edge soaked into an expensive Persian rug. With little effort, Maggie could see a spatter pattern on the oak door. Oddly, the spatter reached only to about knee level.
Maggie was lost in thought and hadn’t entered the room when the detective in a bright blue sports jacket and wrinkled chinos yelled at her.
“Hey, lady. How the hell did you get in here?”
The two other men stopped their work in opposite corners of the room and stared at her. Maggie’s first impression of the detective was that he looked like a wrinkled advertisement for the Gap.
“My name’s Maggie O’Dell. I’m with the FBI.” She opened her badge to him, but her eyes were examining the rest of the room.
“The FBI?”
The men exchanged looks while Maggie took a careful step around the puddle and into the room. More blood speckled the white down comforter on the four-poster bed. Despite the spatter of blood, the bedcovers remained neatly spread with no indentations. Whatever struggle took place did not make it to the bed.
“What’s the FBI’s interest in this?” the man in the bright sports jacket demanded.
He scraped a hand over his head, and Maggie wondered if the buzz cut was recent. His dark eyes slid down her body, and again she was reminded of her inappropriate attire. She glanced at the other two men. One was in uniform. The other, an older gentleman—who Maggie guessed was the medical examiner—was dressed in a well-pressed suit and a silk tie held down by an expensive gold collar bar.
“Are you Detective Manx?” she asked the buzz cut.
His eyes shot up to hers, the look not only registering surprise but alarm that she knew his name. Was he worried that his superiors were checking up on him? He looked young, and Maggie guessed he was close to her age—somewhere in his early thirties. Perhaps this was his first lead in a homicide.
“Yeah, I’m Manx. Who the hell called you?”
It was time to confess.
“I live down the street. I thought I might be able to help.”
“Christ!” The same hand swiped over his face as he glanced at the other two men. They quietly watched as though observing a standoff. “Just because you’ve got a fucking badge, you think you can barge in here?”
“I’m a forensic psychologist and a profiler. I’m used to examining scenes like this. I thought I could—”
“Well, we don’t need any help. I’ve got everything under control.”
“Hey, Detective.” The yellow-tape officer from outside walked into the room and immediately all eyes watched him step into the puddle. He jerked his foot up and awkwardly stepped back into the hall, holding up the dripping toe of his shoe.
“Hell, I can’t believe I did that again,” he muttered.
Just then Maggie realized the intruder had been more careful. The toe print she had seen was worthless. When she looked back at Manx, his eyes darted away. He shook his head, disguising the embarrassment as disdain for the young officer.
“What is it, Officer Kramer?”
Kramer looked desperately for somewhere to place his foot. He glanced up apologetically as he rubbed the sole on the hall carpet. This time Manx avoided looking at Maggie. Instead, he shoved his large hands into his jacket pockets as if needing to restrain them from strangling the young rookie.
“What the hell do you need, Kramer?”
“It’s just…there are a few neighbors out front asking questions. I wondered if maybe I should start questioning them. You know, see if anybody saw something.”
“Get names and addresses. We’ll talk to them later.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer seemed relieved to escape the new stain he had created.
Maggie waited. The other two men stared at Manx.
“So tell me, O’Donnell. What’s your take of this mess?”
“O’Dell.”
“Excuse me?”
“The name’s O’Dell,” she said, but she wouldn’t wait for another invitation. “Is the body in the bathroom?”
“There’s a whirlpool bath with more blood, but no body. In fact, we
Maggie was lost in thought and hadn’t entered the room when the detective in a bright blue sports jacket and wrinkled chinos yelled at her.
“Hey, lady. How the hell did you get in here?”
The two other men stopped their work in opposite corners of the room and stared at her. Maggie’s first impression of the detective was that he looked like a wrinkled advertisement for the Gap.
“My name’s Maggie O’Dell. I’m with the FBI.” She opened her badge to him, but her eyes were examining the rest of the room.
“The FBI?”
The men exchanged looks while Maggie took a careful step around the puddle and into the room. More blood speckled the white down comforter on the four-poster bed. Despite the spatter of blood, the bedcovers remained neatly spread with no indentations. Whatever struggle took place did not make it to the bed.
“What’s the FBI’s interest in this?” the man in the bright sports jacket demanded.
He scraped a hand over his head, and Maggie wondered if the buzz cut was recent. His dark eyes slid down her body, and again she was reminded of her inappropriate attire. She glanced at the other two men. One was in uniform. The other, an older gentleman—who Maggie guessed was the medical examiner—was dressed in a well-pressed suit and a silk tie held down by an expensive gold collar bar.
“Are you Detective Manx?” she asked the buzz cut.
His eyes shot up to hers, the look not only registering surprise but alarm that she knew his name. Was he worried that his superiors were checking up on him? He looked young, and Maggie guessed he was close to her age—somewhere in his early thirties. Perhaps this was his first lead in a homicide.
“Yeah, I’m Manx. Who the hell called you?”
It was time to confess.
“I live down the street. I thought I might be able to help.”
“Christ!” The same hand swiped over his face as he glanced at the other two men. They quietly watched as though observing a standoff. “Just because you’ve got a fucking badge, you think you can barge in here?”
“I’m a forensic psychologist and a profiler. I’m used to examining scenes like this. I thought I could—”
“Well, we don’t need any help. I’ve got everything under control.”
“Hey, Detective.” The yellow-tape officer from outside walked into the room and immediately all eyes watched him step into the puddle. He jerked his foot up and awkwardly stepped back into the hall, holding up the dripping toe of his shoe.
“Hell, I can’t believe I did that again,” he muttered.
Just then Maggie realized the intruder had been more careful. The toe print she had seen was worthless. When she looked back at Manx, his eyes darted away. He shook his head, disguising the embarrassment as disdain for the young officer.
“What is it, Officer Kramer?”
Kramer looked desperately for somewhere to place his foot. He glanced up apologetically as he rubbed the sole on the hall carpet. This time Manx avoided looking at Maggie. Instead, he shoved his large hands into his jacket pockets as if needing to restrain them from strangling the young rookie.
“What the hell do you need, Kramer?”
“It’s just…there are a few neighbors out front asking questions. I wondered if maybe I should start questioning them. You know, see if anybody saw something.”
“Get names and addresses. We’ll talk to them later.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer seemed relieved to escape the new stain he had created.
Maggie waited. The other two men stared at Manx.
“So tell me, O’Donnell. What’s your take of this mess?”
“O’Dell.”
“Excuse me?”
“The name’s O’Dell,” she said, but she wouldn’t wait for another invitation. “Is the body in the bathroom?”
“There’s a whirlpool bath with more blood, but no body. In fact, we
Similar Books
