keep my focus on the task at hand, I shift on my feet to face Isabelle. “Did you hear that?” When her brows scrunch, confused, I try another angle. “I think I heard someone yelling for help.” Agents can’t enter a property without a warrant unless it’s to prevent an occupant inside from being seriously injured, hence my belief I hear someone shouting for help.
Hugo clicks onto my ruse quicker than Isabelle. “Yeah, I heard it, too. We should probably check on them.”
Hugo puts his years in the military to good use when he silently signals for me to enter the residence before him. While he sweeps the lower left of the shambled conditions, I take the right. Isabelle is here with us, but the stench of rotten food scraps and the scattering of rats has her not as eager to lead our investigation. She’d rather hang toward the back.
Signs someone lives here is exposed when Isabelle switches on the tube lighting wired throughout the beamed roof. The smell alone should render this residence uninhabitable, much less the number of rodents. I’ve spotted five rats so far, and I’ve barely stepped into the living room. Carlyle clearly didn’t get his money’s worth with his groomed bride. This place is a pig-sty.
When Hugo signals for me to clear the lower level of the property while he and Izzy take the upper half, I nod, agreeing with him. I’d rather Isabelle stay with me, but I can’t seek hidden clues if my every move is being watched. Carlyle purchased his wife at a live auction. They are invitation-only events, which means Carlyle most likely knew the men helming the operation. Although it was well before Isaac Holt’s time, so Isabelle’s attendance wouldn’t cause a conflict of interest, the man believed to shelter Isaac’s empire was most certainly in operation back then. Henry Gottle has been in this game since the day he took his first breath.
As the creaking of Isabelle and Hugo’s steps sound through my ears, I move into the kitchen. The floor is coated with food scraps, giving the room an odd fermented smell.
My heart falls from my ribcage when Isabelle’s squeal erupts into my ears. I dart for the stairwell, stomping halfway across the dirty living room before I realize the cause of her fright. Hugo’s boot broke through the frail wooden steps, sprinkling the plastic-covered couches underneath with shards of wood.
While Hugo pulls his foot out of the big hole, I move closer to the sofas that look like they were purchased right around the time Megan’s mother was bought. The plastic looks like it was placed on them to protect the floral material from being worn. Only a trained agent would know to look deeper into the reasoning. Why would you bother keeping a couch in new-like condition when you live in the equivalent of a pig-sty?
My brows pull together when the scent of dampness fills my nostrils at the removal of the first lot of plastic. We’re heading toward winter, so the conditions aren’t humid enough to cause the plastic to sweat. It appears as if the couches were cleaned but covered while still damp.
But why clean spotless couches? That doesn’t make any sense. Unless…
I rip open the drawers in the entryway table before making my way into the kitchen. I don’t have my equipment case with me, but even a novice can scan for bodily fluids with basic gear you’ll find in any house. Although I don’t recommend doing this if you enjoy vacationing. Semen shines the brightest because of its mix of chemicals, and it lasts the longest, so you’ll generally find every bit of bedding in a standard hotel room will be coated in it. The amount will have you demanding to speak to the manager immediately.
When I find a roll of Scotch tape and a blue and purple marker, I push some rubbish from the kitchen counter to the floor so I can turn my iPhone into a UV light. After covering the flashlight in the back of my phone with a layer of Scotch tape, I color over it with the blue marker before adding a second layer of tape. Once the outer layer is filled in with the purple marker, abracadabra, I have a bodily-fluid detector.
With the sound of dripping water filling my ears, I wave my iPhone over the three-seater couch. As suspected, it has been scrubbed clean. Alas, unless you use a ton of bleach, semen, urine, sweat,