Page 15 of Wild Wolf
Sprawled on the tile between the two was a brunette woman in her late 30s. Crimson had pooled around her body.
A kitchen knife was missing from the set in a block on the island. It was one of the first things I noticed.
The woman had been mauled with multiple lacerations and punctures.
Forensic investigators had labeled the blood drops that led toward the back door, as well as multiple partial bloody footprints in different sizes—some small, some bigger.
A large, half-carved pumpkin lay on the ground beside the victim, smashed to pieces. Bloodstains speckled the orange shell.
Another brunette woman with black-framed glasses and long, straight hair sat on the couch with horrified eyes, trying to console two sobbing children—9 and 12. She was in her early to mid-30s.
My heart sank when I saw the young ones. This was bad enough, but having kids exposed to this kind of brutality was just heart-wrenching.
Sheriff Daniels looked at the victim with a grim face.
"Who is she?" I asked in a whisper.
"Hannah Quinn. 38. Mother of two.” He frowned and shook his head at the senselessness of it all.
"This doesn’t look like a wild animal," I said.
"Nope," Brenda replied. "Multiple stab wounds. There are defensive wounds on her hands and forearms. Judging by the size of the punctures, I'm going to say it was a kitchen knife. Probably the one that's missing from the block. But I'll leave that up to you to figure out."
"Whoever did this had a lot of pent-up aggression," I said.
You didn’t stab someone multiple times on accident. You had to mean it. When I saw this kind of hostility, it told me the killer likely knew the victim. You had to be pissed off to stab somebody this many times.
The back door looked intact when we entered through it. No broken panes of glass. "Any signs of forced entry?”
"No," the sheriff replied.
"Murder weapon?"
"Hasn't been found yet.”
"Who found the body?"
Daniels grimaced. "Kids were upstairs. Came down and found their mother like this.”
I winced.
"Who's the woman on the couch?" I whispered.
"Sister. Her name’s Carolyn Quinn.”
"Neighbors see anything?”
"I’ve got Erickson and Faulkner canvassing the neighborhood."
JD and I walked into the living room and introduced ourselves to Carolyn and the kids, James and Emily.
“I know this is a difficult time, but I need to ask a few questions,” I said.
Carolyn nodded. By the looks of her, she was pregnant and pretty far along. I knew better than to ask when the due date was. She grabbed another tissue and blotted her eyes.
“It’s my understanding the children discovered the remains,” I said in a delicate tone.
The kids sobbed.
