A Neighbor’s Lie. Блейк Пирс
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looked to Bill for the answer but he only shook his head.
“Did Kim ever stay here?” Rhodes asked.
“Yes. If Bill and I ever went on little mini-vacations, she’d stay. We have a guest bedroom that we always joked was Kim’s. She’d also sometimes just stay overnight on days where the kids had really been struggling with homework or school stuff.”
“Which bedroom is that?” Rhodes asked.
“Upstairs, first one on the left,” Bill said.
“Would you mind just hanging out for a while in case we need to speak with you after we have a look around inside?” Chloe asked.
“We don’t have to come in, do we?” Sandra asked.
“No,” Rhodes said. “You’re welcome to just stay out here.”
Sandra seemed relieved at this. But she still looked at the house as if she were expecting an axe murderer to come barreling out of the front door at any moment.
Both of the Carvers remained in the driveway while Chloe and Rhodes headed for the porch. It was a wraparound porch, complete with a porch swing and two rockers. Chloe opened the front door and they stepped inside.
The local and State PD had done the cleanup, according to Garcia’s reports. And from what Chloe could tell, they’d done a great job of it. Of course, it would have been much easier to get a read on the scene if the evidence was still there—including any blood that had been spilled. Whoever had tasked the bureau with taking on this case apparently had no clue as to how forensics or evidence collection was carried out.
Chloe saw a folder sitting on the kitchen counter—the report and files from the sheriff, she supposed. She walked across the foyer and through the living room to retrieve it. She opened it up, flipping through the basic report and skipping to the crime scene photos. She walked back to the front door to show Rhodes and they both studied the five pictures, comparing it to the now immaculately cleaned scene.
In the pictures, there was blood on the foyer floor, right up to the doorframe. The body of Kim Wielding lay sprawled on the floor, her left foot no more than six inches from the front door. In the second picture, it was very evident that she had been struck in the face with a blunt instrument. Her nose had been partially caved in and the lower half of her face was nothing more than a sheet of blood.
“Safe bet she was answering the door,” Rhodes said.
“Which means she knew the person,” Chloe added. “Or that she had been expecting someone.”
Rhodes took the pictures from the folder, not necessarily snatching them away, but not being polite about it either. “This pisses me off.”
“What does?” Chloe asked.
“This case. A single murder in an upscale neighborhood. With a cleaned murder scene and no direct help from local PD, what the hell can we do?”
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