very well acquainted with choke holds. When a trained person applied a blood choke, the crook of the elbow was positioned over the windpipe so the airway wasn’t compressed. The person could breathe. Pressure was applied to the sides of the neck, cutting off the blood supply to the brain and rendering the victim unconscious in seconds. A blood choke was also called a sleeper hold for this reason.
Dr. Jones stripped off her gloves. She set them on the table next to the body. “In normal grappling, like you see in mixed martial arts on TV, either the person submits before they’re unconscious or their opponent releases the hold the instant they go limp. The blood supply returns to the brain, and the person wakes in a moment or so.”
In reality, the referee watched closely and called the fight when one of the combatants lost consciousness.
“And if the hold isn’t released?” Bree asked.
Dr. Jones gestured to the victim. “You die.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
As she backed away from the table and Dr. Jones returned to her work, Bree digested the ME’s information.
Holly Thorpe hadn’t died by suicide.
So, who had killed her?
Bree walked to a nearby table covered with a white sheet. Holly’s clothes had been spread out on the sheet to catch any trace evidence that could dislodge.
Each item of clothing was tagged, but each piece would be allowed to dry in a special drying cabinet before being bagged to prevent the growth of bacteria and mold that could degrade the fabrics and DNA. Bree would receive a list of items, but she noted the blouse was silk and a designer label. The jeans and boots were more common mall brands.
Bree led the way out of the autopsy suite. She and Matt stripped off their PPE and exited the office.
Outside, she turned her face to the spring sunshine. The warmth felt clean on her face but failed to eliminate the bone-deep chill of the autopsy suite.
Bree shivered. “Holly was murdered.”
Next to her, Matt inhaled fresh air like he’d been underwater. “And her death was carefully and purposefully set up to look like a suicide, which makes it likely it was premeditated.”
“Her killer even left a fake note.” Anger sparked hot in Bree’s chest.
“What now?” Matt asked. “Do you want to interview Owen Thorpe again now, or wait until we have more information?”
“We need a search warrant for their home.” Bree pursed her mouth. She had volunteered to give Owen the ME’s news about his wife’s death. “I’ll get Todd to fill out the paperwork. Let’s visit her sister and verify Owen’s bartender story while we wait.”
Bree didn’t want to give him any warning. Not that it would matter. If Owen had killed his wife, he’d already had days to dispose of the evidence.
Matt nodded. “Good plan. Don’t give him time to shore up his alibi.”
“Exactly.” Bree phoned her chief deputy and brought him up to speed on the autopsy results. “Get a warrant for the Thorpe residence. We need background checks on Holly and Owen Thorpe and Shannon Phelps. Also, we’ll want warrants to obtain financial statements for Holly Thorpe, Owen Thorpe, and Shannon Phelps. But first, call Holly Thorpe’s employer, Beckett Construction, and see if she was at work on Friday. If we can trace her whereabouts, it’ll help us narrow down the time of death.”
“I’m on it.” Todd ended the call. He hadn’t had much investigation experience when Bree had taken over the department. The previous—corrupt—sheriff had preferred to keep his investigations close. But Todd was proving to be a quick study.
“Do you want to take Owen to the station to stew while we search his place?” Matt asked.
“No. I don’t want to spook him into lawyering up. We’ll talk to him first, then hit him with the warrant.”
Bree and Matt dropped his Suburban at the sheriff’s station, then climbed into her SUV.
Matt used the dashboard computer to retrieve Shannon Phelps’s address. “Holly’s sister lives on Rural Route 29.” He entered the address into the GPS.
Bree headed away from town.
Fifteen minutes later, she turned into an upscale development of newer homes. Shannon lived in a gray, two-story, farmhouse-style home, complete with a front porch and hanging pots of flowers. “Nice house.”
“A lot nicer than Holly and Owen’s place,” Matt said.
Bree’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Todd. “You’re on speakerphone, Todd. Matt is also here. What did you find out?”
Todd’s voice echoed in the SUV. “I spoke with the secretary of Beckett Construction. Holly Thorpe worked a full day on