look at the murder scene.
Katie opened the passenger door and stepped out, her running shoes instantly sinking into a puddle as the cool breeze whipped through her clothes. “Great,” she said, rolling her eyes as she trudged through sticky mud toward the yellow tape area. Neither Katie nor McGaven had had time to change out of their running attire, so they forged ahead without their badges and guns. At first glance, they looked like any nosy onlooker. Luckily, a patrol officer recognized them immediately and let them through.
Katie slowed her pace, taking everything in and scanning the area before making her way toward the body. Bulldozers were frozen mid-operation, towering over her. The stench of diesel masked the familiar odor of wet earth and pine trees, and all around her trenches and heaped soil battled against the run-off of water from all the rain they’d been having recently. To her left were three large metal construction containers—two had their doors wide open, but it was too dark to see inside.
It was a breathtaking site, with stunning views of the rolling valley all around and large elm and oak trees surrounding the house. The slight breeze made a whispering sound as it threaded through the leaves. It was no wonder someone would want to build their home here.
In the middle of the picture-perfect landscape stood the crippled remains of Elm Hill Mansion, clearly of no use or interest to anyone anymore and waiting to be knocked down. The once beautiful pale blue paint was now peeling from the wood in sections, leaving behind a tarnished beige undercoat—a sickly primer color beginning to seep through and take over.
If you squinted your eyes, it was easy to see that the historical house had once been a beautiful and striking manor. Two large columns at the entrance nodded to its grandeur, and several steps led up to a gorgeous double-door entrance with inlaid blue, green, and yellow stained glass depicting birds in the trees, obviously inspired by the amazing views that surrounded them. The doors hadn’t been removed yet, but it looked like they soon would be as the porch that had once wrapped around the front and sides of the mansion had already been removed and replaced with caution tape. Pretty windows on all three stories were now a misfit of broken glass and boarding. Around each window were intricately cut wood designs that added a whimsical fringe and decoration. Most were broken, hanging loose or completely absent. The wind, picking up now, caused loose pieces to rattle against the house.
Glancing behind her, Katie saw the small crowd of construction workers and a couple of other bystanders leaning over the yellow tape, trying to get a look at the scene. At least the area had been cleared quickly and there were hopes of preserving the site.
Katie and McGaven kept their course and walked toward the crime scene. Forensic Supervisor John Blackburn was organizing evidence containers and readying himself to take photographs when instructed, but he kept his distance and waited for Katie to get a first look. He nodded as she walked past.
Detective Bryan Hamilton stood next to a deputy, waiting for Katie. His perfectly pressed suit seemed out of place around the chaotic property. He appeared annoyed, running his fingers anxiously through his sparse hair, but forced a short-lived smile as she approached.
“How would you like to handle this, Detective?” Katie asked respectfully, knowing she was treading on his territory and making sure that her presence wasn’t going to cause any more antagonism than was absolutely necessary.
H seemed to relax a little. “It’s your show, Scott.” He then nodded to McGaven behind her.
“We are all on the same side,” said Katie. “I’ll tell you what I see so CSI can get started as quickly as possible.” It was better to include the detective than to alienate him or anyone else at the Pine Valley Sheriff’s Department.
Hamilton hesitated for a moment, and then accompanied Katie toward the sheet shielding the trench.
“Who found the body?” she asked, stopping to look at him.
Detective Hamilton turned and pointed. “The construction foreman; well, actually, one of his bulldozer operators.” He looked at his notes. “The foreman is Bob Bramble. He’s the short guy in the red shirt.”
Katie picked him out from the crowd, and then crouched to study all the heavy shoe prints around the area where she stood. “Did anyone go past this area?”
“I don’t think so. The foreman had enough sense to stop everything immediately