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“On the desk,” the officer said, pointing. “It was the top sheet of that pad of paper. Seems like it was scribbled in a hurry... but maybe not. Could just be bad handwriting.”
Bethenny’s eyes scanned for a discarded pen, but she doubted they’d get that lucky. “Fingerprint everything. Will you please ask everyone to move out for a moment while we look around? There are too many people in here,” she said.
The officer raised an eyebrow but nodded. There weren’t so many people that they were contaminating the crime scene, but Bethenny couldn’t think with people swarming around her. She needed silence, even if just for a moment.
She looked to Lachlan, who was still looking at the piece of paper with a haunted expression in his eyes.
She frowned. “You okay?” she asked, watching him carefully.
“Mm,” he said, seeming to snap out of it. “Thanks,” he said, handing the note back to the officer. “Make sure that’s fingerprinted properly. Unless the perp had gloves on, there should be a print on it. And even if they did have gloves on, there should be a glove print.”
The officer nodded, then shooed everyone out of the room.
Bethenny inhaled deeply, casting her eyes over the crime scene. She liked to do her own assessment before looking at the homicide team’s analysis.
“Murdered on the dining table and dragged in here,” Bethenny said aloud.
Lachlan nodded. “But why? Why not leave her on the table?”
Bethenny took a closer look at the bedroom. It was smaller than another they’d passed and she assumed this was the second or third bedroom.
“Does the victim live here alone?” Bethenny asked over her shoulder to an officer loitering in the hallway.
“Appears that way. Only one closet has clothes in it. We’re working on an official identification match, but an officer says he knows her: Jessica Mella. Twenty-four. Works at the bakery. Purchased this house about six months ago. Parents live out of state. No boyfriend that the officer is aware of.”
Bethenny looked back to the woman.
“What do you make of the note?” she asked, watching Lachlan carefully.
“The person who left this note is not the same person I chased through the woods, Bethenny. I saw him go over the falls. He couldn’t have survived that.”
“They haven’t found a body,” she said gently. She didn’t think his chance of survival was high either, but a body should’ve been found. Divers had spent the day underwater with no results.
Lachlan shook his head. “They need to look farther downstream. The rapids were ferocious due to the storm. They should double the normal estimated range of where the body should’ve washed up.”
Bethenny studied him again, noticing how little color was in his face. It seemed that with every passing second, he was falling apart.
And she noticed his hands shaking.
She leaned in closer. “What’s going on?” she asked under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.
He stared at the body long and hard. She didn’t think he was going to answer, but eventually he did, and she was not prepared for what he said.
“The person who killed her... killed my wife,” he said with a choked voice.
“What?” Bethenny blurted out.
“They left the same note on our bed, beside her. It’s the same handwriting,” he said, then turned away.
Bethenny’s jaw hung open as she watched him rake his hand through his hair. It took a moment for her head to catch up with her heart.
“I guess death follows both of us. This is my fault... I ran from Tennessee, from Eden’s death, and now this woman is dead because of me—because I refused to face my wife’s death. Now both their blood is on my hands,” he said, reeling.
She took his right hand, slowing him down.
“Breathe for a second,” she said, tugging his hand gently until he looked at her. When their eyes connected, she felt the brokenness of his soul. “Breathe,” she said again, gently knowing it was the only thing that could calm a racing heart.
She thought she saw him calm down for a moment, but then he shook his head, pulled his hand away, and walked out of the room.
