holt directly. “It’s consistent with what I found on Lacey when they brought her in from the woods and with Judy’s injury as well.”
Holt was quiet for a moment.
“So you’re thinking it was the same weapon?” he asked.
“I can’t confirm that until I’ve done a full examination,” Lucy told him. “But the location, the angle, and the nature of the impact are consistent across all three cases.” She looked at him steadily. “I’ll know more after I’ve gotten her back to the clinic.”
“At a guess,” June asked Lucy. “What do you think they were hit with?”
“Possibly a tire iron,” Lucy said. “Or something similar to that.”
Holt stood up.
He looked at the pulled boards around him. At the systematic, deliberate pattern of the search. At the corner where Mrs. Clark had been placed in the floor cavity with the particular, cold practicality of someone who needed her out of the way and out of sight.
“Oh, and she had a blanket placed over her,” Lucy told them.
“Someone was trying to hide the body?” June asked.
“No,” Lucy said. “It was tucked around her. Like someone had put her to bed.”
Holt’s brows shot up. “So it was someone who cared about her that did this to her?”
“I think so,” Lucy said. “They tucked Mrs. Clark in like she tucked them in.”
Holt thought about that, and the feeling that they were still not seeing the big picture of the case deepened.
“Maybe it was Alfred who covered her?” June reasoned, obviously reading the conflict about the case in Holt’s eyes. “He’s worked with Mrs. Clark for years and years.”
“Could be,” Holt said, his jaw clamping. He’d known Mrs. Clark for as long as he could remember. She’d babysat him and Tom when they were kids. Anger spurted through him, but he pushed it back. “Do you know if Tom’s been told yet?”
“No, sir,” an officer said from behind him.
Holt turned to look at him.
“Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping,” the young man said. “I just brought this over to you.”
It was a piece of cardboard in an evidence bag with what looked like part of a skyline logo on it. “Where did you find this?”
“One of the officers slipped off the boards and fell into the floor near what was once the kitchen area,” the man told Holt. “He stepped on it. But we did take pictures of the area, and one of the officers will let the forensic team know.”
“Thank you,” Holt said, looking at the item.
“What is it?” June asked, tilting her head as he showed her, and she frowned. “That looks almost like the logo for one of Barbara Bass’s items.”
“Barbara Bass?” Holt frowned. The name seemed familiar.
“You don’t know who Barbara Bass is?” June and Lucy asked in unison, staring at Holt as if he were insane.
“No.” Holt shook his head. “But one of you can tell me who she is.”
“She started off with a cooking show,” Lucy answered. “Her recipes were unique, easy to make, and delicious.”
“Her show quickly took off as she was very popular, especially with busy moms,” June continued. “She was a housewife from Miami, and her show just took off.”
