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“So it appears. It looks like she got out of bed and left them locked in the bedroom, where they scratched the hell out of the door, according to the husband, Leonard Sperry. His story is that he got back from a fishing trip to Bend. Came home earlier than expected, walked in from the garage”—Kayleigh pointed to a door off the main hallway—“and found her, here. Nearly tripped over her.”
“God.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re checking his alibi, but at first glance it looks solid . . . and he’s pretty messed up. He claims he called nine-one-one immediately but knew she was dead.” She met the questions in Cade’s eyes so intently he almost went back to a forbidden memory, but he didn’t. If she sensed it, she hid it well and added, “I believe him. So far. Once we check on his whereabouts and their finances and all, then we’ll see.”
“Forced entry?” Cade asked.
She shook her head. “No evidence. But the garage door to the backyard is open and a gate, too. The husband says they never unlatched the gate because of the dogs, and he’s beating himself up for possibly not locking that door the last time he took the trash to the bins outside.” She frowned. “If he did it, he’s a damned good actor.”
“He could have worked with someone.”
“A paid assassin?”
“Yeah. Killer for hire.”
“Could be, I guess. We’re already checking all his accounts and the will and life insurance policies.”
“And his social life? He could have been involved with someone, having an affair.”
He noticed the back of her neck stiffen. “Always possible, isn’t it?” If she was referring to anything other than the case, she hid it. “We’ll find out, but from his reaction, I think not. We’ve got officers checking for footprints and we’ll start interviewing the neighbors to find out if anyone saw something out of the ordinary.”
Cade glanced around to the living room, running off the staircase in one direction, and the family room, tucked farther back. “Where is he?”
“The husband? With Drummond.” She pointed toward the front door. “Outside in a cruiser.”
“Mind if I talk to him?”
“Be my guest.”
“Let’s look around first.”
“You got it.”
They walked through a home that was neat, everything in its place, dog beds in the living room and family room as well as in the master bedroom. In the sleeping area, a king-sized bed was mussed, one side obviously having been recently occupied, the cream-colored duvet thrown back, an impression on the pillows. An empty wine bottle and glass sat on a bedside table while a large flat-screen flickered silently on the opposite wall.
“As I said, TV was on, muted when we got here. Just like it is now. The only thing changed was Sperry taking the dogs down to the laundry room, where he crated them. He said he didn’t disturb anything else.”
“After he called in the emergency?”
“Yeah.” They walked from the bedroom to the landing overlooking the foyer. “And though the victim wasn’t shot, there’s a bullet hole in the ceiling.” Kayleigh indicated a spot overhead and the h
ole in the drywall. “We’ve already got the bullet.”
“No bullet wound on the victim?” Cade stood next to the railing, eyeing the death scene below, where the ME was bending over the body.
“Not that we could see. The lab will confirm.”
“Then why use the gun? That hole in the plaster is new, right?”
“The husband said it wasn’t there when he left.”
“So either the killer threatened or tried to shoot her and failed in a struggle, then lost control of the weapon . . .”
“. . . or she shot,” Kayleigh said. “Protecting herself. She had a gun. A nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson. It’s missing. According to the husband, Violet always kept it in the nightstand near her bed. But we’ve searched. Gone.”
“So the attacker stole it or she got rid of it.”
“Sperry is pretty sure it was in the drawer the night before he left for his trip. He was searching for the remote to the TV the night before and saw it. And a clip. Missing as well.”
