Dr. Jones pointed a gloved finger at the right side of the victim’s abdomen. “See the discoloration in the right iliac fossa region? The intestines are loaded with bacteria and lie close to the surface. Early stages of putrefaction are usually evident here.” She straightened and studied the body with a professional frown. “So, we have moderate fly activity, marbling, and some bloat in the torso.” She paused, as if weighing all the factors. “At the moment, I estimate the postmortem interval is thirty-six to forty-eight hours. I might be able to narrow that window during autopsy.”
Matt looked at his watch. Eight p.m. “So they were killed between eight p.m. Sunday and eight a.m. Monday.”
“Yes,” Dr. Jones agreed.
Bree nodded. “The neighbor last saw Camilla Sunday morning at church, so that fits.”
Matt and Bree might be able to pinpoint the time since death more closely through their investigation, but it was a beginning.
“Let’s get started.” The ME signaled to her assistant, who stood by with a camera. The assistant began photographing the bodies in situ. Images would be taken from all angles, beginning at a distance and spiraling inward, before the bodies were removed from the scene.
Matt, Bree, and Todd walked out of the house to let the ME work. The wind shifted, bringing the scent of manure with it. Matt almost laughed. Any smell pungent enough to overpower the scent of decomp was welcome, even manure.
They walked around the house. The county CSI van was parking at the head of the driveway.
“Do we have any additional questions for Homer Johnson?” Todd asked. “He took care of the goats. Now he’s just standing by.”
Bree shook her head. “Send him home. We can follow up later. Ask him to keep the deaths to himself until we have a chance to notify next of kin.”
“How long?” Todd asked. “In case he asks.”
People were morbid, Matt knew. They couldn’t help but talk about deaths, especially ones as violent as these murders. Plus, anyone driving past the farm would gossip about the law enforcement activity.
Bree faced Todd. “According to Homer, Ms. Brown’s brother lives in Scarlet Falls. I’ll drive down there tonight to do the death notification. I want you to start the paperwork. We need background checks for both victims, Ms. Brown’s brother, Oscar’s ex, and Homer.” A judge had already signed the search warrant for the farm. “Warrants for Oscar’s and Ms. Brown’s phone and financial records are being requested.” Thanks to modern technology, warrants could be approved electronically. She turned to Matt. “Let’s search the house and see what we find.”
They went inside, giving the ME and her assistant a wide berth. A thorough search of the parlor yielded nothing of interest. They moved on to the study, which clearly belonged to Camilla. Bree went to the desk. “We’ll take the computer with us.”
Matt focused on a row of wooden filing cabinets, where he waded through decades of farm records. It saddened him to see evidence of the business’s decline. Over the past ten years, the livestock had been downsized and the planting of hay and other crops had ceased.
Bree held up a piece of paper. “The last business tax return shows she was barely making ends meet.”
“Large operations have been pushing small farms out of the market.”
“The dairy farm down the road from me went bankrupt over the summer. The bank is in the process of foreclosing. Maybe Camilla or Oscar borrowed money from the wrong person.”
“And they were killed for the debt?” Matt shook his head. “I could see roughing them up. But killing your borrowers ensures you won’t get paid.”
“Thankfully, it seems Camilla kept excellent records, but we don’t have time to read every document tonight. I want to interview the family. Their address in Scarlet Falls is only a twenty-minute drive from here, but it’s already almost ten p.m.” Bree walked out from behind the desk.
Matt thumbed through a file of legal documents and snapped a photo of an attorney’s letterhead. “There are both family and business legal documents here prepared by the same attorney. Hopefully, he’ll have copies of their wills if they made any.”
“I’m betting Camilla had a will. She kept meticulous paperwork.” Bree waited near the doorway. “Coming?”
“Yes.” Just about to close the drawer, Matt spotted a hanging folder labeled WILL in block print. “She did have a will, and here’s a copy.” He pulled out the folder and skimmed through the legalese. “It’s pretty simple. Oscar was the primary beneficiary. Camilla’s brother, Bernard Crighton, is next in line.”