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The countertop was not done in quartz or granite, but covered with a cheap laminate. Something, presumably the back of this woman’s skull, had hit the edge. When Hardy leaned in close, she saw some blood, and a hair. She wouldn’t be surprised to find that laminate chip on the back of this woman’s head once the body was sent to the forensic center.
So maybe she’d been pushed, hit her head, then went down. The blow hard enough that it killed her.
Somebody pushed her very hard.
A uniformed officer, also wearing the slip-on booties, was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.
“The neighbor who called it in is outside,” she said.
“Okay,” Hardy said. “What’s the victim’s name?”
“Candace DiCarlo,” the officer said. “Works at a fitness center.”
“Husband?”
“Neighbor says she and her ex split up a couple of years ago. She got the house and he moved out West to Nevada, or so the neighbor says.”
“What’s his name?”
“The ex?”
“The neighbor.”
“Hunt. Gifford Hunt. Retired guy.”
“Tell him I’ll be out in a second,” Hardy said.
The officer retreated. Hardy took another couple of minutes to take in the scene before deciding to go outside. Hunt, visibly shaken, was waiting for her out front of his house.
“Mr. Hunt?” she said, removing her gloves and extending a hand. “I’m Detective Hardy.” She took his trembling hand into hers for a second. “Are you okay?”
“Kind of in shock, I guess,” he said.
“You live here, sir?” she asked.
“That’s right. My wife, she’s gone to visit our daughter for a few days in Cleveland. I’m here on my own. I called her. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure. That’s fine.”
“I told her not to come home, but I think she’s going to anyway.” He took a breath, put his hand to his chest. “I hope I don’t have a coronary event.”
“Do you have a history of heart problems, Mr. Hunt?”
“No, no, I’m kind of a hypochondriac, is all.”
“You found Ms. DiCarlo?”
“Yes. I went to the door after I heard all this shouting and saw the man ride away on his bike.”
“What was the shouting about? Was it two people arguing?”
“No, it sounded like one person. Just profanities. Yelling, ‘Oh shit,’ several times.”
“Did you recognize this man?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Never seen him before.”
“Ms. DiCarlo lived alone?”
