With those pieces of me safe in the fog, I can walk into the crime scene, do what I need to do, and walk out without bringing what I saw with me when I leave.
Then I won’t relive the horror every night when I close my eyes. Nor will I turn to vices to drive away those demons. I’ll never be weak like that again.
When I open my eyes, I move like a feather without any emotional baggage to weigh me down.
Agent McBride circles the hood of the SUV, joining me. Andrews trails right behind us. We have our badges ready as we approach the yellow police tape at the edge of the yard.
I address the uniformed officer stationed at the perimeter. “Who’s in charge?”
He points toward the front door. “Detective Wheeler. He’s inside. Gray hair. Plain clothes.”
Ever the touchy-feely one, Andrews pats the guy’s shoulder as we pass. “Thank you, officer.”
Entering the house, I’m whacked with the stench of stale cigarette smoke mingled with the rusty tang of fresh blood. There must be a boatload of it if we can smell it from the other room. A hint of initial body-decomposition odor makes it even more pungent.
“Sumbitch,” Luke curses under his breath, cupping his mouth and nose. He cuts his wide eyes at me. “That stank would choke a maggot on a gut wagon.”
Andrews saves me from having to respond. “I’ll have to take your word for that, kid.”
From the foyer, I take a cursory scan of the visible portions of the house. There isn’t much to analyze yet. The body was found in the bedroom, so that’s where I’m expecting to see the worst of it.
Stepping deeper into the room, I examine the living area. There’s a lamp knocked onto the floor, sofa cushions skewed, a coffee table on its side, and mail scattered across the living room floor. A foot to the right lies a spilled bottle of bourbon. Curiously, there is no cup. Drinking out of the bottle, perhaps?
I scan the walls. No splintered wood or bullet holes. No smashed glass or books strewn about. As I peer down the hallway, I note some framed photos on the ground.
Addressing my partners, I muse, “I’m betting the vic was on the couch when the unsub came in. Struggled in here before they dragged him into the bedroom. Knocked shit off the walls on the way down there.”
Andrews nods. “Agree.” Like me, he’s in control of his reaction.
On the other end of the spectrum, Luke is trying not to gag at the hideous smell of death. Maybe I should teach him my little cloud technique.
Nah. I’ll let Andrews worry about that. Giving a fuck about others is his shtick.
The detective in charge sees us approach, gaze darting between our trio and landing on Andrews. “You guys FBI?”
“You must be Detective Wheeler. I’m Special Agent Warren Andrews.” My partner waves an open hand in my direction. “Agents Reed Hayes and Luke McBride. What do you have for us so far?”
Detective Wheeler rolls out his shoulders and launches into his explanation. It’s a recap of what we already knew from the briefing SSA Chase gave us at mobile command. Name of the victim, how the body was found, and so on.
“Where’s the girlfriend now?” Andrews asks.
He tips his head to the right. “She’s sitting at the kitchen table with a social worker. Fair warning. You’re not getting much from her. We barely got her name.” He glances at his notepad. “Ginny Lawrence. And if she weren’t in her work uniform, I wouldn’t have caught the casino connection.”
Which means we’d still be sleeping.
Andrews sidesteps to peek into the kitchen, then returns to my side. “After I see the body, I’ll attempt to question her. I’d like to know exactly what she saw first.”
A crime scene tech strides up to us, holding shoe coverings.
The detective waits for us to put them on, then says, “Right this way. Brace yourselves. I’ve never seen anything like this in all my twenty years on the job.”
Can’t wait.
I lower my head and bend slightly in anafter yougesture.
“Looks like I picked the wrong day to quit sniffin’ glue,” Andrews jokes quietly from behind me, quoting an older film that I can’tquiteplace.
I ignore him. No time for laughs. Not for me, anyhow. I appreciate that not everyone handles this the same way. For some people, joking helps them process dark shit.
