Page 90 of Pretty Broken Dolls
Inside was dark except for a table lamp which emitted minimal light. The curtains were partially closed, allowing very little daylight in. Katie waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the dim lighting.
Katie and McGaven stayed at the entrance, surveying what they could see. There was a distinct stench of urine and feces that was a bit overwhelming.
There was a large sectional couch in the middle of the living room, but that was the only thing that looked undisturbed. The coffee table had broken glass scattered across the surface. Magazines were strewn across the floor. Two chairs from the dining-room table were overturned, one was broken. There were more bloody handprints around the wall entering the hallway.
“Wait,” Katie said. “We need gloves and booties before we go any further. Maybe something for that smell too?” She pushed the front door as wide as it could go hoping that the sealed-up stink would mostly escape.
McGaven instinctively retraced his steps and backed out of the apartment. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m putting a call in to John,” she said, dialing her cell phone.
After Katie hung up, she created a game plan for searching the apartment.
Ameowand purr sounded as a cat rubbed up against her left leg.
Startled for an instant, Katie looked down to see a thin yellow tabby with a few black marks circling her. “Oh, you’re the cutest. She bent down and picked up the cat. “You’re friendly,” she said, eyeing the round ID tag that said “Tigger.”
She heard McGaven storm up the stairwell, taking two stairs at a time. He appeared in the doorway. “Making friends, I see.”
“Maybe I should take him to Ms. Cross for now?” she suggested, looking down at the cat who was purring madly in her arms. “I bet you’re hungry too.”
“Good idea. Don’t think Cisco is going to like that you smell of cat.”
Katie carefully retraced her steps to outside the doorway. She quickly descended the stairs and brought the cat to the office and into Ms. Cross’s care. She was happy to take care of Tigger.
Upon returning to the apartment, she donned the booties and slipped on the gloves. McGaven patiently waited.
“You want to lead the search?” she said.
“Ladies first.”
“John should be here anytime, probably an hour given the traffic.”
Katie looked outside at the horizon and estimated that they had two hours of daylight left. “It would be a good idea to see if Darla Winchell’s car is in her allocated parking slot.”
“On it,” he said and ran back down to the parking lot.
Katie turned back to the apartment and took a moment to focus her entire energy on the examination. She made her entry slowly and decided to search in a clockwise motion. Again, she saw the beige sectional couch with three pieces. It was big enough to fill most of the living room area with the shattered coffee table in the center. Two small tables, each with a western-themed lamp, were positioned one at each corner of the room. One lamp was on, but the bulb flickered, as if it were getting ready to burn out. The effect was unnerving and even disturbing—as if Darla Winchell was trying to communicate from the great beyond.
Katie focused her attention on details and pushed silly thoughts from her mind. She surveyed the room from the bottom, to the walls, and up toward the ceiling as she walked.
There were signs of a struggle in the living room, and when Katie stood at the doorway to the hall there were three handprints on the wall, two of which were overlapping, making an abstract of blood. One print was clear enough for a good comparison, she thought.
Before going down the hallway, Katie walked toward the small open kitchen. There was a coffee cup, glass, a small plate, and bowl in the sink. A fork and spoon lay on the counter. Everything seemed normal, but Darla Winchell hadn’t cleaned up yet. One of the cabinets was open a few inches. It seemed to contain dry goods—cereal, rice, coffee, and some canned goods. She theorized that the victim had a bowl of cereal, piece of toast, and coffee. It told Katie that she was here during the morning.
Could the killer have been so brazen as to confront her during the day?
Looking for any of the weapons, such as a knife, she didn’t see anything that might have been used.
Katie then moved to the hallway, detecting the bloody handprints once again. The apartment was a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom. The hallway was narrow with a bedroom at each end. The small bathroom was in the middle. There were dark smudges along the walls, but Katie couldn’t tell if it was blood or some other substance. The first bedroom she approached had sections of long blonde hair stuck to more blood along the baseboard.
She paused, looking closer at the strands of hair. It was difficult to see with the naked eye but it appeared that there were pieces of scalp still attached to the roots, suggesting it had been pulled out by force. Piecing together what happened at the apartment, Katie worked backwards.
She took a couple of cleansing breaths before entering the bedroom. The door was half closed with several holes indicating someone or something had tried to force it open. The room was about ten-foot square and contained a double bed, small dresser, a nightstand and an antique wooden chair in the corner. The sliding closet door was open and revealed an overcrowded rail with clothes squeezing outward.
But Katie couldn’t take her eyes away from the bed. The sheets and comforter were white, but now soaked with blood. The crimson stain was nothing short of horrifying. The bedding was twisted and pulled from the four corners. It looked as if the items from the nightstand were on the floor between the bed and the table.
It was clear to Katie the attack had begun in the bedroom. She surmised that the killer caught Darla Winchell off guard and a fight ensued. It was where the defense wounds on her forearms had originated, and from the bloody handprints, the killer must’ve dragged her out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the living room.
