If the victim left everything to his nephew, does that mean he had no children?
She needed to review the Biggs file.
“He was found back here.” Truman turned down a narrow hallway. She and Eddie followed.
A dark, reddish-brown smear zigzagged along one wall and ended in a distinct handprint. Ragged bullet holes surrounded a door frame halfway down the hall. The door was also peppered with holes. Truman pushed it open with one finger and stepped back as he gestured them toward the dark room.
Mercy moved forward and blindly felt around the corner for a light switch in the black space. It was a small bathroom, and the floor was covered with thick, swirling patterns of dried blood. Bullet holes covered the back wall. A few more holes peppered the old linoleum.
It was brutal.
“He took refuge in the bathroom?” Eddie asked behind her.
“Yep. After confronting someone in his kitchen. The blood trail starts out there. I found one of his kitchen knives on the bathroom floor beside him. He was shot eleven times.” The chief’s voice was a monotone. “Someone else’s blood was on the knife, so I know he delivered at least one injury.”
Mercy looked back at him. “Your uncle was a fighter.”
“Absolutely. He didn’t take shit from anyone. I suspect he was very offended that someone was trying to kill him and struck back out of sheer pissed-offedness instead of out of defense.”
She smiled at his description, and the air of tension around the chief thinned.
“I suspect he’s sitting in heaven all proud that he fought until the end but still pissed that they got the best of him,” Truman added.
“He sounds like a real character,” said Mercy.
“You’ll find this county is packed with characters. I’ve never experienced such a diverse crowd of people in such a small population.”
“Let’s look at the kitchen,” suggested Eddie. The three of them walked single file back down the narrow hall to the kitchen at the rear of the home.
Mercy spotted dishes in the sink and some blood spattered on the floor and lower cupboards. “He pulled the knife out of that block on the counter?”
“Yes.”
She circled the room carefully. “No bullet holes out here?”
“No,” said Truman. “They’re all in the bathroom area.”
“Forced entry?” she asked.
“No signs.”
“Is the blood in here your uncle’s or more mystery blood?” asked Eddie.
“Both.”
“So someone in the kitchen made your uncle start swinging the knife around? That must have been quite the conversation,” said Mercy.
“I imagine it was pretty heated, considering the way it ended,” Truman said dryly. He didn’t look offended, and Mercy was pleased the chief didn’t mind a little banter in the face of a raw situation. Humor was an easy coping tool, and cops used it regularly. There was no disrespect, just investigators trying to protect their hearts from horrible sights left by the underbelly of humanity.
“Why is the FBI suddenly interested in my uncle’s murder?” Truman asked in a low voice. “It’s the missing weapons, isn’t it? I know Ned Fahey lived in an armed fortress out in West Bumfuck. Are his weapons gone too?”
Eddie met Mercy’s gaze and gave a brief shrug with one shoulder.
“Ned Fahey has a history of antigovernment actions,” said Mercy. “That and the combination of a lot of missing weapons got the attention of our domestic terrorism department.”
“Ned wasn’t a terrorist,” stated Truman, anger growing in his gaze. “He was an opinionated old man whose knees gave him debilitating pain every time the weather changed. He wasn’t the type to blow up federal buildings.”
“How long have you been in Eagle’s Nest?” asked Mercy quietly.
“Six months.” Truman raised his chin. “But I spent three high school summers right here in this house. I know how this community functions.”
Mercy’s heart stopped for a brief second. If he’d recognized her, he hadn’t said so. She had no recollection of Jefferson Biggs’s nephew visiting during the summers. Truman Daly appeared to be a few years older than she . . . probably the age of one of her siblings, so no doubt she would have been beneath his notice.
“As a summer visitor, you’d still be an outsider,” she stated. “The town would welcome you, but you wouldn’t be privy to their secrets. You’d only see what they wanted you to see.”
His brown gaze narrowed on hers. “You think so?” His tone implied she had no idea what she was talking about.
She shrugged. “I grew up in a small town. I know the mentality. It takes a couple of decades and lots of family roots to be allowed into the inner circles.”