“We’ll have to get a valuation for the property.”
They went upstairs. Bree veered toward the primary bedroom while Matt entered what was clearly a guest room that appeared unoccupied. A light coating of dust covered the dresser and nightstands. The closet was empty except for hangers. The next—and last—bedroom was slightly larger. Two closed suitcases were lined up against a wall. Another lay half-empty on the bed. The closet door stood open.
A man’s wallet, a set of keys, a cell phone, a laptop, and an envelope sat on a writing desk. He tapped the phone. A passcode window appeared. The computer was also password protected. Matt opened the wallet. Oscar’s driver’s license photo stared back at him from the clear plastic window. Matt thumbed through the rest of the wallet: credit cards, health insurance card, gym ID, and $115 in small bills. He set down the wallet. The envelope wasn’t sealed. Inside, he found a notarized letter from Oscar to his previous landlord breaking the lease on his apartment. His move-out date had been last Sunday.
The suitcases mostly contained clothes. Matt found nothing unusual in any of them. A few boxes held personal effects. He made a note to collect the laptop and cell phone as evidence. The techs in the lab would need to bypass the security on both.
Masculine toiletries filled the vanity drawers in the bathroom. Matt found only over-the- counter medications.
Bree emerged from the primary bedroom as Matt went into the hall.
“Any luck?” she asked.
Matt told her about the letter.
“He was divorced, right?” Bree asked.
“Yes.”
“Was it amicable?”
“I left the department right after they split up, but he seemed pretty bitter. I met his wife a few times at community or department events, but I don’t really remember her. She was quiet. They didn’t have any kids.”
“Then we’ll have to talk to the ex. Disgruntled former spouses love to vent.”
“They do.” Matt gestured toward the bedroom. “I found his laptop and cell on the dresser.”
“Most people keep their phones in their pockets or at least close by. His mother did.”
“Maybe he was upstairs when he was surprised by the shooter.”
“Maybe.” Bree waved toward the primary bedroom. “Camilla took blood pressure medication and loved to iron. She even ironed her jeans and pillowcases.” Bree blew a piece of hair off her nose. “But other than an admirable dedication to housekeeping, I didn’t find anything of note. There were a few pieces of jewelry in the dresser, so I doubt theft was the motive here.”
Matt agreed. “I found cash in Oscar’s wallet.”
Bree nodded. “Let’s interview her brother. We’ll keep the house sealed for now, so we have the option of conducting another search. I’ll have my deputies box the financial records and electronics.” Items that didn’t seem important now might become more interesting as the investigation proceeded.
They went downstairs. The ME and her assistant were bringing in body bags. One CSI tech in full PPE was taking samples of dried blood. Another was digging a bullet out of the wall. Bree stopped to confer with the CSI techs. Outside, Matt stripped off his coveralls. He went to his vehicle and opened the cargo hatch. After opening his war bag, he pulled out a package of wet wipes. He rubbed one over his face and hair. When he was finished, he leaned on his vehicle to wait for Bree to finish issuing instructions to her team.
She joined him, lifting her shoulder to sniff her uniform sleeve. “I need to change clothes.”
No one wanted to perform a death notification while stinking of the rotting corpse of the family’s loved one.
They dropped Matt’s vehicle at his house and drove to the sheriff’s station, where Bree took ten minutes to wash her face and put on a fresh uniform. She sprayed air freshener on her hair. Then Bree and Matt climbed into her SUV and headed for Scarlet Falls.
Officially, they would be performing the death notifications. But at this point, Bernard Crighton, as the beneficiary of Camilla’s will, would also be interviewed as the first viable suspect.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bree drove south, her mind on the death notification. She ran a few initial sentences through her head. But the rest of the conversation would depend on the brother’s potential reaction. Some people were too upset to speak. Others wanted to talk, to do anything they could to bring their loved one justice. Had Bernard Crighton been close to his sister? Was Bree about to rock his world?
She glanced at Matt in the passenger seat. The dashboard light highlighted his sharp cheekbones. His reddish-brown beard was closely trimmed, barely more than stubble. He would let it grow for a week or so, then shave it off. She wasn’t normally a fan of facial hair, but it looked damned good on him. He was a physically intimidating man, standing a beefy six three, with broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and a chiseled Scandinavian bone structure models would kill for. In her mind, she often compared him to a Hollywood Viking. A battle-ax and iron helmet would have suited him.