Fatal Flaw by Marie Force Page B

job,” she said to the patrolman. Sam snapped on latex gloves and headed for the open front door. To Freddie, she said, “Check on the canvass.”
    “On it,” he said.
    Inside the nicely furnished home, Sam nodded to the officer who greeted her.
    “This way, Lieutenant.”
    She followed him from the living room to a spacious kitchen that boasted modern appliances in brushed stainless. A designer purse sat on the kitchen table next to keys and a smartphone.
    “I was sorry to hear your father is ill,” the officer said, jarring Sam from her thoughts about the case.
    “Thank you.”
    “We’re all pulling for him.”
    “I appreciate that, and I’m sure he will too.”
    They stepped through a sliding glass door to a stone patio that boasted a glass table and wrought-iron chairs with green-and-white-striped pads. Pots of well-tended blooms added a cheerful dose of color.
    The officer pointed to the dead woman, who was sprawled facedown on the far side of the table. “Hit from behind with a blunt object is my guess,” he said, pointing to the back of her head. She’d bled so profusely that it was almost impossible to tell that her hair had been blond.
    A gasp from behind them caught Sam’s attention, and she turned in time to watch the color drain from the face of a man in a dark business suit as he caught sight of the dead woman. He staggered and gripped one of the chairs to steady himself. Something about him was familiar to Sam.
    “Oh my God,” he said. “ Crystal. What happened?”
    “We don’t know yet. What’s your name?”
    “Jed. Jed Trainer.”
    “And she’s your wife?”
    “Yes.” He nodded and then glanced at Sam. “We’ve been separated for a few months, but we’d been working on it.” His voice caught, and his eyes filled. “God. Crystal. I can’t believe this.”
    “One of the officers said your son is due home momentarily,” Sam said.
    He raised a shaking hand to consult his watch. “Yes, any minute. How will I tell him? They were so close. And poor Nicole to come home and find this…”
    “Go meet your son, and we’ll discuss this further when you’ve had a chance to tell him what’s happened.”
    “Yes. Yes, okay.” He took another long look at the woman on the patio before he turned and went inside.
    Lindsey McNamara came through the slider next. “We meet again,” she said to Sam, shaking her head with dismay as she took in the scene. She squeezed Sam’s arm. “I was sorry to hear about your dad. He’s a fighter.”
    “We’re counting on that.”
    “If there’s anything I can do—anything at all—you know where I am.”
    “Thank you.”
    Lindsey tugged on gloves, knelt on the patio and went to work examining the body.
    “I need a time of death to get me started,” Sam said.
    “Judging from the clotting and rigor, I’m guessing about three hours ago.” Lindsey lifted some strands of hair to better expose the wound on the back of her scalp. “Looks like one lethal blow from behind. Probably took her by surprise.”
    An anguished scream came from inside the house, and Sam shuddered. “That’d be the son hearing the news.”
    “How old?” Lindsey asked.
    “Eight.”
    “God. Poor kid.”
    “Kids, plural. The twelve-year-old daughter found her.”
    “Ugh.”
    Sam had so many competing emotions storming around inside her—worry about her father’s health, thoughts of the new case and the poor children who’d lost their mother—that she had to force herself to focus on her job. She was concerned about McBride and whether she’d made a mistake bringing her recovering detective back to work so soon after the egregious attack. Then there was the matter of Gardner and the offer she’d made him hoping to gain some new information about her father’s shooting. And not to be forgotten were the threats they’d found in the wedding cards. It was all too much for one brain to process.
    “Sam?” Lindsey jarred her out of the pensive state she’d slipped