The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,51
They nailed the windows shut after the storm, and I guess they did a shit job of it. A few days later, some guys in a squad car noticed the plywood across one window was hanging loose. Nothing of value was missing, not even the expensive computers. Someone left a package of cookies open on the kitchen counter. The only inventoried items missing were a crystal decanter, the crystal bowl where they left their keys, and the violin. We think it was some neighborhood kid who walked off with a few souvenirs, nothing more than—”
“Detective Nelson?” Johnson interrupted him. “Mr. Andrews insisted on viewing his family’s bodies. We know the authorities tried to dissuade him. Joseph told us that his dad worked out every day and claimed he would have tried to take on an intruder. He also told us there were cuts and abrasions on his father’s face, signs of a fight. He remembers a broken fingernail. I have the autopsy reports here in front of me. The other victims showed no defensive injuries. What’s your explanation for Mr. Andrews’s facial injuries?”
“You think it was an intruder? Maybe when you picked apart the ME’s report you forgot to compare it with mine. There was no indication of forced entry, no signs of a struggle. The fella just lost his head! We think the injuries were self-inflicted. The pistol butt had his DNA on it. I’ve seen it before, a suicidal person working himself into a frenzy before pulling the trigger. He’s out of his mind, he hits himself to overcome his panic. Physical pain helps him focus.”
Amaia changed the subject. “Detective, there are some things in the ballistics report I don’t understand. A comparison was made between a bullet fired in the lab and a twenty-two-caliber slug taken from the younger son.”
“That’s right.”
“Why did the lab compare only one bullet?” Johnson asked.
Amaia answered that. “I see here they tried to recover bullets from the wife and the daughter, but the bullets fragmented when entering the skull. The medical examiner was able to extract an undamaged bullet only from the boy.”
“Like she says,” Nelson agreed. “They couldn’t match those bullets, but they confirmed the shots were of the same caliber.”
“How about the father?” Amaia challenged him.
“Well . . .” Nelson seemed to be searching for words.
“They didn’t compare that bullet,” Amaia declared.
“They already knew that it was a twenty-two because the residue is less extensive than that left by higher caliber firearms. The lab subjected the swabs from his hand to exhaustive analysis. They tested for lead, barium, and antimony. Positive results for all three, and on the left hand; the man was a lefty. How could an unknown attacker know that? The father fired the gun.”
“And the bullet?” she insisted.
“We didn’t recover the bullet.”
Dupree interjected, “It couldn’t be found at the crime scene?”
Amaia knew the answer. “It’s still inside the father’s skull.”
“For God’s sake! It wasn’t needed. We have the residue, the bullet from the kid’s head was whole, and we had the shattered bullets from the wife and daughter. The slug in the father’s head must have been just as fragmented.”
“It isn’t,” Amaia stated flatly. “We just received the autopsy report. The X-ray of the man’s skull shows the bullet’s intact.”
They waited for Nelson’s response. Several long seconds passed.
“That changes nothing. He fired the gun, he killed his whole family. All the evidence supports that conclusion. I’m starting to get the feeling you want to accuse me of sloppy work. I’m a professional, an experienced homicide detective. We investigated that case just as thoroughly as any other.”
Amaia’s inquiry was quiet, almost offhand. “Detective Nelson. Could you answer one last question?”
“If it’s the last one, you bet I can!”
“There was another bullet recovered at the crime scene . . .”
“From the door frame, yes. It was undamaged. A twenty-two-caliber slug fired from the same gun.”
“I’m looking at a close-up photo. I can’t make out the height of the impact, but I’m guessing it’s just inches above the floor.”
“Yeah. How’d you know?” Nelson’s astonishment was mirrored in Johnson’s and Dupree’s faces.
Amaia tapped a button and put Nelson on hold. “Everything went wrong for the Composer. The storm turned out to be less destructive than expected; not all the family were on site; and the father resisted. But either our man decided to proceed as planned, or for some reason he couldn’t stop what he’d started. We’ve speculated that the Composer murders other family members but leaves the father till last.