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“There’s really nothing you can do here, Lodge. I just knew you wouldn’t be able to rest until you had seen the house.”
“Did the coroner say what the TOD was?” I ask, my gaze following the trail of blood on the carpet.
“He estimated between one and two this morning,” Kingston responds.
“Do we know where the intruder got inside?” I continue, still not looking at him. My mind is going in a million directions and I can’t seem to stop it. I’m pretty sure I’m in shock, or hell, maybe I’ve gotten so good at compartmentalizing over the years that I’m just not dealing with anything yet. Instead, I’m just focusing on the job and the bottom line.
“That’s the damnedest thing,” Kingston says, and the frustration in his voice makes me look up. “We think he let the guy in. There’s not one sign of a struggle.”
“Was he drunk?” I hate to go there but have to. By all accounts, Roy had been sober for quite a while, still something just isn’t adding up.
“We haven’t gotten toxicology results back,” Kingston replies.
“But?”
“There are whiskey bottles in the trash in the kitchen, Gavin—at least five of them.”
“Jameson Irish,” I murmur, recalling Roy’s brand of choice. There were times he’d beat me or Atticus until we couldn’t move just to get the money that we earned that week at our jobs—all so he could buy a bottle of the good stuff because the fucker was tired of drinking cheap.
“Yeah,” Kingston confirms.
That burn in my gut intensifies as old bitterness rises back up. Yeah, I really don’t know how I feel about any of this shit.
“Why is there a blood trail to the wall across from Roy’s chair, but nothing there?” I ask, trying to think about the crime scene and not about my feelings for Roy. I can’t think about those right now.
“Hell, Lodge, there’s so much blood that I’m not sure if it’s a trail or just splatter,” Kingston says, but I’m already shaking my head no.
“Nah,” I argue. “It’s a clear path. The drops are even somewhat similar as if the killer was making a trail… leaving breadcrumbs.”
“For what purpose?” Kingston mutters, as I walk the path, going over everything in my mind, trying to make something connect.
Anything.
“To lead us…” I mumble, still paying more attention to the blood, instead of Kingston’s question.
“What in the fuck are you talking about, Lodge? Where would he want to lead us? It’s a fucking wall. There’s no door.”
“No,” I agree. “No door.”
“You grew up here, is there some type of hidden compartment or something we should be looking for?” Kingston investigates with me now.
“No,” I respond. “There’s just a wall, but what’s really odd is the television used to be here.”
“Maybe, Roy moved the television, all this just seems like coincidence to me,” he says, but I know better.
“Do you see how there are a few stray drops of blood on the wall?” I ask him, moving my gloved hand over them.
“Splatter?”
“I thought so, but it’s kind of high up and we’re far enough away from the point of attack that it shouldn’t have reached over here. And look at this,” I tell him, pointing to one particularly larger series of drops that are about the size of a nickel.
“They end… it’s almost as if there was something on the wall that got the rest of the splatter,” Kingston says. “It’s too low on the wall for a clock or something. Do you think the killer moved the television? I didn’t really pay attention if there was blood splatter on it because it was moved to the corner by the kitchen door.”
“Roy couldn’t even watch TV with it over there, the killer had to be the one to move it.”
“I guess so, I just assumed it stopped working.”
“It was here and working fine the day Oakes broke out the window,” I tell him, moving my finger alongside the wall, following the blood.
Kingston is right about one thing. The drops do stop abruptly… almost as if they were…
Cleaned.
“I need some luminol and a black light,” I bark, realizing what is going on.
“Lodge, this isn’t some fancy FBI sting—”
“Do you have it or not?”
“Well yeah,” Kingston responds.
“Then get it in here and quarantine this scene. Lock it down. The only people in here are you, me and the CSI people.”
Kingston isn’t made for taking orders, but he sees something when he looks at me and agrees instantly. I listen as he gives the orders, but I don’t move. I stand there alone while a CSI member brings in the luminol, and I direct him to spray down the wall. Once that’s done, I take the black light, which is a crude almost spotlight that is handheld. I really need my guys to get their resources down here on this shit.
