The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(16)

Evan looked around as he slipped booties over his shoes. Ken Steward’s home was in an older subdivision; the homes were a little shabby and sat on large lots. He didn’t see anything that signaled bad neighborhood. “Seems okay.”

“We get calls all the time from this street. Big drug problem, which leads to all sorts of different crimes. Domestics. Break-ins. Car theft.” The young officer scowled as he looked down the street.

“I won’t be long,” Evan promised. “Leave if you need to.” He put on gloves, unlocked the door, and entered the quiet home. He shined his small flashlight at a wall, looking for a light switch, and turned it on.

A bachelor lived here. Evan recognized that fact immediately. Several women he’d dated had pointed out the bachelor-ish elements of his own home, and Ken had the same ones. Large overstuffed sectional. Big flat-screen TV. A coffee table with water rings. No rugs. No decorator pillows. Blank walls. Except for the flat-screen.

It felt comfortable but dull.

He stepped into the room and spotted two huge dog beds on the floor that had been blocked from his view by the sofa. One near where Evan assumed Ken liked to sit on the sofa, judging by the sagging cushion, and the other at the far end of the room, in front of a window, where it would catch the sun. There was also a folded blanket coated with black dog hair next to Ken’s place.

Evan could picture Juno and Ken relaxing in front of the TV.

No more.

He was grateful that Shannon Steward had taken Juno. No doubt Shannon’s home was also a place with multiple dog beds and a special spot on the couch. Even though Evan had never met the dog, the home felt as if a spirit were missing. There was a distinct loneliness that Evan suspected wasn’t solely from Ken’s absence.

Evan had thought about getting a dog after his niece and nephew moved out. The kids had stayed with him for a little while, and when they left, they’d taken Oreo, a tiny black-and-white dog Evan had found and adopted during an investigation. He still keenly felt the absence of all three of them. A dog would help fill that emptiness.

He shook his head. He’d had this argument with himself before. His work hours were too long. It would be unfair to the dog.

Evan sighed and moved into the kitchen. The cupboards had a brown wood finish and old corroding pulls, and the counters were cluttered with appliances and stacks of papers. There were three different coffee makers, an espresso machine, two blenders, and three toasters. Plus a toaster oven and several other kitchen gadgets.

Evan wondered why someone would need three toasters. Every appliance was plugged in, so he assumed they all worked. Maybe Ken had a fondness for kitchen electronics.

He sifted through the closest stack of papers. Utility bills. Months and months of them. Pay stubs. Bank statements going back a full year.

Don’t most people use digital records now?

Some people didn’t care to change. A system worked, so they kept it. Ken’s system appeared to be to keep everything in mixed-up piles.

He stopped on a page. Ken had been working as an Uber driver in his spare time.

Another lead.

Evan would need to file a request for Uber to release all Ken’s records. Maybe Ken had butted heads with a rider. He assumed there would be trip records of some sort in Ken’s phone but didn’t think they’d be comprehensive. Evan wanted every detail Uber could provide.

He went through the bills. No credit card bills. After Ken had been identified, Evan had sent a request to the major credit bureaus to find out which credit cards he’d used. With his wallet missing, there was a chance the killer had used them.

If he was stupid enough.

Evan had met plenty of stupid criminals. He returned the papers to their stack and looked around the cluttered kitchen again.

Two metal dog bowls sat on a floor mat. Another sign that the home would never be the same.

Who will clean out the house? Shannon?

Ken had never had kids, but Evan had learned the first two wives had both brought kids to the marriages, so he did have stepkids.

More people to interview.

Doesn’t matter if he didn’t have his own kids. Clearly he had people who loved him.

Evan’s mother had hinted in the past that she wanted grandkids, and he’d told her she was putting the cart before the horse. At least she had his niece and nephew to dote on.

Evan moved down the hallway of the small ranch-style home. The first bedroom was used as an office. He glanced at the messy desk and tall filing cabinet and decided to come back after checking the rest of the home. In Ken’s bedroom he went through the nightstands and poked around in a bookshelf.

What am I looking for?

Primarily he was trying to get a feel for the type of person Ken Steward had been. A large photo of Ken and Shannon hung on the bedroom wall. It was from their wedding day, but they were in a different pose than in the one Shannon had shown him. He wondered if Ken had not gotten around to taking the photo down, or if he liked looking at it.

Does Shannon know?

He peeked in both bathrooms and opened the door to the single-car garage. No room for a vehicle. It was packed with all sorts of camping gear, two kayaks, and three paddleboards. Several fishing rods. Backpacks of all shapes and sizes hung on one wall. Evan opened the drawers of a small workbench, expecting to see tools, but found more camping equipment.

No weapons.

Evan was a little surprised by the absence of guns. Most of the SAR people he knew usually carried something when working in the woods. Bears, cougars, and bobcats all lived in the Pacific Northwest. Usually the animals were apprehensive of humans and stayed away, but not always.