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Chapter Six
Gus stood in the living room of Dorothy Bigelow’s home and surveyed the blood spatter marring the floral wallpaper. The department’s photographer was memorializing the scene with each snap of the camera’s shutter. The FBI had spoken with Dorothy right after Melissa was found on her property, but there was an emergency call and hang-up placed to the local police department around the time he left the studio with Sasha. Once the body was found, the officer called in backup before contacting the state’s homicide unit.
He’d need to connect with Agent Nilsson about the interviewing agent’s line of questioning, and if the woman provided the name of the other resident living in the home. The basement of the house had been converted into a rental unit—one that appeared to have an inhabitant. With gloved hands, he had carefully gone through the contents of the trash and found an empty cereal box and some aluminum foil. The refrigerator was chilling a casserole dish and a few plates with what appeared to be home-cooked meals.
The only other appliance in the small kitchenette was a microwave. Sasha said Dorothy had baked for her when she first moved into her house, but it was a stretch that she’d cook for someone paying rent on her property. Putting together a list of all living family members and friends would be a top priority, along with speaking with the deceased’s children to find out who was residing in the unit if it wasn’t a documented tenant. Maybe they’d get a hit on the partial fingerprint he’d pulled off the microwave and also the sliding glass door. There was no sign of forced entry, and he’d carefully combed through the scene, taking his time to search for any and all evidence.
Once the photographer was finished in the living room, the crime scene technician began bagging the evidence. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, and Chief Medical Examiner Farhad Rahimi had arrived with one of his deputies to collect the remains for an autopsy. Gus rolled his shoulders as the men wheeled in a gurney. It had been a long day, and seeing the aftermath of an elderly woman slain in her home was heartbreaking.
Rahimi came to stand beside him. “What a shame.” He shook his head, gaze locked on the cream rug splashed with crimson.
“Take a look at those impact patterns.” He put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the scene for the hundredth time. “The killer had a lot of force behind their weapon.”
“What are you thinking?” The examiner followed Gus’s gaze over the living room. The victim was facedown on an area rug that covered the hardwood floor.
“There was no forced entry, but the front door was unlocked when we arrived. There’s food in the rental unit and the bed was unmade, but there are no clothes or personal effects. The killer came up behind her, stabbed her in the back several times.” He turned his head to the wall to look at the cast-off patterns. A line of blood for each strike of the weapon after the initial impact. He walked past the body, to the edge of the carpet near the victim’s feet. “Low-velocity spatter here.” He pointed to the circular stains at the edge of the carpet. “The killer stood there for a few moments, maybe deliberating what to do next.”
“Where is the rental unit?”
“The stairs are back there.” He angled his chin to the side, gesturing to the door off of the living room. “The small trail of droplets makes me think they started to back away from the victim, until they noticed the murder weapon was leaving evidence all over the floor.”
They contemplated the scene for a silent beat, then Rahimi spoke again. “The abduction victim from Boston was found on her property, yes?” He unzipped the body bag he was carrying and laid it on the floor near the victim.
“Yeah. Which makes me even more eager to get the renter into an interrogation room. Whoever did this was enraged. I want to know if it has something to do with Melissa Fletcher.” Yesterday’s incident brought his thoughts to Sasha, but he pushed them back. He had a job to do, and he was still reeling from the potent blast of jealousy that had burned in his gut at the man’s voice on her answering machine. The sensation was something he’d never experienced before, and one he didn’t care to repeat. Sasha brought his emotions too close to the surface, and for a man who liked to be in control, it gave her an unsettling amount of power. He was smart enough to know that not all relationships were volatile like his parents’, but his childhood was a bullet he was constantly trying to dodge.
Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but he lived for his career and liked to be able to provide for his sister. After the hell they’d been through, it was important to him that she had the time and means to focus on her future. He’d grown up quickly, stepping in to fill the gaps where his own father had failed. He was happy to support Jules. Despite everything she’d endured, she was a great kid, but living with his sister wasn’t exactly conducive to a love life. He shuddered at the thought of bringing a woman home only to have Jules perched at the counter wagging her eyebrows at him the next morning. Besides, if he was bringing women to the house, she might want someone there too. Yes, she was twenty-five and had the right to live her life, but he didn’t need to think about the gory details. As far as he knew, she’d never gone on a date with a man or a woman. He didn’t care who she went out with, so long as they treated her like a queen.
When they left the scene, the sun was rising. The body of the victim was being transported to the station by the deputy medical examiner, while Rahimi trailed him toward Clayton Bigelow, the son of the deceased’s address. His tires crunched against loose gravel as he backed out of the driveway then turned onto the main road. Once they delivered the death notice to Clayton Bigelow, getting a few hours of sleep before checking in on the autopsy would be the smart thing to do. Then again, he’d need to speak with Sasha about the death. If he did it in person, that would be one task crossed off his list for the day.
He nearly rolled his eyes, annoyed with the direction of these thoughts. He could package his reason for visiting Sasha into any box he liked, and that motivation wasn’t work. After spending six hours trailed by the scent and sight of death, he wanted nothing more than to simply see her. Vibrant, refreshing, alive. The feeling was confusing as hell. When he drove past Sasha’s house, he glanced down her driveway to make sure nothing looked out of place. There was a light on, the curtains open in a room on the second floor. He hoped it was because she was starting her morning and not because she had trouble sleeping. Staying focused on finding Dorothy Bigelow’s killer was his top and only priority. Whatever fascination he had with Sasha came second.
An hour later, they arrived in Newton. Traffic was heavy, but that was typical mid-week with commuters chugging along and packing the roads to get into the city. Breaking the news of a loved one’s death was the worst part of his job, but it was only right to tell the relative in person. Plus, with so many homicides involving family members, he needed to gauge the reaction of Dorothy’s son. The chief examiner parallel parked behind him, and together, they walked up to a sprawling estate and knocked on the door.
A woman in a peach-colored business suit opened the door, and her eyes widened as she looked at them. Finding law enforcement at your door was never a good sign. Her jaw went slack, face paling.
Gus flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Lambert, and this is Chief Medical Examiner Farhad Rahimi. May we speak inside?”
“Yes, of course.” The woman opened the door and stepped back, allowing them to enter. “Please take a seat in the parlor. I’ll get my husband.” She left them in an opulent living room and rushed up the stairs. When she returned, a man was behind her.
“Clayton Bigelow?” he asked as they entered the room. They’d caught him getting ready for work, his dress shirt half buttoned and untucked.
“Yes. What’s happened?” He paused, body completely still before taking a few stumbles back. Gus jumped forward to steady him, but he gripped the doorframe to keep from toppling over.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Bigelow?” Gus led him to the couch to ensure the man didn’t fall once he broke the news. Clayton eased himself onto an antique couch, his wife at his side with a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “I have very bad news.” He didn’t have to conjure the empathy in his voice. Although he’d been on the job for quite some time, it still pained him to relay the sad news of someone’s passing. Especially in such a violent manner. Clayton placed rigid hands on his knees and let out a strangled breath, preparing for the shock to come.
“Your mother was the victim of an assault, and she died. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The man’s body crumpled. He put his head in his hands as silent tears streamed down his spouse’s face.
“We’re here to answer your questions and provide the information your family needs to take the next steps.” Over the next hour. he completed the survivor intake form with Clayton, discussed identifying the victim, the autopsy, and their funeral home of choice.
“Mr. Bigelow, do you know who was living in your mother’s rental unit?” It was a delicate balance between finding out what the surviving family member knew and being invasive.
Clayton shook his head, two half-moon bags under his red eyes from crying. “She hasn’t had a tenant in years. I used to handle the rental process for her, but she has no need for extra income. She was getting on in years. I was worried about her living with a stranger.” His voice cracked on the words.
Gus gave him a moment to collect his emotions. “Perhaps a family member. Do you have any siblings or relatives who might stay with her on occasion?”
