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“No I couldn’t,” he said. “I’ve already had a cup of coffee and Sheldon gave me cookies.”
I smirked. The truth was that Jack hated the smell down in the lab. He could look at horrific crime scenes and not bat an eye at putrefied flesh, but embalming fluid was a smell that lingered and he always turned an interesting shade of green whenever he came downstairs.
“I also learned that Americans eat way too many cookies every year,” he said. “No wonder we have an obesity problem.”
“Cookies seem like the least of our troubles,” I said. “I’m ready to leave when you are. Sheldon is overseeing the funeral this morning.”
Jack smiled and slid off the barstool. “He’s a useful fellow. And he’s stopped throwing up at crime scenes. He’ll be entering manhood before we know it.”
I laughed and grabbed my jacket and bag, and then my laughter faded as I looked out the kitchen window.
“What happened to the sun?” I asked glumly, watching the rain splatting against the windows.
“Just a figment of your imagination,” he said. “Cheer up. It’s only supposed to last a few more days.”
“We’ll all be underwater by then,” I said. “We’ll be like the new Atlantis, just dropped off into the Potomac and covered with water. Two thousand years from now they’ll find that giant statue of the beaver that’s in front of the university and all of our cell phones and think we were a primitive society that worshipped large rodents.”
“How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?” Jack asked.
“Just the one.”
“Maybe you need another,” he said, and we made a quick break for Jack’s truck.
“How are the roads?” I asked once we were on the way.
“Better,” he said. “We should be able to go home tonight. The tree crews have been out. We had several fallen trees that were blocking the flow of water so the creeks couldn’t drain out. Power line crews have been out all night too. There’s not too much damage. A few homes flooded that are on the creek line, but they’re in the flood plain so it’s nothing new. One of the school busses got stuck in the mud yesterday, so it’s still blocking part of the road. But the kids got transported out safely. Everyone else is just wet and grumpy.”
“Is Mrs. Hargrove staying with the neighbors?” I asked.
“Not sure,” Jack said. “We can go over and find out. I didn’t want to tell her over the phone that her husband was murdered.”
The Hargrove house looked sad and vacant when we pulled into the driveway. The police units were gone, and Steve Hargrove’s truck sat alone in the driveway. The crime scene tape stretched across the porch, and there was a package that the mailman left sitting half under the porch, so the end of it was damp from the rain.
Jack pulled the crime scene tape back so I could duck under, and then he picked up the damp package and put it under his arm. The front door was unlocked and we stepped inside the now-familiar house.
There was still the lingering smell of death in the air, but now there was a staleness along with it. The front entry floors were grimy with so many people traipsing in and out of the house the day before.
I handed Jack a pair of gloves and then put the strap of my bag across my chest so I could move more freely. I put my own gloves on and tried to look at the house in a different light now that I knew for sure we were dealing with a homicide.
“Anything on the doorbell camera during the time of the murder?” I asked.
“Well,” Jack said. “Interestingly enough, the app shows that the camera went offline on Thursday afternoon and never came back on.”
“On purpose?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “The entire neighborhood went offline. Most of them automatically came back online within a couple of hours. But it probably had to be done manually and if the Hargroves didn’t realize it wasn’t working they wouldn’t have known they needed to get reconnected.”
“So the killer could have come in the front or back door,” I said. “Neighbors are far enough apart to where they’d have to be looking specifically at the right time and place to see anyone pull up to the house. Time of death was prime time for neighbors that might have been leaving for work.”
“Martinez is going to follow up with the ones who weren’t home yesterday,” Jack said. “No signs of forced entry. The tech guys pulled lots of fingerprints inside the house and on the doors as well. Mrs. Hargrove said neighbors pop in and out often, not to mention she’s got a daughter and son-in-law and grandkids that are local and visit frequently.”
“Same kind of traffic in the office?” I asked.
“Pretty much,” Jack said. “Hargrove liked to show off his trophies and memorabilia. When they had cookouts or staff parties he’d always bring people in his office to show them around.”
Coach Hargrove’s office had been thoroughly searched by the forensic team. There was a light coating of powder from the techs over every surface that might have fingerprints. The victim and brain matter and tissues had all been removed, but the walls and floors were badly stained. The crime scene cleanup team would have a job to do once this was all over.
“He’s getting ready to leave for the morning,” Jack said. “His stuff is sitting in the entryway. And someone shows up at the door.”
