Hernandez had described having with the homeowners earlier in the day.
It amazed him that even learning a woman had died in their foyer wasn’t enough to get them to return from their vacation. Unfortunately, with them and the husband eliminated as suspects, he was hitting a wall. That’s why he was here: to find a fresh perspective.
He did a cursory walk through the first floor before going to the second, which was the reason he’d returned in the first place. Something had been bothering him all day but he hadn’t put his finger on it until he was driving home. Once he realized what it was, he was almost home. Instead of continuing, he’d turned the car southward and headed back to the Blooms’ mansion. Along the way, he called the MBPD to tell them he wanted to check out the scene again and was informed that a key to the house would be left for him.
At the top of the stairs, he turned on his small flashlight and made his way down the hall to the master bedroom. After allowing himself a moment to take in the large room with the canopy bed, he moved over to what he assumed was Gail Bloom’s dresser. Though he felt like a bit of a pervert, he slid on his gloves and pulled open the top drawer, which he assumed held her undergarments. Sometimes the job called for unusual choices.
He shined the flashlight into the drawer as he delicately moved around the woman’s delicates. After a thorough going-through, he pulled out his phone to once again look at the apparent murder weapon used on Priscilla Barton—the stocking. The brand, called Only the Best, which he’d learned after doing some online research, was very high end.
But looking through Gail Bloom’s drawer, he had found no pairs of that brand or any other hose at all, for that matter. Nor did he find a solo stocking, either in the drawer or on top of it. He knelt down to see if it might have fallen under the dresser but found nothing.
He got out his notepad and briefly noted his conclusion—that Bloom didn’t seem to own these stockings. That was odd and potentially helpful news. If the stocking wasn’t hers, then the killer hadn’t just grabbed it on the fly and used it as a makeshift weapon. He or she must have brought it into the house.
But why? Who walks around with a single, fancy piece of women’s hosiery?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a creak on the floorboard behind him. He slid his notepad back into his jacket pocket and stood up slowly, though his thoughts were racing wildly.
He could hear the sound of muffled, heavy breathing several feet away and actually sensed the body heat emanating from someone else in the room. He gripped the small flashlight hard, well aware that it was the only thing close to a weapon he had.
He tried to remember his training from his youthful FBI days but that was over forty years ago. The closest he’d gotten to a physical altercation recently was when a skateboarder accidentally knocked him over last year while zipping past him on the sidewalk.
In the end, Garland decided to simply let adrenaline and instinct do their work. But he wasn’t going to wait for the attack to come to him. So, as quickly as his aching bones would allow, he spun around and flashed the light in the direction of the heavy breathing.
He immediately saw his assailant, who was wearing black clothes and a black ski mask and holding a leather belt in his hands. Though the face wasn’t visible, the frame suggested a male. Garland took a step toward the man, who held his hand up to block the light and lurched forward. They collided hard but the other man’s weight advantage sent Garland sprawling back into the dresser. His bifocals flew off. He felt the dresser’s wood edges slam into his back and grunted.
He tried to ignore it and focus on the figure, who was still coming at him fast. As the man rushed forward, Garland swung his flashlight upward, making solid contact with the spot just below the attacker’s left rib cage. The man inhaled sharply as he doubled over, allowing Garland to shove him to the ground.
He stepped around the man and dashed toward to the bedroom door. Even at this short distance away, it looked blurry without his glasses. About three steps from the hallway,