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Thirty-One
One in four murdered women were killed by their significant other, and more than half were killed by someone they knew. So logically, looking at Grant Warwick first, then Regan Merritt, was the logical way to proceed, followed by neighbors, relatives, and colleagues.
But Arlington detective Kyle Quincy didn’t think Merritt was guilty. Merritt had seemed straightforward, but the deceasedwasthe girlfriend of her ex-husband. That alone was enough to keep her at least at the bottom of Quincy’s suspect list. First on scene, called it in, stayed on-site. She had no blood on her, and there was no sign that anyone had cleaned up in the bathroom or kitchen.
McKenna had been stabbed to death, so her killer would almost certainly have blood on them. There were pools of blood and spatter in the kitchen near her body, but the killer didn’t step in her blood, and it appeared he’d bagged the weapon, taken it with him. No drops near the door. No prints on the door. He wore gloves. In and out, quick and efficient.
Not a crime of passion.
Itlookedlike a crime of passion. McKenna was stabbed in the back, which suggested she knew her killer. She had felt safe, turned her back on him. But the slaying also had all the earmarks of a premeditated murder: no visible evidence, no panicked attempt to clean up the scene.
Or maybe McKenna’s killer snuck up on her, though that seemed unlikely. There was no sign of a break-in. No sign of struggle. Her phone was on the table inside the front door, with her briefcase and shoes.
Detective Quincy surmised that she came home from work, put her things down, took out a half-drunk bottle of wine, and poured a glass. It was sitting half-filled on the counter, a faint hint of pink lipstick on the rim suggesting she’d had a sip before putting it down. But she hadn’t dropped it, broken it. She had sipped, put it down...on the counter not far from where she’d been stabbed.
One glass of wine...no other glasses or bottles. That suggested no guest. Yet, it was more probable that McKenna let her killer in. Maybe it was a maintenance worker, someone working on the condo, or someone she expected...
He looked around, trying to put himself in Ms. McKenna’s shoes. Put the glass down, then head toward the bedrooms. If the killer came from down the hall, she would have seen him and run, knocked over papers, her wine, something. But nothing appeared spilled or disturbed.
There was no place to hide in the great room, but a large pantry off the kitchen could easily conceal a grown man. The way her body was positioned, the killer came from the kitchen. He’d either come in through the front door and turned into the kitchen through the side entry, or he’d been hiding in the pantry waiting to attack. No tampering of the door, so the door was unlocked or the killer had a key.
He’d need to talk this all through with the head of the crime scene unit once they’d processed the evidence and see what the forensic experts considered the most likely scenario.
He supposed Merritt could have killed her ex’s girlfriend, left the scene, gone somewhere to shower, changed clothes and disposed of the murder weapon, then returned to “discover” the body. But if she was telling the truth about where she had been (her ex’s house), that was more than thirty minutes round trip and if she was telling the truth about where she was staying (out in Reston), that was at least an hour round trip at the time McKenna was killed.
More likely, Grant Warwick killed his girlfriend and fled the scene. If Merritt was telling the truth that Warwick was supposed to meet with her at seven and didn’t show, then she came here—arriving at approximately 7:45—he should be able to prove it.
Quincy watched as the coroner bagged the body, still running through possible scenarios in his head, while writing down information he needed to verify. Talk to her employer, people who knew both her and Warwick. Track down Warwick, interview him. Neighbors. Any friends? Someone she was close to, like a sister? Someone she would confide in? Were there any problems in her personal life? Professional life? What kind of clients did she serve? A quick Google search told him Archer Warwick Bachman was a civil law firm, not criminal. Did she have a stalker? Violent ex-boyfriend? All things he would learn over the next few days while waiting for the crime scene report, forensics, and autopsy.
But he really wanted to talk to Grant Warwick as soon as possible.
Officer Branson approached Quincy in the living room and said, “I talked to the building manager. According to security cameras, Merritt slipped in behind a resident at 7:42 p.m. this evening, came straight up to the sixth floor. There are no cameras on the resident floors.”
That jibed with Merritt’s statement.
“And Grant Warwick?”
“He’s not on camera after 5:00 p.m. But that doesn’t mean much. The parking garage is under the building, and if he had an access card he could have parked down there.”
“Where there are no cameras,” Quincy guessed.
“Correct. The manager is running all people going in and out of the garage, but it would be a card registered to Ms. McKenna we’d be looking for. Every resident is assigned two parking spots. We’ll need to canvass neighbors, anyone who came in during our window—ask about Warwick’s car.”
“Did the manager recognize Warwick?”
“Yes, he knew him by name, said he had been regularly visiting for the last six months. He last saw Ms. McKenna at one fifteen this afternoon. She came down to pick up a package from the office, mentioned to him that she was home for lunch.”
The lead crime scene investigator walked over and said, “Coroner is leaving. He’ll do his assessment at the morgue, but my analysis says she was killed between six and seven this evening. Because her body was found quickly, I think the coroner can give a better TOD.”
Still, an hour window to work with? That was good. “Thanks, let me know when you have a report.”
“You’ll be the first.” The CSI walked over to where his team was taking more blood samples and packing up other items, like her wineglass, now that the body was moved.
Quincy asked Officer Branson, “Have you found Warwick?”
“No, sir,” he said. “I put a BOLO out on him like you said—wanted for questioning—and I have his contact information, employer, address.”
“Let’s start at his place. Maybe he showed up after Merritt left.” Quincy glanced around. Two officers stood by the condo’s front door. He told them to stay until the crime scene investigators were done, then seal the door before they left. He asked Branson to follow him to Warwick’s townhouse in Alexandria.
