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Jo squatted down in the space, testing the cover of the underbrush. “My first instinct is to use the trees to balance myself.” She raised her arms, but stopped short of touching them. “Can you measure how high that is? Assuming our killer is my height or taller, if they weren’t wearing gloves, we might be able to get some prints or some touch DNA from that area on up.”
Sweeney examined the tree anxiously. “I’d have to swab several areas on the off-chance of DNA, and Hayes doesn’t like it when we do tests unless we have good reason to think we’ll get something. Too expensive.”
Jo’s jaw tightened. “An ADA has been shot. If there’s a problem, I’ll take it up with DA Barbieri directly.”
Sweeney reached for her kit. “Will do.”
Jo stood and pointed a trajectory up the hill. “What do you think, could you climb up and over the hill to get away?”
Arnett squinted as he considered. “CouldI? No. Couldyou? Probably.”
Jo nodded. “Alicia, can you follow this up, see if there’s more? Also, can you have the team check the road on the other side, look for any evidence of a car parked along the shoulder?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
“Our killer is cleverandathletic,” Arnett said as they turned away back down the road.
“But not invisible or invincible. They left a trail and a trace, and we’re damned well gonna find it.”
CHAPTERFIVE
Jo and Arnett strode past the intersection of the T, waiting for the Nelsons’ house to come into view between the vast clouds of orange and red leaves. Smaller than Sandra’s house, the cottage was half fronted with brick, and half with white-trimmed gray paneling.
Arnett gazed up at it, shaking his head. “What d’you think, a cool million?”
Jo put on an incredulous grimace. “Oh, at least that. Can you even imagine? Must be nice.”
“I know you’re mocking me, Fournier,” he grumbled.
“It’s reassuring to know that even in the midst of a tragedy like this, there are some things in life you can always count on. Your masochistic fascination with housing prices is one of them.”
Blue-checked curtains flicked open, and a concerned white woman with a sporty brown haircut peered out at them. Jo spotted a security camera and followed its trajectory outward, but the view was too obscured to capture anything at Sandra’s house.
The front door opened before they knocked, revealing the entire figure of the woman: On the lower end of her forties, medium height, solid build, dressed in ruggedly outdoorsy clothes that Camilla Parker Bowles could wear to a hunting party.
Jo shifted her blazer to show her badge. “I’m Detective Jo Fournier and this is Detective Bob Arnett of the Oakhurst County State Police Detective Unit. Officer Racinsky says you and your husband found Sandra Ashville this morning?”
The woman stepped back and motioned for them to follow her. “That’s right. I’m Marianne. My husband Jeff’s in the kitchen.”
They followed her through a combined front room and dining area decorated with an abundance of sky blue, slate, and white. Rope accented everything, and a large sign on one wall proclaimedIf It’s Not Lake Life, You’re Not Living!The kitchen was a cozy conglomeration of white and stainless steel, with an anchor motif that carried over from the dish towels to the mug Jeff clenched between his hands.
He stood to greet them, eyes wide and face pale. Tall and barrel-chested, his bushy brown beard, ruddy complexion, and blue-checked flannel shirt brought an image of a lumberjack flashing through Jo’s mind.
“Please, sit down,” he said. “Can we get you some coffee, or…?”
“No, thank you.” Jo selected the Windsor-back chair directly across the table from him, and Arnett sat to her right. “We know you’ve been waiting to talk to us, so let’s jump right in. How was it you found Sandra Ashville?”
“We’d planned to go out before dawn because that’s when the fish bite best, but we got a late start.” Jeff shot a glare at Marianne, whose lips tightened. “So we went out right after the sun came up. Sandra was on her pier, but didn’t look right and didn’t respond when we called out.”
“What looked wrong?” Jo asked.
Marianne took over. “From our dock, she just looked like she was in some yoga pose, and I didn’t think much of it, ’cause that’s how she does these days. But when we drove past she still hadn’t moved, and she was twisted all weird. When we got up close I saw some sort of cloth covering her head, and what looked like blood.” The final words rushed like bullets from a machine gun.
Jo watched her carefully. “Did you try to revive her?”
Marianne clenched her hands together on the table in front of her. “No, ma’am. It was pretty clear she was dead, and I know better than to mess with a crime scene.”
