Блейк Пирс: If She Saw

“At the risk of seeming rude, I really need to use your bathroom,” DeMarco said. “Chugging two Cokes to stay awake for the ride was a bad idea.”

Kate smiled and stepped aside to let DeMarco in. Given the speed and urgency Duran had instilled in her during their phone calls, DeMarco’s abruptness was the kind of unintentional comic relief she needed. It also made her feel comfortable to know that even after almost two months apart, she and DeMarco were picking back up on the same comfort level they had shared before parting ways after the last case.

DeMarco came out of the bathroom a few minutes later with an embarrassed smile on her face.

“And good morning to you,” Kate said. Maybe it was because of the caffeine intake, but DeMarco did not seem any worse for the wear, apparently not fazed by the early hour.

DeMarco looked at her watch and nodded. “Yeah, I suppose it is morning.”

“When did you get the call?” Kate asked.

“Around eight or nine, I guess. I would have left earlier, but Duran wanted to make one hundred percent sure you were on board.”

“Sorry about that,” Kate said. “I was babysitting my granddaughter for the first time.”

“Oh no. Wise…that sucks. I’m sorry this is screwing with that.”

Kate shrugged and waved it away. “It’ll be fine. You ready to get going?”

“Yeah. I fielded a few calls on the way over while this was being managed by the guys back in DC. We’re scheduled to meet with one of the guys from Virginia State PD at four thirty at the Nash residence.”

“The Nash residence?” Kate asked.

“The most recent couple to be murdered.”

They fell into step together back toward the front door. As they made their way out, Kate turned the living room light off and picked up her bag. She was excited about what might lie ahead, but she also felt like she was leaving her home rather irrationally. After all, just a few hours ago, her two-month-old granddaughter had been snoozing on her bed. And now here she was, about to drive straight to a murder scene.

She saw the standard bureau sedan parked in front of her house, right along the curb. It looked surreal, but also inviting.

“You want to drive?” DeMarco asked.

“Sure,” Kate said, wondering if the younger agent was offering the role as a show of respect or because she simply wanted a break from driving.

Kate got behind the wheel while DeMarco pulled up directions to the location of the most recent murder. It was in the town of Whip Springs, Virginia, a little hole-in-the wall town situated at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains just outside of Roanoke. They spent only a little time on small talk—Kate filling DeMarco in on how it felt to be a grandmother, while DeMarco remained mostly silent, mentioning only yet another failed relationship after her girlfriend left her. This came as a surprise, as Kate had not pegged DeMarco as being gay. If anything, it showed her that she really needed to spend some more time getting to know the woman who was more or less her partner. Punctuality, she had picked up on. Homosexuality, she had missed. What the hell did that say about her as a partner?

As the crime scene drew closer, DeMarco read over the reports that Duran had sent them pertaining to the case. As she read them, Kate kept looking for any traces of the sun breaking the horizon but saw none.

“Two older couples,” DeMarco said. “Sorry…one in their late fifties…so no offense.”

“None taken,” Kate said, not sure if this was DeMarco’s weird attempt at humor.

“At first glance, they appear to have nothing in common, other than location. The first scene was right in the heart of Roanoke and this most recent one was no more than thirty miles away, in Whip Springs. There appear to be no signs that the husband or the wife were the preliminary targets. Each murder was gruesome and a little overdone, indicating that the killer enjoys it.”

“And that typically points to someone who feels that they have been wronged by the victims in some cases,” Kate pointed out. “That or some twisted psychological craving for violence and bloodshed.”

“The most recent victims, the Nashes, had been married for twenty-four years. They have two children, one who lives in San Diego and another who is currently attending UVA. She’s the one who discovered the bodies when she came home yesterday.”

“What about the other couple?” Kate asked. “They have any kids?”

“Not according to the reports.”

Kate mulled all of this over and for reasons she could not grasp, found herself thinking of the little girl she had passed on the street earlier in the day. Or, rather, the flashback that little girl had spurred up in her mind.

When they arrived at the Nash residence, the horizon had finally started to catch some of the light from the rising but still absent sun. It peeked through the tree line that surrounded most of the Nashes’ yard. In that light, they could see a single car parked in front of the house. A man stood propped against the hood, smoking a cigarette and holding a cup of coffee.

“You guys Wise and DeMarco?” the man asked.

“That’s us,” Kate said, stepping forward and showing her ID. “Who are you?”

“Palmetto, with Virginia State PD. Forensics. I got the call a few hours ago that you two would be taking the case. Figured I might as well be here to hand off what I have. Which, by the way, isn’t much.”

Palmetto took one final drag from his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, snuffing it out with his foot. “The bodies have obviously been moved and there was very little evidence found anywhere. But come on inside anyway. It’s…eye opening.”

Palmetto spoke with the emotionless tone of a man who had been doing this for quite some time. He led them up the Nashes’ sidewalk and onto the porch. When he opened the door and led them inside, Kate could smell it: the smell of a crime scene where a lot of blood had been spilled. There was something chemical to it, not just the coppery smell of blood, but of recent movement and people with rubber gloves looking over the scene recently.

Palmetto turned each light on they made their way into the house—through the foyer, down a hallway, and into the living room. In the bright glare of overhead lights, Kate saw the first splotch of blood on the hardwood floor. And then another and another.

Palmetto led them to the front of the couch, pointing to the bloodstains like a man simply confirming the fact that water is indeed wet.

“The bodies were here, one on the couch and one on the floor. It appeared that the mother was killed first, probably from the cut to her neck, although one did seem to land pretty close to her heart, but through the back. It’s theorized that there was a struggle with the father. There was bruising on his forearms, some blood coming out of his mouth, and the coffee table had been knocked askew.”

“Any early ideas on the time that passed between the murders and the daughter discovering them?” Kate asked.

“No more than a day,” Palmetto answered. “And it was probably more like twelve or sixteen hours. I’m sure the coroner will have something a little more concrete at some point today.”

“Anything else of note?” DeMarco asked.

“Yes, actually. It’s a piece of evidence…just one single piece.” He reached into the inner pocket of his thin jacket and pulled out a small evidence baggie. “I kept this. Got permission, so don’t get all spooked. I figured you’d want to take it and run. It’s the only evidence we found, but it’s pretty unnerving.”

He offered the clear plastic baggie to Kate. She took it and eyed the contents inside. From what she could tell, it was a simple piece of cloth, about six-by-three inches. It was thick, blue in color, and had a fluffy texture to it. The entire right side of it was stained in blood.