CHAPTER ONE
"Thank you, Mrs. Charbeau. We greatly appreciate it." Officer Colby Daniels smiled at the elderly woman and tucked the ticket money for the department's annual baseball tournament in the white envelope. "I hope we'll see you at the game."
"Well, I don't know about that but I'll be cheering for the police department."
Elegant was the only way to describe Mrs. Charbeau. Medium height and stately bearing, she was average in size but a little on the thin side. Platinum hair swept back from her face and pinned into a smooth oval at the nape of her neck. A simple white blouse was paired with navy blue slacks of fine linen and the gold belt buckle matched the buckle on her navy blue flats. A single strand of pearls and a solid band of gold were the only jewelry she wore.
Her smile was friendly but Colby noticed her hesitation. "Mrs. Charbeau? Is everything all right?""
"I hate to ask and it's probably nothing but I'm worried about my friend, Ida Bernstein. She was supposed to pick me up at five thirty for supper. Monday is seniors night down at Cora's and we make it a regular weekly outing before going to Bingo. Ida is such a stickler for punctuality so naturally, when she didn't show up on time, I became concerned. She lives alone now that Burt's passed, so I called to see if she was running late but there was no answer. I assumed then, that she was on her way but that was over an hour ago and now I'm afraid something might be wrong. Would you be a dear and check on her, just to be sure?"
"Of course. What's the address?"
"Five Barn Hollow Road. The big farmhouse at the end of the street."
"I'll get someone to take a run over there."
"Thank you, Officer. I sincerely appreciate it."
Walking back to her cruiser, Colby pressed the button on her shoulder radio. "Twenty-five, dispatch. Request welfare check. Five Barn Hollow Road. Bernstein residence."
"Ten-four, twenty-five. Can you take it?"
"Ah...okay."
Puzzled, she fired up her cruiser and backed out of the paved driveway onto Plantation Drive, making her way north. Barn Hollow Road was two streets up, parallel from the station and her own rented house. The property was large and well-kept with a split rail fence encircling the perimeter. She parked in front of the detached wooden garage, noticing a white car peeking out from the not-quite closed double doors. Getting out, she crossed the freshly mowed lawn, mounted the two broad steps to the front porch that ran the length of the house and knocked on the front door.
When there was no response, she knocked again, louder. "Mrs. Bernstein? Officer Daniels!"
Still no response. The heavy, walnut door was thick and windowless. She tried the brass knocker, a simple ring that echoed sharply in the quiet neighborhood. Nothing. She moved to the tall, double-paned window to the left and cupped her hands around her face. Pressing her nose to the glass, she peered inside. The foyer's polished oak floor gleamed in the sunlight beaming in through a side window. A crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling, the diamond shaped prisms casting rainbows over the floor and white walls. An archway to her left, revealed an end table and shaded, fringed lamp which she assumed was the living room.
Moving to the next window, her assumption was confirmed. An antique sofa, in light green brocade trimmed with dark wood, matching wing chairs and a polished coffee table, furnished the room. Like the porch, it ran the entire length of the front of the house. She strained to see deeper into the room but couldn't from that angle. She leaned back, looking down to the far end of the porch. The curtains were drawn closed across the last three windows.
She went down the steps and hurried to the back of the house. The yard was huge, a split- rail dividing the property from the expanse of open meadow that stretched in three directions, meeting the northern and eastern tree lines. Three cement steps led up to the back door and she jogged up them, rapping smartly on the glass pane. Again, she was met with silence. Apparently, Mrs. Bernstein wasn't home. She crossed the short expanse of green to the dirt drive and pulled the old wooden, doors open and found what she assumed was Mrs. Bernstein's car.
Mrs. Charbeau's words came back to her. "I'm worried something's wrong."
Concerned now that something may have happened to Mrs. Bernstein, Colby ran back to the house and up the back stoop, pausing long enough to look in the kitchen.
Empty.
She jumped off the top step and ran to the next window, looking past the cherry dining room set to the front of the house and the closed draperies. A green brocade wing chair sat kitty corner by the arch separating the two rooms. Near the chair leg was a pair of feet, toes pointed up.
A jolt of adrenaline sent her running to the back door, hastily looking for something to smash the glass while she reached for her shoulder radio.
"Twenty-five, dispatch. Need EMS at Five Barn Hollow Road. Bernstein residence."
"Ten-four, twenty-five."
She spied a painted white brick by the stoop. Picking it up, she heaved it through the bottom window pane, turning her face away from the flying glass. Carefully reaching in through the shattered pane, she turned the deadbolt and shoved open the door.
"EMS enroute" sounded in her ear at the same time the first siren erupted in the distance.
An acrid, metallic odor hit her as soon as she stepped inside. Colby ran through the kitchen, down the short hall leading to the foyer and veered right into the parlor. Halfway down the room, her footsteps faltered, her eyes not quite believing what she was seeing. An elderly woman lay in a dark, reddish-black puddle that saturated the carpet beneath her body. Colby stepped carefully toward the prone figure, her gaze automatically scanning the carpet for evidence and anything out of place. There were no signs of a struggle, only faint depressions marring the carpet going to and from the dining room. Her gaze flicked to the glass china cabinet in the dining room. No movement, no shadowy figures reflected back.
The stuffy room was thick with the sickening stench of blood, human waste and death. Colby took a few steps closer and peered down at the victim, feeling her stomach muscles constrict. What was once Mrs. Bernstein's face was now a mass of bloody tissue, bone and gristle. Instinct told her the elderly woman was dead, but she reached out and checked for a pulse. The skin was cool to the touch with no sign of life.
Colby's stomach lurched and she bolted for the front door, fingers fumbling with the lock until she threw open the door and made a beeline for the porch railing. Leaning over it just in time, Colby retched on the thick cluster of red geraniums, again and again, until nothing remained but dry heaves and sore muscles. She wiped a hand across her mouth, unsnapping her holster and backing up until she slammed against the clapboards, gun ready and heart pounding. For all she knew, the killer was still on the premises, watching her. She peered around the corner of the door, glancing up the staircase to the right.
Empty.
She touched her radio button to report her new findings as the ambulance siren grew louder. "Twenty-five to dispatch. Code fifty and ten-ten."
Silence.
"Uh. Come again, twenty-five?"
Did she get the codes wrong? "Code fifty. Five Barn Hollow Road. Request backup. Scene is not secured."
"Ten-four, twenty-five."
She wiped her watery eyes and took a deep breath. Her legs trembled, and her still shaky hands matched the subtle, uneasy vibrations coursing through her body. Her stomach still ached and a tension-filled knot sat like a rock in her gut. In the center of town, another siren erupted as the ambulance rolled down the street and came to a halt just outside the fence and parked, waiting for the police to arrive now that their call had changed.
Colby sniffed, ran a hand under her nose and took another deep breath. Stay calm. You're not gonna get sick again.
Her body ignored her little pep-talk and her stomach did another slow roll. A third siren shattered her thoughts, then another. It seemed like the entire force was headed her way. The first cruiser veered around the far corner of Barn Hollow Road and sped down the street that dead-ended into the Bernstein's driveway. The sirens in the background grew louder as the first responding officer drove past the idling ambulance and through the open gate, his car kicking up dust as it moved onto the gravel. He parked behind her own cruiser, the siren abruptly dying.
She immediately recognized Officer Vitali, the handsome cop with the lazy, mischievous grin that grabbed her attention when she reported for duty last week.
Crap. It would have to be him.
He jumped out, eyes scanning the vicinity as he rushed over and up the steps of the porch.
"We got a homicide?" His easy manner belied the surprise in his voice.
She nodded. "The scene isn't secured, although I inadvertently cleared the first floor when I broke in."
He cocked his head and squinted.
"Tell you later," she told him.
"Yeah, you will." His blue eyes bored into hers.
She arched a brow. "Yes, sir." There was no missing the edge in her voice.
"I want you to stick to me like glue, got it?"
Gladly. "No problem."
He entered the house with Colby on his heels, giving the living room a quick look as they passed the archway to the kitchen. She followed him down the hall, stopping just outside the kitchen entrance, keeping one eye on Vitali and the other on the staircase.
"Clear."
Tom rushed back past her to the living room, his footsteps silent on the carpet as he approached the body.
"Eighteen on scene," both radios erupted.
Tom reached for his microphone. "Eighteen. Check the perimeter."
"Eighteen, copy."
"Upstairs," Tom said to her, returning to the hall and taking the lead.
She nodded, staying close to the wall behind him.
At the landing, he peered around the corner. "Five rooms. Door closed."
She nodded in acknowledgment.
They rounded the corner, guns leading the way as her pulse raced and her heartbeat hammered in her ears. Bracing herself, she crept quietly along the upper hall trailing Vitali. Standing beside the first door, he motioned her to stay and took position on the opposite side. At his nod, she turned the knob and shoved the door open. Vitali lunged, his gun arm outstretched and braced with his free hand, moving in swiftly and decisively. Colby dropped to a crouch in the doorway and looked under the bed directly in her line of vision. The slanted afternoon light revealed bare wood.
Closet," he whispered, indicating the closed door with his gun.
More sirens blared in the distance as she quickly but silently made her way over to it. Gripping the doorknob, she whipped the door open, using it as a shield as Vitali tensed with anticipation.
Empty, save for a pillow and several blankets on the top shelf.
They continued their methodical sweep along the upper floor and found nothing, leaving Colby relieved and drained.
"Eighteen. Perimeter, garage clear."
Together, Colby and Vitali trotted down the stairs as Ben Jaworski, the voice of eighteen, entered through the front door. "Did I hear that right? We got a homicide?"
"Yep," Tom replied, motioning with his head for Ben to follow.
The two men went over to the body while Colby hung back, not quite trusting her stomach to behave itself. She'd already seen the body and wouldn't forget it anytime soon.
"Geez," Jaworski muttered. "They broke in through the backdoor?"
"No," Tom told him. Daniels did that."
They both looked at her strangely and Colby used that as an excuse to step out onto the porch, away from the odor that was growing stronger by the minute. Flower beds and short, neatly trimmed bushes edged the cement casing and revealed no disturbances of any kind. Spying the slimy remains lumped on the soft petals and broad, green leaves, she gave a quick glance over her shoulder before jogging down the steps and ramming the toe of her boot into the dirt. She kicked it around, covering up as much as possible but there was nothing she could do about the blossoms, except maybe pick them off. She dreaded the inevitable snide remarks she'd no doubt hear as soon the rest of the squad saw the evidence of the rookie's reaction. Pine Tree, Georgia's, new patrolman, Officer Colby Daniels, desperately wanted to make a good, first impression.
So much for that.
Having graduated from the Boston Police Academy with top honors, her father, Lt. Colonel John "Jack" Daniels, USMC, Ret., had high expectations of her. She promptly disappointed him by accepting a position with the small department solely to placate her mother. She really didn't mind, though. Starting with a small department was a good way to get her legs under her, give her some breathing room while learning the ropes. What she didn't expect, was to become involved in a homicide on her very first day. And she wasn't even on duty yet!
Judging by the number vehicles crammed in the driveway, the entire department wanted a piece of the action. Second shift was on duty now and she tried to remember who was whom, having only met the few who worked her own graveyard shift and a couple of others in passing at shift change. There were only twelve officers on the force yet they all seemed to blur together, except for Officer Vitali. It was hard to forget his good looks and startling blue eyes. He was a typical Italian son that made mamas spoil him and sisters hate him. It had the same effect on her, though she wasn't thinking sisterly thoughts. Thick, glossy black hair, cut short and combed back, with an olive complexion that tanned easily. His lips wore a perpetual grin and his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. He wore his uniform like he was born with it.
Voices pulled her from her musings. Vitali and Jaworski emerged from the house and parted ways. Jaworski took off down the steps and Vitali strolled over to her. He stood with thumbs tucked behind his utility belt and feet apart. Cop stance. Could she pull that off? Probably not.
He took off his sunglasses, his gaze straying to the geranium bed and tiny smirk tugged his lips. "You okay?"
Her cheeks flushed and she averted her gaze to the road as two more vehicles pulled up. Car doors shut one after the other and two more officers strode quickly across the front lawn toward them.
"I'm fine," she replied curtly.
Behind them, was Sergeant Suzanne Roper and a gentleman with a slight paunch, wearing a bright yellow dress shirt.The brassy, red-headed Texan was the only other female on the force.
"Hey y'all."
Decked out in straight leg Levi jeans, aqua blue plaid Western shirt and white snakeskin cowboy boots, it was obvious that Sergeant Suzanne Roper refused to leave her Texas roots behind when she came to Georgia.
"Ah jes' got home and changed when the call went out. Dang! Why couldn't this have happened on my shift? "
A sudden bellow of laughter interrupted from her companion. "I see our new rookie lost her cookies."
Suzanne frowned. "This here's Detective Cooper. A real gen-u-wine dick."
Tom's shoulders shook as he looked down at his feet. "Otherwise known as 'Super Cooper'."
"That's right," Cooper said. " It takes smarts to make detective and don't you forget it." His dark, beady eyes landed on Suzanne and she glared back at him.
Colby noticed Jenkowski eye the geraniums and nudge his young partner, indicating the garden with a nod of his head. Jenkowski burst out laughing but the young face turned as red as the blossoms. Jenkowski stepped back, enjoying the kid's discomfort. Jenkowski murmured something to him and the kid took off toward the parked cars while Detective Cooper went inside to view the body.
At the sound of a another car door, Tom glanced over his shoulder. A black sedan was parked in the road, just outside the gate. "Cap'n's here."
Colby leaned past him and got a whiff of Tom's citrusy aftershave as he rested a hip against the railing and Suzanne tried to get a glimpse of the body through the window.
"Ah can't see nothin'."
Colby waited nervously for the captain, while the rest of the squad mingled on the porch and in the front yard.
Forty-something, medium build, leaning to the thin side, Captain Fuller was an attractive man but reserved. Brown hair combed to the right and back, neatly trimmed around the ears, framed a clear, healthy complexion. His brown eyes were wary but inviting. Clad in black slacks, white shirt with sleeves rolled up and a conservative red dotted tie, he was all business.
"Daniels." He nodded curtly, his eyes swiftly scanning the area.
"Captain."
" How does it happen you called this in?"
"Well," she responded, taking a deep breath and filling him in on the details, starting with the ticket sales and ending with the request from Mrs. Charbeau. He nodded, glancing about and grunting in response only once.
"How many tickets you sell?'
"Eight? They're in my cruiser."
His head jerked up at the sound of footsteps.
Cooper sent a surly eye in her direction before announcing, "Looks like we got our first homicide and it ain't pretty. Whoever did this was pretty damn callous."
A white van pulled to a stop behind the captain's sedan. The driver got out and walked to the rear while an elderly gentleman climbed out of the passenger side. He took his time gathering his equipment box. No need to hurry when his patient was dead. He ambled up the drive, crossed the lawn and approached them. Dressed in a black suit with yellow striped tie, he paused and stretched out a hand.
Captain Fuller took it firmly in his own. "Hello, John. How's Maggie?'
"Doing good, Frank, doing good." His bespectacled face turned to Colby. "This the new rookie?"
"John, Officer Colby Daniels. Doctor John Baylor. Town coroner, practicing physician and lousy poker player."
She extended her hand. "How do you do?"
"Very pleased to meet you, young lady," he returned, giving her a warm smile. "Don't believe a word he says. He's a sore loser." Addressing the captain, he asked, "You ready for me?"
"Not quite. Check with Cooper. Listen up, people!"
The officers, who'd been talking among themselves, gave Captain Fuller their complete attention.
"It looks like we got ourselves our first homicide. I say first, because we've never had one in the twenty years I've been here. When this hits the paper, there's gonna be a lot of folks panicking, as well as a lot of talk and speculation. We're going to get a lot of calls with tips that won't pan out but I want each and every one checked out anyway. Everyone, especially the brass, will be watching us and I don't want any mistakes. We're going to do this by the book. Cross every ' t' dot every ' i '. I don't want anything coming back because of sloppy paperwork and I don't want them thinking we can't handle this. And most importantly, I don't want this discussed with anyone outside the department. Are we clear?"
Soft murmurs of assent, along with nodding heads responded to his query. Captain Fuller started barking orders. "Harley! You're the photographer. I want a wide shot of the scene before you even step foot inside. Then I want pictures of everything, from every angle. And a lot of close-ups."
"You got it, Captain," someone answered.
"Make sure anything you find is bagged and labelled accurately."
Captain Fuller turned to Colby. "Daniels, we are going to be under the microscope with this one. We're a small department with a small budget and, unlike the big cities, we do our own crime scenes. This department is going to handle this case, but we're gonna need to put in a lot of hours, a good deal of which will be overtime. I know you called this in but you're not on duty so the call goes to second shift. But don't go away." He shifted his stance and called out, " "Jenkowsi!"
"Yeah, Cap!"
"Cordon off the crime scene area and keep the nosey neighbors out." He jerked his head toward the drive where several people were approaching on foot. "Vitali, Hawkins...where's Jerry?"
"Stuck on Bottoms with a flat," Dwayne Hawkins, Jenkowski's partner, said, standing at the captains elbow. "I heard his call just before this one went out."
"All right. Any leads that come in, do a follow up. Anything promising, hand off to Cooper. He's the detective in-charge. I want every thing followed up, no matter how small. Understood?"
A murmur of assent rumbled around the group.
"The crime scene is pretty clean, Cap'n." Cooper said, unknotting his tie. "I told the Doc he could go in."
As if on cue, the coroner came down the steps, his face grim. "Tell me, Frank. Who the hell would want to do something like this to Ida Bernstein? "
"It takes all kinds, John. I was shocked when the call came in, even more so when I learned who it was and I've been around the block a few times."
"A shotgun blast to the face." The coroner shook his head. "Buckshot embedded everywhere, cluster of it between the eyes. Fortunately, she didn't suffer."
They moved off to the side, making room for the men with the gurney to pass.
"You're sure it's her?"
He shook his head again, as if to clear the memory. "I knew right away it was Ida by the scar on her left hand." He chuckled. "A wonderful woman, Ida, but a real brat when she was a kid. Loved to tease the boys. Some of us gave it right back to her." He held up his left pinky. Two deep indentations marred the first knuckle. "She didn't particularly care for the names I called her back in second grade. Bit me right there. Bled like the dickens. I got so mad, I bit her back. Scarred each other for life." He looked off down the street. "You know Frank, it's a hell of a thing when you can't trust your own neighbors anymore."