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Detective Fin Roberts arrived at 1026 Stanton Road shortly after 1 p.m. The mailman had called to report a foul stench. Since the city was enduring one of the longest heat waves in recent years, he didn’t put much stock in the postman’s observation.
In Roberts’s line of work, people often thought the worst of a situation, only to discover there had been a dead animal or a leaking sewage line. But the tip needed to be investigated, nonetheless.
The address turned out to be a trailer. Rust stains ran down the aluminum sides. The windows were caked in dirt and grime. He hoped the inside fared better. But if the outside looked this bad, the inside was probably much worse.
An elderly man and woman stood near a fence made of chicken wire that separated the two properties.
A mailman approached as he made his way toward the porch.
“Are you the detective?” the postman asked.
“I am. And are you the one who made the call?”
“Yes, sir. My name is Stanley Moore, but most people call me Rusty.”
“Okay, Rusty. What can you tell me about the person or persons who reside here?”
“Her name is Tracy Black.”
“And what made you call the police?”
Stanley scratched his scalp. “Well, her mail has been piling up and then there’s the foul stench.”
“Could she be out of town?”
Rusty shrugged. “It’s possible, but the couple standing in the yard next door know her better than I do. They’re Tom and Becky Watson.”
Roberts thanked him and walked to the Watsons. After quick introductions he learned they lived next to Tracy Black for the past three years.
“Could she be out of town,” Roberts asked.
“I don’t think so,” Becky Watson said. She pointed to a well-used sedan. “That’s her car.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
Tom cleared his throat. “She used to be a flight instructor. Flying was her life. Her passion. But four years ago, she crashed a plane. One of her students died. Tracy suffered serious injuries which required a number of surgeries.”
“Does she still fly?”
“No. The FAA revoked her license, and she was fired from her job.”
“She currently employed?”
Becky nodded. “Odd jobs here and there, but nothing full-time.”
“Thank you,” Roberts said. “I may come back and ask more questions.”
The detective walked up the rickety steps. Several creaked so loud he thought they might break. Before he reached the front door, he caught a whiff of a scent he was all too familiar with.
He tried the doorknob, but it was locked.
“There’s a key under the mat,” Becky said from across the yard.
The inside of the trailer was fairly clean. Much better than he gave credit for. The kitchen was free of dishes, the living room clear of trash except for a stack of overdue bills on the coffee table. Next to the bills was an empty bottle of pain pills. He read the prescription and noticed it had been filled three days ago.
He set the bottle down and made his way toward the foul smell. Each of the bedrooms along the way were clean. The bathroom didn’t have any clutter. Tracy Black kept a tidy place.
When he opened the master bedroom in the back of the trailer, the rancid smell made his eyes water. The body of a decomposing woman lay on the bed. Flies swarmed her.
Then he noticed the clutter in the room. A chair had been knocked on its side. The dresser drawers had been pulled out and clothes littered the floor.
He walked to the vanity in a corner where a jewelry box had been opened. There were several gold earrings, necklaces and a pearl necklace that appeared genuine.
Roberts searched the room to make sure he hadn’t missed any evidence. He would need to get a crime scene team out here to dust for fingerprints, but he was sure this was a suicide and not a murder.
Why does Detective Fin Roberts believe this is a suicide?
His first clue is the front door was locked. If someone ransacked the house after killing Tracy Black, they probably wouldn’t lock the door behind them.
The second clue is the empty pain prescription bottle. It had been filled three days earlier. There should be more pills.
The final clue was the bedroom. Although it appeared as though someone rummaged through the room, nothing was taken. No thief would leave behind valuable jewelry.
Fin Roberts believes Tracy Black committed suicide but wanted to make it appear as though she’d been murdered. He didn’t know if she did this because she was so far in debt, she was in too much pain, or the fact the FAA took away her pilot license.