“First tell me what you see, Evan,” she said with an inquisitive raise of one eyebrow.
He studied the blonde mother, who lay on her back, arms and legs spread-eagled. “Looks like she was hit in the mouth and left eye. Several times.” He crouched beside the body. “Hands and nails don’t show blood or contusions, so either she didn’t fight back or couldn’t. I don’t see the beginning of any bruising on her arms.” He took a pen out of his pocket and pushed Summer Jensen’s hair off her neck. Faint marks. “He choked her?”
“I strongly suspect that’s what I’ll find when I get her on my table,” said Natasha.
This can’t be related.
Evan had two other murders on his desk. Both of young women who had been strangled during the past two months. But their remains had been abandoned in rural areas. They’d come from bad situations. One was from Portland and had been living on the street. The other was a runaway from Idaho. This death didn’t feel like the others.
But the other murdered women were in the forefront of his mind as he studied the body. He’d gotten to know them through photos and interviews with their families. Summer Jensen’s life experience was still present in the small house. And in her son.
“Her death was recent,” added Natasha. “Within the last four hours.”
“Our suspect can’t be too far away, then. Maybe he has the boy with him.” Evan noted that Summer was barefoot. She wore midcalf yoga pants and a thin T-shirt with the Nike logo. Evan stood and glanced around the kitchen. It had older black appliances and was neat and clean. It was very homey. An open box of Lucky Charms and a milk jug sat near the sink. An empty bowl featuring Thomas the Tank Engine waited nearby.
Making breakfast for Wyatt.
Slipping on gloves, Evan strode to the slider that led to the back patio and pulled on the handle. It slid open. “Was this unlocked when they cleared the house?” he asked.
“Yes. And the front door was ajar when the neighbor arrived,” said the sergeant, who’d been silently watching and listening.
“Why did the neighbor come over?”
“She and Summer always run together a few days a week at this time. She entered the house because the door was ajar and called 911 when she found the body. She lives two doors down. Good witness. Relatively calm. I sent an officer home with her, and she knows you’ll want to speak with her later.”
Evan nodded. “Where was the dad this morning?”
“At the gym.”
Evan made a mental note to check whether the gym had scanned a membership card and whether it had any video feeds. He stepped through the slider to the patio and took a deep breath of fresh air. The backyard was small and mostly lawn with a thin border of bark dust along the chain-link fence. The grass needed to be mowed. Evan let his gaze wander the yard, not liking that he could easily see into several neighbors’ yards through the fencing. He preferred a tall wood fence and privacy. A subtle shadow in the grass near the house caught his eye, and he squatted for a better angle.
From this lower perspective, he saw footprints had bent the tall blades of grass.
Wyatt.
The prints were too small and too close together to be an adult’s. They made a path that ran close to the house and disappeared around a corner. Careful not to damage the prints, Evan followed the faint path around the house and found a small gate with an easy latch. On the other side of the gate, the ground was covered in bark dust, and it was impossible to see prints in the rough pieces of wood.
Did the boy get away while his mother was being beaten?
Worst-case scenario was that whoever had killed Summer had taken the boy; best-case scenario was that the boy had hidden somewhere in the neighborhood, traumatized by what he’d seen. Evan refused to make any assumptions but knew that the footprints would make an excellent starting point for the search dog.
“Hey, Detective Bolton.”
Evan returned to the back of the house and saw the sergeant at the sliding door.
“Search dog is here. The handler wants some used clothing or a pillowcase or maybe a stuffed animal that the kid slept with for a scent article.” He held out a large plastic bag. “She said to put it in this but try not to touch it.”
“Got it.” Evan took the bag and followed the sergeant back into the house. He wandered down the only hall in the home, passing a small bathroom and a home office. He stopped at the doorway of what was clearly a young boy’s room. There were Star Wars sheets on the bed, with matching curtains, and toys were scattered across the floor. Evan spotted a pajama top and bottoms crumpled on the rug next to the bed. He pinched a corner of the bottoms with a gloved hand, dropped them in the bag, and sealed it.