Easing Graham down onto the floor, Rick flinched when Graham’s head hit the tile with a dull thud. He stood there, his hands hovering in the air because he didn’t know what to do with them. For a second, nausea rose again, burning up his throat.
Rick spun toward the sink and leaned over it, turned the tap on, then waited for it to pass. When it did, he rinsed his mouth with cold water and spat, then straightened and stared at his reflection in the dark window above the sink.
His eyes were wide, and his face was pale under the light. There were faint specks on his cheek he hadn’t managed to wipe away, and seeing them caused him to swallow again as his stomach rolled.
Rick’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t going to fall apart.
He left the utility room and shut the door, so Graham’s body was out of sight. It was better with the door shut. He didn’t have to look at him now.
He moved through the kitchen and dining room with slow, careful steps, scanning the area. A chair on its side. The tablecloth now gone, along with the plates and cutlery.
Blood. There was too much blood. He couldn’t erase everything. Not perfectly. But he could change how it looked and disguise what had actually happened.
Rick stared at the dining room and forced himself to think the way a stranger would. The way a police officer would. If someone came in and saw this, what would they think? A fight? A break-in gone wrong?
Rick’s gaze shifted to the back door, then to the front, and then to the windows. He could make it look like someone had forced their way in. He could make it look messy. A random act by some stranger. A robbery gone wrong.
Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Rick realized he was still wearing the dish gloves. He stared at the yellow rubber as if it belonged to someone else, then quickly stripped them off andstuffed them into a trash bag. He placed the bag on the counter so that he wouldn’t forget it later.
He stood still, breathing hard, then opened a few drawers until he found a box of disposable gloves. He pulled a pair on and flexed his fingers. Wearing them was much better. Less chance of him leaving fingerprints, even though his were already on plenty of items. Fewer was better right then.
Grabbing a roll of paper towels and a disinfectant spray, Rick started at the obvious spots first. He wiped the table, the chair legs, and the tiles near the kitchen entrance.
He didn’t let himself think about what he was wiping up or picture it happening again. He moved quickly, then stopped when he heard the paper towels tearing too loudly in the quiet house.
Rick froze and listened, but heard nothing. He wiped again and shoved the used towels into another trash bag. He didn’t know how much time had passed. Ten minutes. Twenty. It felt both too fast and too long. Every time he thought he’d done enough, he saw something else.
Rick stepped back and looked around again. The dining room still looked wrong to him, but maybe that was because he knew what had happened. All he knew for certain was that he needed a plan. Not a perfect plan. Just a plan that wouldn’t point to him as the killer.
He walked into the living room and looked again at the photos on the mantel. Graham had family. Friends. People who loved him. Someone would notice when he didn’t answer his phone.
But would they notice tonight?
Rick’s thoughts ran ahead. If he staged this as a break-in, it would buy him time. It would point the police in a different direction. It would make his presence look normal. A meeting and a dinner, but he would still be the last person to see him alive, and that was an issue.
Rick knew that. The last person to see him alive was always a problem. He needed an alibi. He needed to be seen leaving at a reasonable time, and he needed to act like the kind of guy who would go home after dinner and message his friends about their conversation as normal.
Rick walked back to the dining room and stared at the overturned chair again. If there had been a break-in, the scene needed to look like it had started somewhere else. Not at the table after their meal.
He moved the chair fully away from where it had fallen and placed it upright. Then he hesitated and tipped it again, so it hit the floor with a thud and scraped.
He winced at the sound, then listened to the silence again. When there was still nothing, Rick swallowed and kept going. He went into the office off the hallway. It was small, with a desk and a laptop, and framed certificates on the wall.
Rick opened drawers and pulled papers out, letting them drop to the floor. He opened a cabinet and knocked over a stack of folders.
Pausing, Rick stared at what he’d done. It looked forced and staged to him. Rick moved faster. He pulled a few books off a shelf, shoved a chair askew, knocked a pen cup onto its side so the pens rolled, and then he looked around the room again. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked better than before.
Leaving the office, Rick stepped into Graham’s bedroom. The room was tidy, with the bed made. A suit jacket hung over a chair, as if Graham had come in and changed.
Rick’s throat tightened, and for a second, reality hit again. Graham had lived here. He’d thought he was safe in his own home, and Rick had changed all of that. Rick forced the thought away and went to the dresser. He pulled out a drawer and dumped it. Socks, shirts, and a watch case. He yanked a second drawer and let it spill, and then he stopped.
He stepped back and stared at the room. The mess looked random enough, as if someone had ransacked the place searching for valuables.
Rick grabbed the watch case and hesitated, then shoved it into his pocket. He had to take something valuable to make this look like a robbery gone wrong. He closed the drawer halfway, leaving it hanging out as if someone had been interrupted, then backed out and left the door partially open.
He moved to the front of the house and looked at the entrance. If it was a break-in, someone needed to have gotten in, but he couldn’t actually break a window. Glass could create more problems, and he had enough already.
Rick stared at the front door lock, then at the back door, and chose the back door. It made more sense because of the yard. Less visibility coming in from that direction.
