Page 51 of The Fragile Ones
“Okay, then once you’ve got the interior, take close-ups of the body, her head, her hands – everything. You good with that?” she said.
With confidence, he said, “Yes, ma’am, I am.” He stepped over the threshold awkwardly in his paper booties, and began snapping.
“Did you read this?” McGaven said.
“What?”
“It looks like a suicide note.”
“Where?”
McGaven carefully lifted the first sheet of the writing pad and revealed part of a letter—handwritten in neat cursive. It wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, but the sentiment was clear.
Katie read it aloud:
I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. But I couldn’t save the fragile ones. The ones that needed protecting the most. I cannot live with myself for not keeping the girls out of harm’s way. I cannot live a lie. The truth will come out. Please don’t feel sorry for me, and don’t be sad.
All my love, Robin.
Katie took a quick photo with her cell phone. “Wendell, can you photograph this letter, please?”
“Yep,” he said, as he made his way over to the desk. Spotting the body at last, he stopped, swallowed hard, and then continued with his work.
“Wendell, did you know Mrs. Mayfield?”
“Not really. Just from around town. That’s the way with most people here, everybody knows everybody, but not many are close friends.”
“What about Mr. Mayfield?”
He frowned. “Run into him from time to time, but hadn't seen him in years. He was always with that guy…Darren something.”
“Rodriguez?”
“That’s it,” he said.
“When Wendell is finished, we need to get the evidence collected and tagged properly,” said McGaven with a concerned expression.
“Absolutely,” said Katie. “It’s imperative that the chain of custody stays intact.”
Katie steered McGaven into the kitchen while Wendell finished shooting the rest of the scene.
“How do you want to handle this?” asked McGaven. “Does the evidence come with us to the sheriff’s department? And the body?”
“I’ll have to speak with the chief.”
“What about Mrs. Mayfield’s family?” said McGaven.
“When I checked her background, there wasn’t much to find. Her parents are both deceased. She has a sister in Nashville that I can try to get in touch with. From everything I’ve uncovered about her, she kept to herself. She used to work at a diner in town, but that was more than a year ago.”
“How did she earn money then?” said McGaven.
“Good question.”
“Detective?” asked Wendell. “I’m done here.”
“Gav, can you assist him with getting the photos to John?” she said.
McGaven led Wendell outside.
