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“This is my family! Let me in!”
“Who are you?” Sam asked.
The woman did a double take when she recognized Sam. That happened far too often lately. “I’m Graciela Blanchet,” she said, her chin quivering. “This is my son’s home.”
Sam and Freddie ducked under the tape and led the woman away from the front door. “Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to go in there,” Sam said.
“Are they… Are they dead?”
“Yes,” Sam said, making eye contact.
“All of them?” she asked in a high-pitched tone.
“I’m sorry, but yes.”
The woman crumpled before their eyes.
Only Freddie’s quick action kept her from falling to the ground as she screamed the children’s names.
Sam watched the scene unfold in an odd state of numbness, as if she were an observer rather than an active participant in what was happening right in front of her.
This reminded her of the Reese case in some ways. In that instance, the father, Clarence, had murdered his wife and three young children and then gone on the lam. She didn’t like to remember that horrific case or how it ended in his suicide a foot from her. Maybe that was why she was reacting so strangely to this new situation.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Jestings asked as he approached them.
Sam realized she’d completely checked out to take a trip to a past she’d much rather forget. “Of course. What’s the ME’s ETA?”
“Ten minutes out.”
“Thank you. How about Crime Scene?”
“They’re fifteen minutes out.”
“Good job, Jestings. Thank you.”
The rest of her team came out of the house, each of them seeming undone by what they’d seen. Who could blame them? Sam walked over to them while Freddie stayed with the grandmother. When the other detectives were gathered around Sam, she said, “Please ask for help if you need it after what you’ve just seen. There’s no shame in reaching out to Dr. Trulo at a time like this.” She said the words as a rote recitation, knowing they should be said, not because she felt the need for help.
Detective Charles, the newest member of her team, subtly swiped at a tear on her cheek. “I’ll never understand how a father can do that to his family.”
“It’s possible whoever did this wants us tobelievethe father killed them,” Green said.
“That’s something we need to fully investigate,” Sam said.
“You think my son did this?” Graciela said with a shriek. “He would never have harmed them! He loved them with his whole heart. He would’vediedfor them.”
Sam hadn’t realized the grandmother was listening to them. “Ma’am, would you be willing to come to headquarters to answer some questions about your son and his family?” Sam asked as gently as possible.
“If it would help.”
“It would,” Sam said. “It would help tremendously.”
“We’ll canvass the neighbors,” Gonzo said.
“Wait for the ME and Crime Scene, and then find out who their friends were.” Sam glanced at the gaggle of bystanders that formed any time a great tragedy occurred. It drove her crazy the way people felt the need to be up close and personal with disaster, as if to assure themselves they were fine. Or whatever weird need motivated them to stand in the cold and stare at a home where murder had occurred. “We’ll need some insight from those closest to them.”
“On it,” Gonzo said. “Will be back to the house when we’re finished.”
“Come with us, Mrs. Blanchet.” Sam led the woman to the Secret Service SUV. “Back to HQ, please, Vernon.”
