Not happening.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want her daughter to have quality time with her father. The trouble was the games Nick liked to play. He loved nothing more than using their daughter as a way to manipulate what he wanted. Kerri hadn’t figured out exactly what he was up to with this “summer” proposition, but there would be a self-serving motive. Whatever that motive turned out to be, she didn’t want Tori to be the one hurt by it. There had to be a workable compromise in the situation somewhere.
Officer Baker and Kerri’s new partner were still chatting as she moved toward the home’s front entrance. The arched opening leading to the front door was covered in ivy, adding to that European ambiance. From the minimal but lush front lawn to the iron flower boxes on the windows, the exterior was beautifully appointed and expertly manicured. Another uniform waited at the door. Kerri recognized the officer immediately: Tanya Matthews. Kerri had worked with her numerous times. Very detail oriented. Kerri liked that about her. The young officer’s attention was focused on the notepad in her hand as Kerri approached.
“Morning, Officer Matthews.” Kerri showed her credentials out of respect. No matter that Matthews would recognize her as had Baker; it was SOP before entering a crime scene. “What do we have inside?”
Matthews smiled in recognition. “Detective Devlin, good morning.” Her smile promptly faded. “The husband and his elderly mother-in-law were shot to death. The wife is missing. Most of the house has been ransacked to some degree. Can’t really tell if anything was taken. Crime Scene Unit is five minutes out. Medical examiner is on his way.”
Damn. Kerri hated cases like this. No matter how many years she worked homicides, she would never understand how anyone could hurt a child or an elderly person. There was a special place in hell for those people. “Let’s have a look.”
As they started in the door, Falco hustled up to join them. “What’s up, Tanya?”
Matthews gave him a nod as she continued to go over the details of the scene. “The master suite is on the first level. I’m guessing the shooter hit there first.”
The front door led into a spacious entry hall. The stairs were a sharp left from the door. There was a bench, a closet, and then a powder room before the hall on that side of the entry disappeared into the depths of the home’s east wing. To the right, the hall meandered toward the kitchen. The main living space or great room lay directly ahead. Kerri pulled on shoe covers as she mentally inventoried the rest of the layout visible from her position.
Falco tugged on his protective gear as they moved on, hopping on one foot and then the other behind Kerri. Matthews led the way. The officer had not exaggerated when she’d stated the house appeared ransacked. Doors stood open. Shelves had been swiped clean, scattering the books, framed photos, and knickknacks over the floor; drawers were pulled out, as if the perp had been looking in every imaginable hiding place for anything of value.
Or maybe for something specific.
They passed a laundry room and a door that led to the garage before the hall ended at the entrance to the master suite on the west side of the enormous house. The metallic odor of blood trickled into Kerri’s nose as they reached those towering double doors. Her muscles tightened with that old familiar mixture of dread and anticipation.
This room had been searched by the intruder or intruders as well. Closet door opened. Elegant dresser drawers dragged forward with their contents strewn over the floor.
As they approached the king-size bed on the far side of the room, near the french doors, Matthews said, “Benjamin ‘Ben’ Abbott, forty. He’s some kind of software guru. Got megarich before he hit thirty. He started his company in San Francisco, but he’s originally from Birmingham. He moved back about a year ago. His father is the Daniel Abbott. He’s the principal reason MID has the case.”
“Top of the food chain around these parts.” Kerri’s gaze met the other woman’s.
“The very top.”
Daniel Abbott’s ancestors were among Birmingham founders. Old money. Powerful. Something else to look forward to in this investigation—heavy media coverage and pressure from the department hierarchy. Not unlike last month’s homicide investigation of the councilor that turned out to be a suicide for hire. The councilor had hidden his mental illness his entire adult life. Not even his wife understood the demons he had fought far too often for far too long. Rather than continue suffering in silence, and not wanting his family to endure the fallout of taking his own life, Hayden had hired someone to kill him. Made for a better payout from the insurance company too.
Ultimately things had gone exactly as he’d planned, except for his one mistake: never go cheap when hiring a hit man.
Kerri considered the first victim in her new case. Ben Abbott was handsome. He looked younger than forty. Short dark hair. Fit and tanned. The hole in the center of his forehead left no question as to how he had died. His eyes were closed, his chest was bare. The sheet was folded back at his waist, as if he’d only just crawled into bed. He could be asleep if not for the damage to his forehead and the lividity along his back and the underside of his arms, which lay at his sides. No sign of a struggle.
For the moment, Kerri ignored the blood on the other side of the bed. Boswell had taught her to focus on one element at a time, absorb all the details before moving on to the next element. His number one rule had been simple: the most important aspect of a homicide scene was the body or bodies; all else was secondary.
Kerri crouched next to the bed. She manipulated the fingers of the vic’s right hand and moved the arm. Fingers were rigid, but no stiffening in the larger muscles. He’d been dead only a few hours.
“Looks as if he was shot in his sleep.”
Matthews nodded. “The old lady upstairs wasn’t so lucky.”
Kerri grimaced, her mind immediately conjuring the images of a hard-fought struggle to stay alive. She picked up the framed photograph on Abbott’s nightstand. The woman in the photo had long black hair and wide gray eyes. Her smile was warm. She looked young, physically fit, and happy.
“What about the wife?” Kerri stood and looked to Matthews. Presumably the blood on the other side of the bed belonged to the woman in the photograph.
“Sela Rollins Abbott. Twenty-eight,” Matthews said. “According to the housekeeper, the couple started dating about a year and a half ago. Married a few weeks later. The wife has a ton of awards showcased in the husband’s home office for all the charity work she’s done since moving to Birmingham. It’s like a shrine to some saint or something.”
Matthews shrugged as she went on. “We haven’t found her body yet, but she must have been in the house when the shooter came in.” She gestured to the other side of the bed, where blood had soaked into the linens. “Obviously that blood didn’t come from the husband. Her glasses and cell phone are on the bedside table, robe’s in the chair. And if you check the master bath, you’ll find her empty retainer case next to one of the sinks.”
“How can you be sure it’s her retainer case? Could be the dead guy’s,” Falco piped up.
Kerri resisted the urge to sigh at how he phrased the query. His question was a valid one even if it did raise doubts about the ability of a good cop to analyze a scene. She made a mental note to talk to him about communication skills. MID was under close scrutiny. It was important to be seen as team players all the way but particularly when working with the local cops in each jurisdiction.