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We wait in silence for ten seconds. Twenty. Finally, when the small device beeps its readiness, she pulls it free to read the tiny screen.
“Victim has been dead for approximately twelve hours. Could be as long as eighteen.” Taking the thin plastic cover from the end of the instrument and setting it in the small baggie Aubree offers, Minka twists and meets Fletch’s hard stare. “Your killer would’ve been a mess, but he didn’t shower in this bathroom. You can check the guest shower, if there is one. Regardless, he’s in the wind now and at least half a day ahead of you.”
“We’ll have to make a statement,” he grouses instead. “Hewitt’s already out there, flashing this house all over the news, so we’ll need to counteract. And soon. Figure out who the vic is, then who murdered her. Put out a BOLO for our suspect.”
Minka considers for a moment, her hands wrapped in gloves that we now know leave a faint cornstarch residue after use. “Do you think your killer is a threat to the wider community?”
“No.” Mirrored reflections of each other, Fletch and I both shake our heads. “This was personal. A lovers’ quarrel,” he clarifies. “One on one. Now he’s gonna be hiding away and crying about what he did.”
Spinning on his heels, he makes his way to the door, then shouts, “Officer Clay! Come up here, please.” Then back to Minka, he nods. “You work the body. We’ll find our guy.”
“Thanks for inviting us to Mia’s party.” She jumps forward as Fletch steps through the door, making him stop in surprise. “We’ll be there,” she murmurs, almost shyly. “Thursday. We’d love to come.”
His eyes hold an icy contempt that even Aubree notices, her brows pulling tight.
“Mia’ll be happy to hear that.” With that, he turns his back on us all and moves into the hall as Clay comes up the stairs. “We need to know whose house we’re in. Who that woman is, and if she lives here. If she does, who does she live with?”
“Oh, this one’s easy.” Clay peeks over Fletch’s shoulder to the woman lying in the middle of her bed. “I’ve run these streets my whole life, Detective. Her name is Marina Georgiana—maiden name, Russo. She was only a couple of grades above me in school. This is her house, and she was married to Victor Georgiana. She’s an elementary school teacher. Third grade. He runs a sandwich shop near your precinct. They’ve been together since before we graduated high school.”
“Kids?” Recovering, Minka speaks up and draws Officer Clay’s attention. “Do they have any?”
“No. But she’s always wanted them. She’s a natural born schoolteacher, very much the Mary Poppins type.”
“He didn’t want kids?” Aubree asks.
“Dunno. I never really talked about any of that with him. He was the popular guy at school, had all the women panting for him. He and Marina were constantly on-again, off-again, and each time they were off, he was messing around with someone else. I only know she wanted them because she was a chatty type.”
Suspicious now, I take a step closer. “Describe your relationship with the victim, Officer Clay. How close were you?”
“Oh. No!” His youthful cheeks warm. “Not close at all. We would smile and wave in passing. That’s it. I’m not sure we ever even had a one-on-one conversation. I just knew them from school, and still because of the sandwich shop. I drop in there a few times a week, so I’d see them both. We’d say hey, then move on with our lives.”
“How was their marriage?” Fletch asks. “Good? Bad? Something else?”
Clay only shrugs. “I never saw them fight except way back in high school. But everyone bickers when they’re teenagers. I saw no issues once we were grown and they’d married, and no one ever mentioned any trouble.”
“What’s up with the kid thing?” Aubree frowns. “She wanted them. He didn’t?”
Clay lowers his voice. “I heard a rumor he couldn’t have them. Mind you, that’s just gossip on the grapevine, Doc. I can’t say for sure. But if it’s true, I figure that would dent the star quarterback’s ego.”
“Alright.” Businesslike, professional, Minka brings the conversation to an end. “Thank you, Officer Clay.” Then she looks my way. “Doctor Emeri and I will run the body and transport her back in house. It would be helpful if you could recover the weapon. There are hilt marks here,” with gloved hands, she points toward Marina’s back, “here, and here. Your perpetrator was very angry, and exceptionally strong. Defensive wounds are prominent and multiple. Penetration was perpendicular to Langer’s lines. L-shaped wounds here,” she points again, “and here, indicate the vic was still conscious and struggling when she was on the bed.”
Pausing, she peeks to Fletch and swallows the nerves from her throat. “I’ll have my report to you by the end of the day. We know how she died, Detectives. Our issue now is finding who did it.”
“Yep.” He steps through the door and starts out. “That’s our job.”
I follow him with my eyes, then look back to Minka.
I want to stay with her. With the victim. But my purpose here is to find the killer, which means I have to follow Fletch.
No words are spoken between me and my wife. No thoughts given a voice. I only firm my lips. And when Minka nods, I spin on my heels and chase my partner to the top of the stairs.
“Fletch, wait.”
“I want a status report on the neighborhood canvassing so far,” he says to Clay. “Marina was murdered last night. It would’ve been dark outside, but the scene in here would have been noisy, so start with the closest neighbors and work your way out. Our guy left this house at some point since killing, and he either walked or drove away in a vehicle. So let’s see if anyone witnessed that. Maybe ask the neighbors if they heard any of the dogs in the area barking. We need to dial in on our timeline so we know who was where and what the hell happened in here.”
“Yes, Detective. I’ll get it coordinated.”
“Good, go.”
