Silent Witness. Diane Burke

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СКАЧАТЬ father, Arthur Bradford, the former sheriff for over thirty years, controlled his town with an iron glove resulting in minimal crime activity and making Country Corners an ideal place to raise a family. But as much as she’d loved her father, she also knew he had bullied anyone different, creative or fragile. Liz had witnessed one too many times how officers like Tom and her father had toughened boys up. She wanted no part of it on her watch. She ignored Tom, adjusted her sunglasses and turned her attention to Detective Sal Rizzo, her right hand…and best friend.

      “What have we got?”

      “We’ve got a slaughter, that’s what we got.” Tom spoke before Sal had a chance to answer. He lifted his hat and raked a hand through his gray hair. “I worked for your daddy for almost thirty years, Sheriff, and we ain’t never seen the likes of this.” He lowered his voice and whispered in a protective, almost fatherly way, “Are you gonna be all right? Nobody would fault you none if you decide not to do a walk-through on this one. I can tell you what you’d see inside and you can get the rest from pictures.”

      Ever since she’d stepped into her father’s shoes as sheriff, she’d been trying to prove her own worth and not be seen as Bradford’s kid. She knew her lithe figure, blond hair and blue eyes didn’t paint a picture of a tough, mean, legal machine, but she could hold her own and then some.

      Liz peered over the top of her sunglasses and stared at the man eyeball to eyeball. At times like these, she was grateful for her five-foot-eleven-inch height. “I’m going to accept those remarks as well-meaning concern, Deputy Miller, and not that you question my ability to do my job.”

      A flush rose on the officer’s neck. “Course not, Sheriff. You’re great at your job. Your daddy would be proud.”

      Liz sighed. She knew that was the best she was going to get out of Miller. He was from the old school. It was difficult for him to see women as cops and more difficult to have one as his boss—particularly one he’d tripped over for years as she crawled and romped under her daddy’s feet.

      Her radio crackled. “Bravo 24. Code 117—15 Briarcrest Road, Apartment seven.”

      Code 117. Domestic dispute.

      Danny Trent must have woken up with a hangover and decided to wipe the floor with his wife, Cathleen—again. This was turning out to be a busy morning.

      “Tom, call it in. Since you’ve already had one run-in with Danny, you can have the pleasure of handling this one. Sal and I will finish processing the crime scene here.”

      “Suits me. I saw enough of that mess in there to last me a lifetime.” The older man shuffled away, speaking into his mike as he went.

      Sal escorted Liz the few remaining steps to the house, filling her in on the way. “The place has been ransacked top to bottom. Every drawer opened. Things tossed and smashed. But as far as I can see, it wasn’t a robbery.”

      “How can you be sure?”

      “The television and surround-sound system are still standing there large as life in the living room. The lady’s purse is lying on the kitchen floor with about fifty dollars’ cash still in it. A nice-size diamond ring was still on Mrs. Henderson’s left hand when we found her. Mr. Henderson’s wallet with cash and all his charge cards are still inside, too. If the family interrupted a burglar and it went bad, he would have at least scooped up that stuff before he took off.”

      “Makes sense. Let’s take a look.”

      Sal opened the front door and stood to the side.

      Liz slipped her hair inside a net. She accepted the paper booties that Sal handed her and put them over her shoes. With the use of DNA results in court, combined with advances in forensic testing, it was more important than ever to keep a clean crime scene. She was thankful that when she’d been elected to office she’d put those procedures into play and her investigation team honored them, even if they did have to ship things to state labs because they couldn’t afford their own equipment.

      “Where’s Darlene?”

      “She’s inside placing the evidence placards and taking pictures.”

      “Okay. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Then she stepped inside.

      Liz didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until the ache in her chest reminded her that her lungs were about to explode. She coughed out the pent-up air and quickly inhaled, pulling in lifesaving oxygen, only to realize that it was tinted with the coppery scent of blood.

      She paused for a moment in the foyer, so stunned by the chaos that she didn’t know where to look first. She found it difficult to absorb the total destruction. What hadn’t been tossed around looked like it had been shoved aside or turned over. Liz stepped to the bottom of the staircase and her eyes traced a path toward the top. She stared at the white chalk outline about halfway up.

      “That’s where we found Kate Henderson,” Sal said. “Four gunshot wounds to the back.”

      Liz couldn’t picture the singing-in-the-choir Kate with the outline sprawled on the stairs. A deep sadness came over her. She hadn’t known the woman well but no one should die like this.

      “Morning, Sheriff.”

      Liz turned toward the voice and saw Darlene standing by the kitchen. She held yellow placards in her gloved hands. Her pale complexion, framed by short carrot-colored curls, looked even paler than usual.

      “I think it started in here.” Her deputy gestured behind her.

      When Liz reached the kitchen doorway, her eyes widened but she fought hard not to let any other sign of emotional distress cross her face. The dozens of yellow evidence placards looked out of place—almost like a field of spring flowers planted in a valley of destruction. The kitchen, a place for happy family gatherings, was now a gruesome crime scene depicting violence and loss. It was one she wished she hadn’t had to witness and one she knew she wouldn’t soon forget.

      “Darlene and I talked about it, boss.” Sal came up behind her. “Best we can figure, Mrs. Henderson came in the back door unexpectedly.”

      “Yeah,” Darlene said, stress evident in her voice. “See…” She pointed to a woman’s purse and bags of spilled groceries strewn by the back entrance. “We think she surprised her husband and his assailant while they were in the middle of a fight. She got scared and dropped everything.”

      “It looks like she tried to run past them. Almost made it, too.” Sal pointed to the stain on the door frame. “But the killer must have grabbed her. Looks like she slipped and hit her head against the doorjamb. But it didn’t knock her out.”

      Darlene picked up the conversation. “Mr. Henderson probably jumped this guy from behind and tried to pull him off his wife. We figure that’s when she raced past them and headed up the stairs.”

      The three of them retraced their steps and returned to the foyer. Sal pointed a finger at the chalk outline. “She made it halfway up before she was shot.”

      They climbed the stairs and carefully skirted the chalk outline.

      At the top of the stairs, there was a loft. At the end of a six-foot railing was a short hall that led to the bedrooms. The three of them stared down at the foyer below for a better view of the crime scene.

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