Allison Brennan - If I Should Die

Dillard gave him a half-smile. “A bit. You’re both welcome to join me. Let me take the lead.”

“We’ll follow you,” Sean said as they left the station.

There was no response to Dillard’s repeated knockings at the small, post-World War II house of Tyler Weddle.

Sean had a bad feeling. Weddle’s personal car was in the garage and his police unit in the driveway.

“I’m calling it in,” Dillard said. He informed dispatch that he was entering the locked house of Deputy Tyler Weddle on a well-being check. He went to his truck to retrieve a small, one-man metal battering ram.

“If you don’t mind,” Sean said and pulled out his lock pick set. He liked the ease and finesse of picking a lock, and didn’t understand why most cops went for the big guns, so to speak. In less than five seconds, he had the door unlocked.

“You two, go around back,” Dillard said, notably impressed. “At a count of ten I’ll announce myself and then enter. Do not enter until I give you the clear, though if he bolts-”

“Got it.” He and Patrick jogged around to the back, keeping low beneath the line of the windows. “If he bolts, you’ll have to chase him down.” Sean was usually faster than Patrick in a sprint, but with his bum leg he didn’t think he’d be any help.

At exactly ten seconds, they heard Dillard shout, “Weddle! It’s Detective Sergeant Kyle Dillard! I’m coming in!”

Sean positioned himself just outside the door to watch the knob. Patrick was five feet behind him, against the house, gun drawn, ready to give chase if necessary.

“Boys!” Dillard called. “It’s me.”

Sean lowered his gun. As soon as Dillard opened the door, Sean smelled it. Vomit, alcohol, blood. Dillard’s face was grim.

The back door opened into a small mudroom, then the kitchen. Dried vomit coated the sickly yellow counter and dripping sink. A bottle of JD had spilled on the table, soaking into a stack of junk mail and bills.

“I didn’t do a complete search yet,” Dillard said, “but I don’t think anyone’s alive in here.”

The living room was clear. There were two bedrooms and one bathroom. The bedrooms were clear.

The carpet in the narrow hall outside the bathroom was soaked in water. A light trickle of water sounded from behind the closed door.

Dillard motioned for Sean and Patrick to stand back, then opened the door.

Sean wasn’t sure what he thought he’d see, but he wasn’t expecting a bloodbath.

“Dear God,” Dillard said and glanced away.

“Glad I missed breakfast,” Patrick mumbled.

Blood had spattered across the entire white-tiled room. Darker red arcs covered the ceiling in what looked like a classic cast-off pattern. Because the room was damp from the running shower, the blood hadn’t completely dried. Some had dripped to the floor, drying in trickles of pink down the slick walls.

Weddle’s butchered naked body was slumped in the shower, blocking the drain, as the water dripped steadily over it. Almost all blood had been washed from his flesh. His face was turned away from the door, but Sean could tell that Weddle’s throat had been slit. He couldn’t tell if it was deep enough to kill him quickly, or if the cause of death was the multiple slash marks covering his skin. They weren’t simple in-and-out stab wounds, either. Whoever had killed Weddle used slicing motions-each cut shallow and methodical.

“Out,” Dillard ordered. “This is now a crime scene.”

As soon as Noah landed the Cessna, Lucy turned on her phone. She had a text message from Sean that gave her chills.

She said to Noah, “Deputy Weddle is dead. Murdered in his home.”

By the time Lucy managed to get Sean on the phone, she and Noah were in a taxi heading to FBI Headquarters in Albany. “We just landed,” Lucy told Sean. “I got your message about Weddle. I’m putting you on speaker so Noah can listen. What happened?”

“At first glance, it looked like he was attacked in the shower. But Patrick convinced Dillard to let him observe the on-scene investigation, and he’s been keeping me updated. There were no defensive cuts on his forearms. At one point, he was bound with duct tape to a chair in his bedroom. They have a potential witness. Weddle’s next-door neighbor saw a man and a woman walking away from Weddle’s house Friday evening. The only reason she noticed them was that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. She thought it was tacky.”

“No description?”

“No-it was almost dark. They walked two doors down from Weddle’s and got into a dark truck.”

Noah asked, “Do they have an estimated time of death?”

“The deputy coroner is the same idiot Lucy and I dealt with at the mine. He’s not making any speculations. Patrick said the water messes with the timeline, but Weddle arrived home at six last night; he could have been killed anytime after.”

“What water?” Lucy asked.

“After being tortured, the killers moved Weddle to the shower, where they slit his throat.”

“To destroy evidence,” Lucy said. “If the killers suspect their hair or blood or saliva might have gotten on the victim, the best way to contaminate it would be to drench it in bleach or water.”

“The body looked like it was exsanguinated. There was blood all over the bathroom-ceiling and walls. Some had been washed away by the water. The floor and hall were drenched.”

Sean continued, “Dillard is tied up at Weddle’s house, and Patrick and I are about to head to the prison to talk to Swain.”

Noah said, “Can you send me Dillard’s contact information? I’m going to want to talk to him.”

“Sending it to your phone.”

“Anything on Jimmy Benson?” Lucy asked. “Did they find his body?”

“No word yet,” Sean said. “Weddle’s murder is the big news, but I’ll remind Dillard to call when he hears back from the divers.”

Noah said, “Ask if he pulled Benson’s cell phone records yet.”

“Damn, I should have thought of it.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Noah said, making Sean laugh.

Lucy relaxed. She had hoped that Noah and Sean could become, if not best buddies, at least friendly. Sometimes she felt as though she was walking on eggshells between her boyfriend and her trainer.

“How’s my plane?” Sean asked.

“Still working. Keep me in the loop.”

“You do the same.” Sean hung up.

Noah drove into FBI Headquarters, showed the security guard his credentials, then parked. When they entered the building, they were greeted by ASAC Brian Candela himself.

Candela was in his midforties, with a conservative haircut and impeccable dark gray suit, even though it was Saturday. Lucy felt underdressed in her jeans and thin white sweater, even though she wore a blazer with it. Noah wasn’t in a suit and tie, though he still looked sharp in khakis and a button-down shirt.

“Noah Armstrong?” Candela extended his hand. “Good to finally meet you.”

“Finally?” Noah shook Candela’s hand.

“You’re Noah Armstrong, lieutenant, one of the original Ravens.”

“You did your homework.”

Candela shook his head. “My son is a Raven. Just finished training at Fort Dix. You’re a legend among the recruits.”

Noah laughed. Lucy glanced at him, startled. Had she heard Noah laugh before? She grinned.

“I doubt that, but I did write one of the manuals they’re forced to study.” He introduced Lucy. “Lucy Kincaid, agent-in-training. She’s working with me until she heads to Quantico in August.”

Candela sobered immediately. “Ms. Kincaid, thank you for coming. As I’m sure you know, learning Agent Sheffield is dead has been tough on all of us, even though we didn’t expect to find her alive.” He gestured for them to follow. “Everyone is in the conference room.”