Page 9 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
Death had frozen the young woman in a grotesque tableau—her body twisted at an unnatural angle, one arm trapped beneath her torso while the other extended outward as if reaching for help that never came. Her dark auburn hair was now a matted crown with congealed blood from the devastating wound at her temple.
“No defensive wounds,” Kinsley said softly as she studied Hannah’s hand and fingernails. “Multiple blows.”
“First hit was probably to the temple.” Kinsley made a circle in the air with her index finger without touching the wound. “You can see the point of impact here.”
“The attacker was facing her. The blow knocked her sideways,” Alex said as he stood next to the fire poker. “The second blow came as she was falling. The third…well, I’d say this was personal.”
“A lot of rage,” Kinsley said in agreement as she slowly stood. She continued to stare down at their victim. “Whoever did this wanted to make absolutely certain that Hannah never walked out of this cabin alive.”
“Based on lividity and the state of the blood, I'd say our victim died sometime late last night. Ten to twelve hours ago, maybe.”
“No signs of a struggle elsewhere in the cabin,” Kinsley noted as she made her way over to the kitchen table. “No overturned furniture. Chairs. Books. Nothing to suggest she was running or fighting back.”
“Surprising for a young, fit woman," Alex observed as he walked to the bedroom doorway. “If they were facing one another, Hannah would have had some warning that she was about to be attacked.”
“Unless she knew her attacker,” Kinsley suggested. “I know that the one wine glass suggests that she wasn’t expecting anyone, but it wasn’t like she was hiding out here in the wilderness. She was studying for the bar exam. I’m sure her family and friends knew of the rental location.”
“The murder weapon wasn't brought in—it was taken from right here. Opportunity, not premeditation?”
“Maybe.”
“Blake's already called forensics,” Alex informed her after stepping out of the bedroom. “They should be here within the hour. Wally, too.”
“Rock, paper, scissors,” Kinsley suggested as she opened the screen door. “Someone has to talk to Wally about those ridiculous headbands he ordered to go with our team shirts. Nobody will want to wear them, but he’ll insist that they’ll intimidate the opposing team.”
“I gave you a homemade dessert to take to dinner. The headband fiasco is all you, partner.”
Kinsley stepped out onto the back deck, taking in the surroundings. Some might believe that she and Alex were being insensitive to the crime scene, their responsibilities as detectives, and the victim by discussing something as mundane as flag football.
Doing so was their way of dealing with death.
What concerned Kinsley more was that she was able to compartmentalize her inexcusable actions from two years ago.
What type of person did that make her?
No better than the killer she and her partner would be hunting over the next few days, weeks, months…or even years.Unfortunately, they had many unsolved investigations sitting on their desk that deserved attention. People got away with murder every day, and she was the prime example.
“Anything?” Alex’s voice traveled through the screen.
Kinsley focused on the back lawn of the property. The yard wasn’t very deep before it met the tree line of the woods. Forensics would still complete a walk-around of the property to ensure that nothing was missed in the search.
“Nothing visible from here,” Kinsley answered before stepping back inside. The sound of tires on gravel outside made a distinctive crunch as a vehicle pulled up to the cabin. “That was fast. Forensics never makes it out this far in under an hour. Must be Wally.”
Alex moved to the front door.
“Did I tell you what is written on the headbands?” Kinsley asked as she made her way across the hardwood floor, taking the route behind the couch. “I'm not running around a football field with 'MORGUE MARAUDERS' across my forehead.”
The fact that an essential detail of their potential embarrassment didn’t get a rise out of her partner had her wondering what was taking place outside.
“Alex?”
“You aren't going to believe this,” Alex replied slowly, his voice dropping an octave as he was completely fascinated by whatever—whoever—was outside. “But I swear that our victim just drove up in a yellow VW.”
4
Alex Lanen
July
