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Stacy powered her Camry onto Interstate 90 after coming off U.S. Route 20, heading to Bratenahl.
Bratenahl is a village in Cuyahoga County bordered by Cleveland on three sides and Lake Erie’s shoreline to the north. The suburb is one of Cleveland’s older residential neighborhoods, along with Shaker Heights, Lakewood, and Cleveland Heights. A small community of fewer than twelve hundred residents, many of the homes that line the community are a mixture of stately homes, townhouses, and condominiums on Lake Erie’s lakefront. Lake Shore Boulevard, which runs down the suburb’s outer edge, has been featured many times in national magazines, including Better Homes and Gardens.
Interstate 90 ran parallel to Lake Erie. Stacy had enjoyed boating and walking alongside Lake Erie at one time. That all changed when she was ambushed in September by two men pushing a dangerous drug into Cleveland from Canada through the Cuyahoga River’s wide channels. When Stacy came upon the men as they were loading a boat with drug freight at a dock in the Flats, the men jumped Stacy, knocked her unconscious, and threw her into the Cuyahoga River, hoping the river canal would push her body into Lake Erie.
Stacy had survived but suffered irreparable damage to the tissue and nerve endings in her lungs. Thoracic outlet syndrome was the diagnosis from doctors. The syndrome occurs when blood vessels or nerves in the space between the collarbone and the first rib become compressed. It will typically cause pain in the shoulders and neck and numbness in the fingers. Stacy’s case had been much worse. Since she lay unconscious for so long in the water, the nerve and blood vessel damage had spread to her lungs. At times, Stacy felt like she was trying to breathe with broken shards of glass in her chest while a vice pressed her chest and back together with enormous pressure.
Stacy looked out her driver’s side window to see the lake. In the early morning sunshine, Lake Erie along the shore and I-90 appeared to have rings of light dancing off the water. The rugged shoreline was a tangled mass of gnarled roots writhing down into the water. The rippled water ran right into the crevices, washing soil and dirt from the rocks and lapping them back into the opaque waters of the lake.
Thinking about the damp cold of the water and thoracic outlet syndrome made Stacy shiver. She collected herself and took a few minutes to complete a few breathing exercises, which her doctor had recommended to try and ward off the frequency and potency of her breathing attacks.
Once Stacy had said goodbye to Monica and got away from her, she called Austin back and he gave her the address. It was a neighborhood Stacy knew well.
The Spice Place subdivision was bracketed by two large cul-de-sacs, the furthest of which had homes dappling a long peninsula facing Lake Erie. When Stacy approached the house, she was relieved to see the Bratenahl police had already established a wide perimeter around the property. Two officers manned the entrance and exit roads leading into the subdivision, limiting access to emergency personnel only. As the sun tried to break through the clouds, the pulsing blue and red lights from the police cruisers and ambulances were little more than smudgy illuminations in the slanted gray light.
Stacy parked near the perimeter fence, which was nothing more than yellow police tape wrapped around two oak trees on both sides of the street. She was immediately approached by an older, portly officer who loped with a wide gait as he walked. Stacy pulled back her jacket to reveal her badge and gun. The man sighed, bent down and stared at the shield, and waved her to pass through.
In just a few steps, she was on the front steps of the porch. A cat hung close to the front door with a perplexed look on its face as people rushed around it. Austin traipsed over it, hands covered with latex gloves and his small notepad clutched in between his fingers. He passed Stacy a fresh pair of gloves.
“Who called this in?”
Austin looked back. “The victim’s mother.” He paused for a moment and swallowed.
“There was a baby involved. An infant. Grandma came to pick up her grandson and found her daughter.”
Hearing the word baby made Stacy freeze in horror. She suddenly felt sick, and a stream of bile shot up her throat. “Jesus. A baby was involved?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Please tell me...”
Austin shook his head. “No. He was unharmed. I can’t say the same for the mother.”
“Has someone taken the grandmother’s statement yet?”
“We’re working on that now.”
“Who’s the lead detective here from Bratenahl?”
“Someone named Yates.”
Stacy nodded and stretched the gloves over her hand. “Show me where she is.”
Austin led Stacy into the home’s foyer next to a spacious living room with a wood-burning fireplace and huge double windows bringing in natural light. Straight ahead was a dining room with a small oak table directly adjacent to the kitchen adorned with stainless steel appliances. The windows above the kitchen sink faced the backyard, which had a deck with built-in seating and a picnic table. Directly across the dining room was one of the bedrooms. The hushed voices and blasts of white light from camera bulbs told Stacy this was where the victim was found.
Before Stacy entered the bedroom, she glanced at a picture, framed in glass with gold trim. The photo, taken from a distance, featured a girl standing in front of a wooden fence, posing. It appeared to be a picture taken of the victim when she was in college.
The girl had a tall frame and a slender body. As Stacy leaned in closer, she noticed that the girl’s blue eyes were calm. She had long, wavy blonde hair. The bright red hue of the lipstick she wore accentuated her alabaster skin and eyes. She was a beautiful girl, and Stacy could understand if boys wanted to pursue her.
Austin held out an arm in front of Stacy, blocking her entrance. “It’s really bad.”
Stacy frowned and collected herself. She gave Austin a curt nod.
The bedroom resembled the scene from a horror movie. The room itself was long and narrow, and blood spatter covered three of the four walls. Stacy walked around to the other side of the bed and looked down.
She covered her lips with a gloved hand. “Oh, my God.”
The victim was in a kneeling position, and her upper torso was on the bed itself. There was a pool of blood around her head. Her jeans were cut from the waist down to the seat. Her naked ass was hunched outward. She appeared to have been the victim of a sexual assault.
Stacy looked away as forensic techs moved around her, taking pictures. Austin continued making notes on his notepad.
“There appears to be some brown specks of something on her fingers. It might be makeup or something else,” one of the younger techs said as he squatted down near the body with his camera.
Stacy stepped closer. The victim had been shot eight times at close range, three of the bullets penetrating the back of her skull. The force of the bullets tearing into the skin sprayed blood on the walls as if they had been shot from a cannon. A phrase had been scrawled across the back of her gray sweatshirt in blood. Stacy tugged down on the sweatshirt and squinted. The message read:
She’s all yours. Fuck you!
“Jesus,” Stacy said breathlessly, releasing her hold. She looked over her shoulder to her partner. “Any guesses on how long she’s been here?”
“Dr. Myers is on his way, but the body is still slightly warm to the touch.”
Stacy bent down and looked at the narrow space on the hardwood floor where her legs were bent at the knees. “No blood. Any signs of vaginal or rectal bleeding?”
“None that we found,” Austin said, a slight halt in his voice.
"This poor girl was either the victim of a sexual assault, or it was made to look that way." Stacy left the room and stood in the hallway. Austin followed close behind her. "So, did some sick prick leave that message on the sweatshirt for us, or is it meant for someone else?"
“I don’t know, but that’s one of the worst bodies I’ve ever seen.”
Stacy let some air wheeze between her teeth. “The perp knew that poor girl. That killing was merciless and vengeful. It was personal.”
The sound of a wailing woman echoed in the hallway outside of the bedroom. A strangled cry slipped out between heavy panting.
Stacy pointed. “Is that the grandmother?”
“Yeah. Last name is Crawford.”
“Where’s the baby?”
“In the custody of Child Protective Services at the moment.”
“Recommend to Detective Yates to follow up.”
“Got it.”
Stacy looked around the open areas of the home. It was neat, clean, and tidy.
“And the Bratenahl police found nothing ransacked or broken when they entered?”
Stacy stopped and turned to face Austin. He looked down at his notepad and flipped through some pages. “No. Nothing was taken, and nothing was broken when they came inside.”
In her pocket, Stacy’s cell phone chirped. She pulled it out and stared at the number on the screen. Stacy bit down on her lip and sighed. “Not now.”
After putting the phone back in her pocket, Stacy thought for a moment. Around her, there was no sound in the house, yet everyone was moving.
“That means the killer came in here, took her into the bedroom, and killed her.”
Austin let out a slow, controlled breath and tried to loosen his body movements. “Or maybe the goal was sex, and when she said no, a fight occurred. The perp overpowered her, raped her, and then shot her.”
Stacy crossed her arms. “Maybe, but it didn’t look to me like she had any defensive wounds on her hands. If she fought with her attacker, there should be some scratches and cuts to her hands and fingers.”
They heard another wail followed by a loud cry across the room. Stacy had avoided the next step in the investigation. The next part of any investigation was the one she liked the least: trying to console a victim’s family while cautiously pumping them for information.
“Let’s go talk.”
As they slowly got close, the frame of the older woman sharpened. The grandmother was tall and lean, and her physique matched that of her slain daughter. Her thick white hair was coiffed and layered. Her face was wrinkled near the edges of her eyes and mouth. She had the beginnings of jowls that protruded from under the thin lining of her jaw. Stacy estimated the woman was in her late sixties.
Stacy took off her gloves and crouched down in front of the woman. She smelled of jasmine and chamomile perfume.
“Ma’am, I’m Lieutenant Tavitt. I’m very sorry for your loss. I need to ask you some questions so we can find out who did this to your daughter.”
The woman didn’t look up but instead clutched the wadded-up tissues in her hands. Her eyes shifted to the side and were glazed with a glassy layer of tears. As she blinked, they slid down her cheeks. She bit her lip tightly to hide any sound that wanted to escape. Stacy’s heart sank.
“Please. Call me Virginia.” Her lower lip quivered as the words slowly made their way out of her mouth. “My Brooke... she’s dead. Oh, my God, she’s dead...” She tried to begin again, but what followed was engulfed in tremors.
Stacy stopped for a moment. Heat crawled up the back of her neck. “Excuse me for just a moment, Virginia.”
The older woman nodded, and Stacy grabbed Austin by the arm and stepped into the home’s foyer.
“The victim is Brooke Crawford?”
Austin looked at his partner, confused. “Yes. Why?”
Stacy paled. “I was just speaking to someone that knows her.” Stacy bit down on her lip and looked over at the grief-stricken woman. “This person knows someone who knows the victim quite well.”
Austin scrunched his face together. “I hope there is more to this riddle than what I’m hearing because, right now, I don’t get it.”
Stacy wasn’t sure she understood, either. But Monica DeVito had mentioned that her son Colton had been in love with a Brooke Crawford, and the chances that Colton’s lover and the badly mutilated body in the bedroom were two different people were slim. Stacy hated coincidences.
Stacy walked back into the other room and rested a hand on Virginia’s hands. The skin on them was cold and rough.
Virginia sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “What can I do to help?”
Stacy knelt and peered up at the woman. Her blue eyes seemed dull, while the whites of them were beginning to look bloodshot.
“Is this Brooke’s home?”
Virginia made a face. “What a stupid question.” Her voice now had more bite. “She lived here, didn’t she?”
Stacy paused for a moment and reset. “Of course. I meant did she live here by herself? I understand she had a son...”
Virginia looked over Stacy’s shoulder, straight at Austin, who stood behind his partner. Virginia looked to be in a trance. “Oh, my, my grandson. Luke, my little grandson.” Her voice began to tremble, and the tears returned. “God, where is he? Is he okay?”
Austin stepped forward. “He’s fine, Mrs. Crawford. We’re keeping a close eye on him.”
Stacy turned around and gave a curt nod, thanking Austin for the assistance.
“Did she have a boyfriend or a husband?”
Virginia continued to stare ahead.
“Mrs. Crawford...”
“It could’ve been him. He could’ve done this,” she said coolly, and her eyes shifted down to Stacy. “He wasn’t good for her. Never was. He had a bad temper. Brooke would have these bruises...” Her voice trailed away. “She tried hiding it with makeup and making excuses about how she got them. But a mother always knows.”
Stacy looked back and arched an eyebrow at Austin. “Does he have a name?”
“Jesse. Jesse Williams.”
Stacy could hear Austin scribble down the name. Virginia held up a finger.
“There was someone else.”
Stacy repositioned herself into a seated stance. “What was his name?”
"Colton. Had an Italian last name. Dantonio, or Donato, or something...."
“DeVito.” Stacy felt her stomach drop. No coincidence.
Virginia nodded self-consciously. “I think that’s it. Brooke started talking to him sometime after she and Jesse had a big fight. I can’t remember exactly when. But that Italian boy was here to see Brooke recently. She texted me. She was upset that he was here. I didn’t understand why he was here.”
Austin stopped writing. “Your daughter texted you. When?”
Virginia slowly looked up at him. “Last night. He came over last night. Oh, they broke up a while ago. Brooke always said that Colton never accepted it.”
Virginia sucked in a breath and swallowed. “Brooke was upset—I could tell. When I tried to call her last night... it was late. She didn’t answer the phone. Brooke sent me a message later and said that she would talk to me about it tomorrow. When I came over this morning to pick up Luke so she could go to work, that’s when I...” Her voice trailed away again, and she began to sob heavily.
Stacy’s brain stuttered for a moment. Every part of her went on pause while her thoughts caught up. After a wash of cold crept over her, Stacy stood up. She placed one hand on Virginia’s shoulder.
“It will be okay, Virginia. I promise. It will.”
The woman dabbed her eyes with the soiled tissues again as Stacy led Austin by the arm into the living room.
Austin ran a hand through his moussed hair. “Shit. Colton DeVito was here last night?”
“Apparently so.”
“So, where is he?”
Stacy looked around the room and thought a moment. “Tell Detective Yates that I want to speak to him later. Stay here and keep an eye on things. Check the forensics guys and make sure they don’t overlook anything.”
“On it. But where are you going?”
Stacy had already taken out her cell phone and placed a call to headquarters. “Marty, any idea if Charlie is still in the building?” A pause. “Hey, Charlie.” Another pause. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, and thanks for the help in the lobby earlier. Listen, I need you to find another free officer and go pick up someone for me.” Austin leaned close to the cell phone, trying to hear his response. Stacy turned away from her encroaching partner. “Yes. I want you to find Monica DeVito. She lied to me. Go get her.”