The elevator lurched to a stop. The doors opened. As Sawyer walked slowly behind the old woman, she had to stop herself from looking over her shoulder, since she could feel the officer’s gaze burning a hole into the back of her skull.
She hardly took a breath until she heard the buzz of the elevator as it returned to the lobby. While Nancy dug around inside her purse for her keys, Sawyer looked at the apartment across the way. Markers dotted the walls. The door was wide open; an officer stood guard.
When Nancy opened the door, Sawyer followed her inside. A minute later, Vivian, the next-door neighbor Nancy had mentioned earlier, joined them in the kitchen. Caught up in the drama of having a homicide right across the hallway, neither woman paid Sawyer much attention as she emptied the grocery items onto the counter, taking her time, hoping they would forget she was there.
According to Vivian, Kylie Hartford worked for Good Day Sacramento, a popular morning show. “She was dressed up as a banana the other day, and it made me laugh,” Vivian told Nancy.
“I thought it was a bit corny,” Nancy said. “But I did chuckle. Funny girl.”
“That was Kylie,” Vivian said. “She was a bright and shining star. A dose of morning sunshine.”
“Nancy said you thought Kylie’s boyfriend might have killed her,” Sawyer chimed in.
Vivian looked her over as if seeing her for the first time. “Do I know you?”
“She just moved in,” Nancy told her friend.
The suspicious look on Vivian’s face disappeared. In a low, conspiratorial voice, she said, “I heard that Kylie’s boyfriend was some sort of engineer . . . No, not an engineer, an arborist?” She swatted her words away as if they were gnats. “Something to do with trees. Anyway, Kylie and this boy had been dating for five years, but according to Ruth on the second floor, Kylie recently went on a date with a handsome young man who also works on the morning show. Jealousy. Motivation. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Do you know the handsome man’s name?” Sawyer asked.
“Of course I do. His name is Matthew Westover.”
Sawyer made a mental note of it. The two women chatted on about their favorite crime show and how the murderer was usually the most obvious suspect. Once it was clear Vivian was merely playing a guessing game, Sawyer said goodbye and made a quick exit. This might be her only chance to chat up the security officer she’d seen outside the crime scene.
As she approached the elevator, she realized she might have lucked out. The uniformed officer she’d seen earlier was gone.
Sawyer grabbed her camera still strapped around her neck, ready to shoot, and walked toward the apartment. Voices sounded in the back room. She knew how important it was not to disturb anything. Evidence had to be protected. Reaching into a bucket stationed outside the door, she grabbed a pair of shoe protectors and slipped them on.
The place was a mess. From the looks of things, Kylie had put up a good fight. Plants had been knocked over; there was an open book on the floor and a broken picture frame. Fingerprint powder covered the coffee table. Drops of blood made a path across the hardwood floor. Markers followed the same path.
Click. Click. Click.
Down the hallway, she saw more blood. Had Kylie encountered her killer in the main room and then run to her bedroom? Sawyer had never seen so much blood. It was smeared on the walls and floor. She passed a closed door where someone was clearly losing their breakfast. Before reaching the room at the end of the hallway, she heard voices.
“He’ll be fine. Give him a few more minutes.”
Drawers were being opened and closed.
“Looks like the girl lived alone.”
The voices quieted. Sawyer took another step forward. She was about to turn around and head out when she glanced toward the room to her left and saw her.
The dead girl.
Kylie Hartford.
She’d been strangled to death. Wire was still wrapped tightly around her neck, cutting into flesh. Her face was ashen, her eyes open, staring up at the ceiling fan. Other than Kylie’s body, a sewing machine, and a toolbox, the room was empty. Why, Sawyer wondered, did she run into this room and not straight ahead into her bedroom?
She adjusted the lens of her Canon.
Click. Click. Click.
A puddle of blood had gathered to the left side of Kylie’s head, where Sawyer could see a gash. Her hair was matted and clumpy. In her grasp was a hammer. That’s why Kylie Hartford had come to this room.
She zoomed in. Click. Click. Click.
“What are you doing?” a male voice asked.
Shit!
He grabbed hold of her shoulder.
“Get your hand off me,” she warned. Her heart pounded as she felt his fingers dig into her skin. Her vision blurred. She bent over, removed the memory card, then came up fast and grabbed hold of the man’s arm, twisting hard until he cried out.
A second man appeared. “What the hell is going on?”
“Let me go!” the first man said.
The second man held up his badge. “Detective Perez. Do as he says. Release him.”
She grudgingly let go of the man’s arm. He stepped away, his face red, his pride damaged. It took a moment for her mind to clear. The panic she’d felt when he’d touched her morphed into worry. Would she be arrested for entering the apartment?
“Who are you?” Perez gestured toward the lanyard that hung around her neck and disappeared inside her shirt.
She pulled the lanyard free and showed him her ID.
“Are you here with Palmer?”
She nodded. “He’s downstairs.”
“Where’s Geezer?”
“Out sick.”
“Do you have pictures of the crime scene on your camera?”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. He reached for her camera, and she hesitated before pulling the strap over her neck and handing it to him. After a moment, he gave it back to her. “Get out of here before I have you arrested.”
The detective followed her through the apartment and out the main door. He stopped to look up and down at the uniformed officer standing in the hallway. “Where the hell were you?”
“I had to pee.”
“Leave this spot again and I’ll report you. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sawyer had already pushed the elevator button when she saw the detective marching toward her. She forced her shoulders to relax. Don’t check my pockets. If he did, she’d be up shit creek. The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside and turned around. His eyes bored into hers. “What’s your name?”
“Sawyer Brooks.”
“Step out here. I want to—”
“Detective Perez,” someone called from inside Kylie’s apartment. “Found something you might want to see.”
The doors clamped shut.
Sawyer inhaled and tucked her lanyard back into her shirt, then hid her camera as best she could before the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened again. She walked toward the exit.
“Hey, you,” a security guard called out as she passed.
She could make a run for the parking lot, or she could see what he wanted. She stopped and waited.
“I need you to sign out.”
She walked his way, signed her name, jotted down the time of day.
“I couldn’t find your name on the tenant list.”