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Or they just knew how she lived her life.
“What did you tell her?”
“That I had plans. Boring plans. Things I normally do, but they know how I am and I just exaggerated it all.”
“Plans like making a few kinds of foods on Sunday and packaging it for the week. Do I get some of it?”
She smiled. “You do,” she said.
Last week she’d made even more than normal and gave him some to take for dinner or lunch. Whatever he wanted.
“I’ve got your containers for you too,” he said. “Don’t let me forget to give them to you.”
“I won’t. Show me what you’re doing. This is going to be so much fun.”
“If you say so,” he said. “Dinner should be here soon too.”
He was ordering in rather than making her something. He said he could cook, but honestly, she wanted to spend more time in his office with him.
She knew he had a lot of cases going at once. The most recent and frustrating to him was the double murder on New Year’s Day. No suspects and no leads he’d said.
They were still waiting to get all cell phone coverage and she wouldn’t see that, but he had pictures of evidence in his office along with other crimes. She’d said she’d love to just look at them without knowledge of anything. Like a puzzle and see if she could find something that stood out.
He said anything would help at this point.
“Good,” she said. “Then let’s get started.”
She moved to his office. There were a few boards with different crime scene pictures. The dead bodies didn’t bother her that much. To her they were tissue, blood and cells. Things she touched all day long at work.
Hell, her department even had to do testing for crimes like this when second opinions were needed.
“Start anywhere you want,” he said. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just want to look. A fresh set of eyes might see something different.”
“Sure,” he said.
She walked to one board. She didn’t think it was the New Year’s Day murder. It was only one person on the floor and it looked as if there was head trauma, no gunshot. The face was turned away and it was just as well. The man was probably in his mid-forties.
The more she looked, the more she didn’t see anything, but yet it didn’t feel right either. “Something is off.”
“I think so too,” he said. “I just can’t put my finger on it. Why do you feel it?”
“It’s too staged,” she said. “Is it the victim’s home or somewhere else?”
“His home,” he said.
“Hmm.”
“What?” he asked.
“His house has a lot of old antique furnishings. Look around it. Like things that were handed down over the years. Or collected. I bet they all have value and nothing really matches in the bedroom. Who puts things like that in the bedroom unless they are showing off?”
“Okay,” he said. “I just figured maybe it was mix-matched stuff or hand-me-downs.”
“Could be, but I don’t think so,” she said. “Look at this lamp right here.”
She was pointing to a picture, then took it off the board. “What about it?”
