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“Wonder why he didn’t try to charm his neighbors.”
Kit tugged on the straps of her tactical vest. All of them wore full tactical gear because they weren’t sure what they’d find. “Good question.”
Putting her reservations—and concerns about Dr.Reeves—aside, she got out of the car, quieting her mind and readying herself to break into the house if need be.
Two uniforms headed out to the back of the house, guarding all the possible exits. Two more followed Baz and Kit up the front sidewalk.
The others stayed back, awaiting orders to move in if necessary.
“You good?” Baz asked.
She nodded resolutely, her head finally on straight again. “Yes. Let’s go.”
They approached the house carefully, watching the windows for any sign of Colton Driscoll. They’d been shot at from windows before and Kit wasn’t keen on making that a regular thing.
They made it to the front door with no altercations and Kit rapped briskly. “Mr.Driscoll? It’s San Diego PD. We want to talk to you.”
Nothing. Not a sound. No scurrying, no rustling. Nothing.
Kit and Baz frowned at each other.
“I don’t hear anything,” Baz whispered.
A feeling of foreboding shivered down her spine. “Me either.”
Baz motioned to the two officers standing behind them. “If you would.”
The two men swung a battering ram at the door, breaking it open. Kit and Baz entered, guns drawn.
“Mr.Driscoll,” Baz boomed loudly, “San Diego PD.”
But then they froze, three feet into Driscoll’s living room. Kit stared up into the cold eyes of Colton Driscoll.
Into his cold, dead eyes.
He swung from the rope tight around his neck, his face a purplish color, his tongue slightly extended, his head bent at an unnatural angle.
“Well, shit,” Kit muttered. She pressed gloved fingers to his wrist, just in case, then frowned. “He’s still a little warm. He hasn’t been dead that long.”
“We must have been just too late.”
And Baz didn’t sound too torn up about that. Kit understood, although the identities of the remaining victims would remain a mystery unless Driscoll had left records of some kind.
“We need to tell Navarro,” she said.
Their boss was anxiously awaiting news, hoping to tell the brass that they’d solved a cold serial murder case.
“He’s going to be unhappy,” Baz murmured, still staring at Driscoll’s face.
Kit dialed Navarro, who answered on the first ring. “Did you get him?” he demanded.
“He’s dead,” Kit said flatly. “Hanged himself.”
“Motherfucker,” Navarro hissed. “Is there a note? Anything?”
“We haven’t looked around yet,” Kit told him. “We’ll search and call you back, but I thought you needed to know. More later.” She ended the call and turned to Baz. “I’ll call the ME, you call CSU.”
She and Baz made their calls, then began searching the house.
