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Lachlan strode toward an officer. “Please get this straight to forensics. The neighbor said she found it in her backyard. It might be the murder weapon for Jessica Mella.”
The officer nodded, standing. “On it,” he said, taking the bag.
Bethenny returned to her desk, noting three manila folders had been placed on it.
Kiera Johnson
Jessica Mella
Eden Taylor
Lachlan eyed the folders on her desk. “I’m going to make coffee. You want one?” he asked.
“Sure, thanks,” she said. “Black. No milk, no sugar.”
He nodded and walked off, saying nothing about the files. She questioned again whether he should be working the case, but it wasn’t her call to make—it was Mitch’s.
Bethenny inhaled deeply as she sat. She looked up toward the coffee station, but he wasn’t watching her. He was dutifully making coffee and she wondered if that was his aim: if he wanted her to look over his wife’s case without him watching.
She returned her attention to that file and read the coroner’s report, which had been placed on top.
Two stab wounds to the abdomen, throat slashed.
She swallowed the lump in her throat—Eden, Kiera, and Jessica had all had their throats slashed.
Next was the police report, and she read through it carefully.
Victim was found by her husband after he returned from interstate work trip. No signs of break-in, murderer assumed to be known by victim.
Bethenny paused on that note. A sign of break-in would’ve been better—easier to process—because if someone close to Lachlan and Eden did this, or set it up, the betrayal was an additional stab wound.
She continued reading.
Evidence of struggle in the bedroom only.
Bethenny’s eyes lingered on this sentence. Why not in the hallway, or the kitchen, or the family room? Even if Eden had known the killer, it was unlikely she’d led them to the bedroom unknowingly. Unless... Bethenny didn’t want to assume the worst of someone she knew nothing about, but if an affair had been going on, it would make sense of the evidence. She wondered if Lachlan had any thoughts on this.
Eden Taylor pronounced DOA. Note found next to victim: “You’re too late.”
Her chest tightened. Three short but powerful words.
A cup of coffee appeared in front of her and she looked up, almost closing the file like she’d been caught doing something wrong. But she wasn’t—and if they were going to solve these cases, they needed to be honest and work together.
She looked up to see Lachlan’s anguished eyes looking at the folder in her hands. He blinked, and the emotion was gone. Lachlan Taylor seemed to vanish, and Detective Taylor appeared.
Her eyes followed him as he walked back to the kitchen and picked up another mug—he could only hold one at a time given his cast—and returned to his desk.
He sat, picked up a file, and didn’t say a word. Not that she expected him to say much right now.
Bethenny sipped on her coffee as she looked over the rest of the file. It was surprisingly slim.
“This is it?” Bethenny asked, looking at Lachlan.
He cleared his throat. “There were few leads and not a single suspect.”
Bethenny rolled her lips over one another. She looked around the station, but everyone was busy on the phone or focused on their computer. No one was paying any attention to them.
“Who do you think did it?” she asked, taking another sip of coffee.
