“I’ll let you into the guest house,” Carla said. “That’s where he lived.”
“We also need to search your home,” Emerson said.
“No, you don’t,” Carla objected. “Lyle didn’t live with us.”
“Based on the severity of the crimes, the warrant applies to the entire property.” Emerson called one of the officers waiting outside. “We’re starting the search.”
Carla crushed the cigarette in an ashtray. “You don’t have the right—”
“The warrant gives us the right,” Nikki explained.
“I’ll be back in a few.” Carla moseyed toward the stairs.
Emerson stood at the base of the winding staircase leading to the second floor. “Mrs. Barnham, you can’t go upstairs.”
Carla strode over and glared at Emerson. “You can’t boss me around in my own home. You two need to leave,now.”
“Step away from Detective Easton,” Nikki said.
Carla shoved Emerson out of the way, then took off for the stairs. Nikki grabbed Carla by the wrist. “You’re under arrest for impeding our investigation and for assaulting an officer.”
Two uniformed officers entered the home. “What’s going on?” one of them asked.
“I didn’t agree to this search and I have my rights. This is my house and you need to get the hell out of it!”
“Mrs. Barnham isn’t cooperating,” Emerson said. “Can one of you take her in and put her in holding until we complete the search?”
While the officer cuffed Carla, she yelled, “I’m calling my lawyer and suing you for breaking and entering.”
As the officer led her down the driveway, Carla’s rants could be heard in the house.
“We’ll have to search for keys to the guest house,” Emerson said.
They found no keys in the kitchen, so while several officers began searching the home for evidence, Nikki and Emerson headed to the guest house.
“The main residence is massive,” Nikki said.
At the quaint entrance to the guest house, they pulled on disposable gloves. Emerson tried the door. It was locked.
“That would be too easy,” Nikki said.
The women split up, looking for an unlocked window. Emerson found one on the south side. “Nikki,” she called. “I’ve got one.”
It took some work, but they opened the window. Emerson pulled on shoe coverings, climbed in, and opened the front door.
When Nikki turned on the light, they stared at the photos covering two walls in the living room. “Wow, that’s a lot of pictures.”
Lyle had photographed his victims and taken selfies posing with them, both in and out of his disguise. Emerson’s stomach roiled. Lyle Barnham was the worst kind of evil.
A shoebox filled with jewelry sat on the kitchen table. Emerson recognized a ring worn by Claire-Marie and a cell phone she presumed was April Peters’s. Beside the keepsake box lay the missing dishtowels from his victims’ kitchens, folded neatly.
On the counter, they found three vials of ketamine from a veterinary clinic.
“He could’ve broken into the animal hospital,” Nikki said. “Or he paid someone for the drugs.”
In addition to the photos and keepsakes from the victims, their search turned up two laptops. The only rooms used were one of the bedrooms and the kitchen, but there was hardly any food in the fridge. “He was all alone,” Emerson said. “And his parents lived a hundred feet away from him.”
As the sun cleared the horizon, one of the officers popped her head inside the guest house. “Detectives, you’re gonna want to see to what we found.”
