dead in a neighbor’s house and that foul play was suspected. He arrived at the scene and looked around to see if Ryan Hernandez, the Homicide Special Section detective he’d asked to partner with him on the case, had arrived yet.
Not seeing him, he approached the closest MBPD officer and flashed his credentials.
“Garland Moses, LAPD forensic profiling consultant. Who’s in charge here?”
The officer, whose name tag read Timms and who didn’t look a day over twenty-two, gulped hard.
“Sergeant Breem is handling things until the detective gets here,” he said, his voice quavering nervously. “He’s inside right now.”
“Mind if I join him?” Garland asked.
“No sir. He’s in the foyer. That’s where the body is.”
“Thanks,” Garland said. He started in that direction before stopping and turning around. “Did you know the Bartons, Officer Timms?”
“Not really,” Timms said. “I never interacted with them personally but knew of them by reputation.”
“How so?”
“Mr. Barton called in a lot with complaints about his neighbors, noise violations, stuff like that.”
“And Mrs. Barton?” Garland pressed, scribbling notes furiously on his tiny pad.
“I don’t want to speak ill of the dead,” Timms said hesitantly.
“You’re not speaking ill. You’re just sharing information. And information is how we’re going to catch her killer.”
Timms nodded, seemingly convinced.
“Okay,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She had a reputation as a bit of a celebrity stalker, harmless but annoying. A few times well-known folks who live here complained that she would follow them around, even try to buddy up to them, try to sit down and have drinks with them. It wasn’t anything that serious. It’s not like she was breaking into people’s homes and waiting in bed for them.”
“Are we sure about that?” Garland asked skeptically. “This isn’t her house, correct?”
Timms’s face turned red.
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” he said, clearly embarrassed.
“Like what?” someone asked from behind them.
Garland turned around to find Detective Ryan Hernandez smiling at him.
“Never mind,” he said. “How are you, Detective?”
“Considering I was ripped from the comforts of home and companionship, okay I guess. And yourself?”
“I’m actually quite enjoying the change of scenery,” Garland confessed. “I almost don’t want to go inside.”
“And yet…” Ryan said reluctantly.
“…we must,” Garland finished, waving his arm to indicate the detective should take the lead.
As Hernandez walked ahead of him toward the front door, Garland marveled at his younger counterpart. Even when he was in his early thirties, he never looked as put together as Ryan Hernandez. Of course, he didn’t have the good looks of Hernandez either.
He had occasionally teased Jessie that her near-Amazonian height, deep green eyes, wavy brown hair, and well-defined cheekbones mixed with her boyfriend’s short black hair, brown eyes, and well-defined pecs would ensure that their future children would eventually assume their rightful place on Mount Olympus. It almost always made her blush. He decided not to try the same crack with him.
They stepped inside where Sergeant Breem, a lanky, deeply tanned guy in his forties who Garland suspected was a surfer was waiting with two other uniformed officers and a crime scene unit. A deputy coroner was taking pictures of the body. The husband was nowhere to be found.
Garland looked around the foyer, making notes on his pad as he let his eyes take in everything. Only when he was sure he had a sense of the room did he look at the victim. Priscilla Barton was lying on her back with what looked like a stocking wrapped around her neck.
She had obvious burst blood vessels in her wide open eyes, a likely sign of strangulation. She was wearing a red sports bra, yoga pants, and one flip-flop. The other was lying forlornly halfway down the hall. There was no rigor mortis; she wasn’t yet bloated and her skin was only slightly discolored, all suggesting her death was quite recent, likely not more than a couple of hours ago.
“Sergeant Breem,” Hernandez said, extending his hand in introduction. “I’m Detective Ryan Hernandez with the LAPD. This is our profiler, Garland Moses. We appreciate you letting us participate in the investigation.”
“Are you kidding?” Breem said, almost laughing. “We’re glad to take a backseat on this one. Not to be insensitive, but Barton isn’t an easy guy to root for. He’s been nothing but a challenge since he and the missus moved here. We’ll give you all the support you need but when it comes to dealing with that guy, we formally defer.”
“Where is Mr. Barton?” Hernandez asked.
“He’s at his house. It’s right next door. If you