I had spent a couple of hours driving around before returning to my rental apartment. There was something about the lowlands at sunset. I pulled to the curb. All the windows in the old lady’s place were dark. Asleep, I figured. And why not. It was after ten p.m. She had no need to be up past that. The city was reserved at this time of night for the freaks, partiers, college kids, and the folks waiting around the block for a scoop or two of ice cream from Leopold’s.
Sleep was not easily attained, but once under, I was out until my alarm went off at five-thirty a.m. After a quick shower and shave, I threw on a pair of dark jeans and a grey button-up shirt and was out the door.
The old woman threw hers open about the same time. Had she been waiting for me?
“Coffee, Mr. Tanner?”
“I would, ma’am, but I’m kinda in a rush this morning.”
“Please ignore anything you might have heard last night.”
I stopped and glanced back at her. Her smile betrayed her narrowed eyes and tight-knit eyebrows. Even the wrinkles in her forehead thinned out. What did her words mean? Were they as simple as what she stated?
The smile faded. “Well, you just knock if you’re around for dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.”
The street was empty. Quiet. No sounds of a saxophone from a nearby square. The freaks and partiers and college kids had retired hours ago. The wind tore through the late autumn leaves, spinning them up and down the street. Sounded like a dozen joggers rushing past.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and then drove straight to Cassie’s. The sun crested over her roof, shaking off the morning chill in the air. Clouds turned from silver to blaze orange. I headed up the driveway to avoid the heavy coating of dew on the grass.
Cassie opened the door, waved, then backed into the darkened hallway. The smell of bacon hit me before I reached the porch. By the time I stepped foot in the kitchen, she had a plate of bacon and eggs on the table with a steaming mug of coffee next to it. I practically responded like a dog.
“They are going to meet us here in half an hour,” she said. “I already warned them that you’d be around. Go ahead and eat up.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I scarfed the food, had another five strips of bacon, and downed two mugs before the detectives arrived.
We met them outside. There were minimal greetings between the detectives and me. Their interactions with Cassie were subdued as well. Too somber a morning for anything more. This wasn’t about any of us and we all knew it. Faces were long and drawn with the thought of what was ahead. I had a feeling I’d regret eating before the walk-through.
Cassie rode with me in the rental. Each of us made lame attempts at conversation that quickly died while we followed the detectives. After twenty minutes or so, Pennington pulled their sedan over in front of a small house with a fence that wrapped around the entire property. Doors opened. Shoes hit the ground. We were still a block away. Cassie sat with her eyes closed.
In a cracked, breathy voice, she said, “This is the place.”
I idled in the middle of the road. “I’m not a psychic and I could’ve told you that.”
She turned her head toward me, slowly opening her eyes, the look on her face indicating she did not find my comment amusing.
Pennington stood at the front of his car, directing me to pull in front of them. After parking the rental, we convened at their trunk. The lid was popped open. Inside were a black and two blue milk crates filled with various items. Pennington tossed us each a pair of booties and gloves. I would have preferred the shotgun he had tucked in there, too.
“I don’t need to go over the instructions with you, do I, Tanner?”
I blew a puff of air into each glove in preparation of donning them. “I think I got it.”
“Follow me, then.” Pennington waved over his shoulder and led us to the crime scene.
Cervantes had already entered. His shadow lingered in the doorway while we approached. It vanished before we stepped off the sidewalk. Why did he want to get ahead of us? I dove down the rabbit hole as we crossed the yard. Cervantes knew his partner. Knew Pennington’s tendencies. The things the man would miss. He didn’t know me, though. What if there was something in the house he didn’t want me to notice?
He was waiting near the back wall of the room when we entered. His gaze drifted from me to Cassie, where it remained for a few seconds too long. His expression was neutral, making it difficult to gauge his intentions.
“Everything good?” Pennington asked.
“Yeah,” Cervantes said, keeping his focus on Cassie. “No one’s been in here. Looks like forensics finished up, and managed to do so without destroying anything.” He nodded slightly, then added, “We figured keeping the scene as true as possible might help you, Cassie.”
“I solved a ten-year-old murder for you when all we had was a fragment of bone and two small squares of fabric from a red-checked flannel shirt,” she said. “I don’t think it matters.”
“Whatever.” Cervantes turned and left the room in the direction of the kitchen, muttering something under his breath.
“It’s a tough house to be in,” Pennington said. “Even for us vets. Know what I mean?”
“That I do,” I said. Didn’t matter how many times you saw the sights. Each case had the ability to affect you in a new and even more disturbing way. Sure, we joked while in groups, attempting to stifle our true thoughts and feelings. But you can’t escape demons. They have a way of lingering and overstaying their welcome. Even the ones that don’t belong to you. Sometimes especially so.
“You feeling anything?” Pennington asked Cassie.
She reached out and traced her fingertips along the wall. Up as high as she could. Down to the chair rail. She dug into the groove and walked forward.
I followed Pennington to the kitchen. Bloody footprints staggered across the linoleum. Two distinct sets, for sure. One barefoot. With the benefit of sunlight, I looked back and saw how they approached from the hall Cassie had disappeared down. There, the person owning the size twelves walked while the other had been dragged, leaving a crimson trail in their wake. Had it been her blood dripping down her legs, or the blood of another that she’d been pulled through?
The sink looked undisturbed. White. Not a stain on it. Odd, I thought. The guy didn’t bother to wash off in it. He wouldn’t have taken the time to clean up the mess there and not the rest of the place.
“Was the sink like that from the beginning?” I asked.
Pennington nodded. “He was in a hurry to get out of here, not wash off. Pretty big risk.”
“Guess he figured if he got pulled over the bloody girl in the backseat would give it away.” I walked over to the sink, stared out the case window above. Cervantes stood in the back corner of the yard, smoking a cigarette. He let the smoke slip out of his mouth and nose. Looked like a deranged bull in a cartoon. Was he always this anti-social? I was about to ask Pennington when something pulled me back.
The sound of Cassie’s hurried footsteps echoed off the walls. I spun around. She stood in front of the hallway, pale, gasping for breath. I rushed toward her. Pennington did too.