Page 31 of Her Only Hero

I couldn’t tell if Aram had noticed Patrick reach over. Normally, I reveled in his touch, but right now I couldn’t enjoy it to its fullest extent because of the unwieldy situation.

“I’d like to clarify something,” I said. “Patrick hadn’t placed me in any danger. What happened to me was, well, on me.”

Patrick gently squeezed my hand before moving his back on the wheel.

“Still willful,” Aram said.

Heat flooded my face. What possessed me to think it was a good idea to ride in a cruiser along with these two? This would be the first and last time. And definitely memorable for me.

Patrick parked in front of the taped-off house and turned off the ignition. He got out and opened my door first. Aram waited like a trapped detainee until Patrick released him.

“So, Doctor, how was the scenery from back here?”

“Excellent,” Aram said.

“Don’t get used to it,” Patrick said.

“Haha.” I laughed nervously.

“They have swabbed the area inside the house for DNA, and as far as PPE goes, I think only gloves will be necessary should we need to touch anything.” He popped the trunk open, and we each grabbed a pair.

We advanced along the stone path. Leaves blew around my feet, and I noticed the hedge leaves turning shades of yellow. The hedge. I still had to tell Patrick about the business card I had found.

We skipped up the porch steps. Patrick removed the key from the lockbox and swung the door open.

“Who lives here, Officer?”

“Currently, no one. This is a vacant rental unit. Recently renovated.”

We filed into the foyer. The temperature felt as cool as it was outside. I detected the smell of fresh paint. It was so quiet I could almost hear myself breathing.

Patrick flipped on the light. We walked on tiled flooring through a tidy galley kitchen. The quartz countertop was clutter free, and the porcelain undermount sink had no dirty dishes in it. There wasn’t any evidence of any foul play here. And then I saw the wooden knife block with an empty slot.

We traipsed into the eating area. The table was askew, and chairs were knocked over—evidence of a struggle. A pool of brown-red blood crusted up on the floor, and there were streaks and spatters of blood on the floor, table, and wall.

“They’re going to have to paint again,” Aram said.

I held back a nervous giggle. He was still a jokester. “Is this where the victim was found?” I asked.

“Yes. He more than likely sustained his fatal injury here,” Patrick said.

“From a knife wound?”

“That’s what the good doctor will determine.”

Aram intently scanned the room. “The knife wasn’t the murder weapon.”

“No?” I said in surprise.

“He was shot. The bullet nicked the iliac artery.” Aram said. “My guess is there was an aggressor with a gun, and a victim, who grabbed a knife in self-defense.”

“You’re two-thirds right,” Patrick said. “We suspect there was another person involved. We found three sets of footprints.”

“Then probably two aggressors. What the hell went on in here?” Aram said, more to himself as he eyed every detail of the room.

“We’ve concluded one party had a key and entered through the front door. The second and third parties entered forcibly through the back door. And the altercation took place here, in the kitchen.”

Aram bent down to look at the kick plate of the maple kitchen cabinet. “Is that a bullet?”

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