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“Let’s hold off on the speculation for now,” Faith said. “We can reapproach this another time.”
“Fair enough,” Derek said. “Sorry if it seems like we’re grabbing at straws. We’re very concerned this killer will strike again soon.”
“How long ago was the first victim killed?” Faith asked.
“Two weeks,” Derek replied, “and you already know Mrs. Montgomery was killed two days ago.”
“Well, that’s slower than our last killer,” Michael offered.
“Actually, no,” Faith said, “it isn’t. Horace Greenwood didn’t start moving that quickly until he’d been active for years. If this killer is just starting, he might maintain this pace or quicken it.”
“Or he could stop for years, then start again, like Dahmer or Bundy,” Michael said. “I thought you said hold off on speculation.”
“You’re right,” Faith said. “Just the facts.”
“Just the facts, ma’am,” Derek said in a clipped, professional tone.
He grinned at Faith, and Travis said, “What’s with you? You see a pretty girl and suddenly you develop a sense of humor.”
“Good for you recognizing one of those,” Derek said. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
They continued to banter while Michael and Faith exchanged bemused glances. “Remind you of anyone?” Michael whispered.
“Yeah, the charming, funny, younger investigator and her grouchy, old man assistant.”
Michael chuckled but didn’t offer a rebuttal.
They reached the scene fifteen minutes later. “Husband’s still with his sister,” Travis explained. “He doesn’t want to come home until the place is clean.”
“Well, we need to release the scene too,” Derek pointed out.
“I know that,” Travis replied. “I’m just saying that he’s staying there until the place is clean.”
He unlocked the door and led them inside. The moment they entered, Faith could smell the reek of old blood. Her nose wrinkled, and Turk sneezed.
“Pretty ripe, I know,” Travis said. “We’ll probably let the cleaners in tomorrow now that you’ve had a chance to look at it. Bathroom’s upstairs, first door on the left. I hope you don’t mind if we wait downstairs. Derek and I have seen enough. If you absolutely feel you need to show us something, take a picture.”
Faith and Michael headed upstairs. “Guy’s a real character, huh?” Michael said. “Should’ve been born in Boston.”
Faith shook her head. “I’ll never understand your obsession with New England. You realize you’re from San Jose, right?”
“Stockton,” Michael corrected. “San Jose’s where my parents live now.”
“Somehow, that’s worse,” Faith said.
“Oh, it’s way worse,” Michael said. “You know that old song about being stuck in Lodi? Well, he could have written it about Stockton too. Think Oakland, but dirtier. We were ranked the eighth-most miserable city in the U.S.”
“Jesus, all right,” Faith said. “Sorry for asking.”
They reached the bathroom, and the smell assaulted Faith so powerfully that she had to pause a moment to gather herself. Turk growled and shook his head. Michael wrinkled his nose and said, “Christ, they could at least have opened a window.”
The body was gone, but a massive puddle of sticky, brown blood emanated waves of stench from the floor. A thick smear of blood crawled up one side of the tub and into the shower. Either Amanda Montgomery had been pushed out of the shower after she was stabbed, or she had tried to crawl out and hadn’t made it.
“Well,” Michael said, “I suppose one of us should go in and look at what’s in the medicine cabinets.”
“CSI will have inventoried that,” Faith said. “Turk. Find him.”
Faith wasn’t entirely sure that Turk would pick up any useful scent considering how long it had been since the murder, but if he could smell the killer, then having the scent could prove handy when it came time to interview suspects.
