Page 13 of Forever Dead

“Selena’s favorite teacher,” Connor said.

Matt looked up from the camera. “Better not tell her. She’ll try and come in here.”

“I know,” Connor said.

Matt moved to photograph the broken chair from another angle. Connor stared at Eleanor’s body.

“I wish she was fit for this,” he said.

Nobody answered that.

Miss Marsh had taught so many people in Elmsview that almost every family had a story about her. She remembered former pupils decades later, even the ones who would have preferred to be forgotten. Seeing her reduced to something covered in numbered evidence markers made the room feel wrong in a way murder scenes usually did not.

Connor forced himself back to the work. “What can you tell me?”

Blethan shifted into the steadier voice he used when medicine gave him somewhere to put his feelings. “Preliminary only. Severe cervical trauma. I won’t give you the exact mechanism until I examine her properly, but the neck injury is almost certainly what killed her.”

“Time?” Connor asked.

“Late last night,” Blethan said. “I’d put it somewhere between ten and midnight for now. Temperature, lividity, and rigor are consistent with that, but you know better than to pin me down at the scene.”

“Any sign of sexual assault?”

“Nothing obvious,” Blethan said. “I’ll know more later.”

“Defensive injuries?” Connor asked.

“Possibly. There are marks around the throat and some damage to the nails. If she scratched whoever did this, we may get something.”

Connor indicated the chair. “Was that done before or after she died?”

Blethan exhaled through his nose. “Can’t tell you yet. I need the body under proper light and the fragments removed carefully. There’s bruising I can see, but whether it was inflicted before death is another question.”

Matt nodded toward the kitchen. “I’ve got the knife isolated. No blood visible on it.”

“Could’ve been hers,” Connor said.

“Could be,” Matt replied. “We’ll print and swab it.”

“What about the phone?” Connor asked.

“Found it on the floor,” Matt said. “We powered it up with a charger. No security code. Nine-one-one was the last number entered, but the call never connected before the battery gave out.”

Connor stared at the broken door. “So, she knew somebody was inside.”

“Looks that way,” Matt said.

“Front door?” Connor asked.

Arnold had entered behind him. “Still locked when Chuck got here. Deadbolt thrown and security chain on.”

Connor turned toward the remains of the rocking chair.

“We think that came from the living room,” Arnold said. “There’s an impression and a space on the carpet that looks like it matches.”

That made Connor pause. Someone had carried it into the dining room after Eleanor reached this part of the house or forced her back toward it before the attack. Either way, the chair was not simply wreckage from a struggle where it normally stood.

“Get the whole thing processed,” Connor said. “Every spindle, every piece.”