But again, the term passing hardly applied to this situation.
Bree tamped down her fury. Two people had been violently ripped from their lives.
Grabbing her camera and a pair of booties from the back of her SUV, she returned to the house. She slipped the covers over her shoes on the back porch. On her way inside, she pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket and tugged them on. She went through the kitchen, trying to walk the path she’d previously used and minimize her impact on the scene.
Just inside the doorway, she snapped photos of the overall scene before moving closer and taking more pictures. After she’d captured the entire room, she approached the bodies.
She stopped next to the man, taking care not to step on any dried blood. A few smears at the edges of the blood pools suggested someone had already done so. She had to squat low and crane her head at an awkward angle to see his face. Three facts struck her simultaneously: One, like the female victim, he’d been finished off with a bullet to the forehead, execution style. Two, he’d been beaten. Three, Bree knew him. Even with bloated, bloodied, and bruised features, she recognized her former deputy, Eugene Oscar.
The man she’d recently forced out of the sheriff’s department.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sunset glowed behind the treetops as Matt Flynn slowed his Suburban at the mailbox. His gaze swept over the worn and tired farm. At the top of the driveway, he left his Suburban next to the two sheriff’s department patrol vehicles. Bree’s SUV was parked up by the house, alongside a battered truck. A generator hummed and portable lights had been set up to illuminate the yard as twilight faded.
Matt walked up the drive and headed toward the house. One deputy was securing the perimeter around the yard with crime scene tape and sawhorse barriers. Another stood on the front walkway holding a clipboard. Matt paused next to the second deputy to have his name added to the crime scene log, a record of every person who entered the scene.
He spotted Bree in the side yard, conferring with her chief deputy, Todd Harvey. As always, even under the worst circumstances, his heart did a little skip at the sight of her. But a murder scene was all business.
Matt approached the pair. As usual, Bree looked like professional law enforcement. Not a single dark hair had escaped her neat bun. Her tactical cargoes and uniform shirt were relatively wrinkle-free for the end of the day, and her hazel eyes were locked in a flat cop stare. But something was off about her posture.
Todd stepped backward to make room for him in the conversation. Typically, the chief deputy was fairly unflappable. He was an excellent supervisor and leader, the type of man who would handle situations within his experience and seek advice for those that weren’t. Tonight, his frame was as rigid as the giant old oak tree in the front yard.
Bree made eye contact. Her facade slipped for a second, and he could see more small signs that the scene inside that house had deeply disturbed her. Her eyes were too focused, and there was a barely decipherable unease in their depths. Before becoming sheriff of Randolph County the previous winter, Bree had been a homicide detective in Philadelphia. She was no stranger to murder. It took something truly shocking to disconcert her. Then she blinked, and the emotion was gone again.
She glanced around, as if to make sure there was no one within hearing range, then lowered her voice and dropped the bomb. “One of the victims is Oscar.”
Shock flattened Matt like a steamroller. “As in former deputy Oscar?”
Grim-faced, Bree nodded. “The farm is owned by Camilla Brown. The neighbor confirmed the name of her son is Eugene Oscar. Camilla remarried after Oscar’s father died.”
Nodding, Todd hooked a thumb in the front of his duty belt. “We ran the plates of two vehicles parked in the shed. The pickup is registered to Ms. Brown. The Explorer belongs to Oscar.”
“You want to see the bodies?” Bree asked.
“Yes.” Matt didn’t want any more information prior to viewing the scene with his own eyes. He preferred to have no preconceived ideas, even those from an experienced investigator like Bree. The same scene could leave varying impressions on different detectives. Matt wanted a clean slate when he viewed it for the first time.
“You’re going to want to suit up.” Bree sniffed her own shoulder and made a face. “The smell . . .”
The faint odor of decomp wafted from her. Matt returned to his vehicle and put on PPE coveralls to prevent his clothes from absorbing the smell. They walked toward the back door, which stood open.
Bree gestured to the rear of the house. “I initially made entry through the back door, as that lock seemed to be the easiest to breach without causing damage.”