The two-story, single family home is quiet as I pull in behind Rebecca’s Prius. The curtains are drawn too. The horrible feeling that grew with each unanswered call I have doubles. I try the house phone again and can hear it ring inside, but nothing else. No TV, no laughs, it’s as quiet as a…
I unlock the glove compartment that holds one of my back-up pistols, a snub nose .38 I keep for just such occasions. I button up my bulletproof coat which hides the gun, and carefully make my way up the path toward the front door, checking all the windows for movement. My knock garners no response, so I try the handle. It’s open.
“Rebec—” is all I can get out before a familiar smell stops me dead. Burnt flesh and metallic acid. God. Fuck. I stumble back to get away from the smell and pull out my cell phone. I take a few deep breaths as my shaky hand dials dispatch. “This is Det. Joanna Fallon, badge number 5757. I have a possible 187 at 5672 Kirby Street. We’re gonna need a bus, and please call Lt. Harold O’Hara and Det. Terrance Cameron.” I hang up, stick the phone back in my pocket, and take out the .38. I draw in breath, doing what I always do before viewing a body. Shutting off. I flip the switch. This is no time for emotion. Then, breaking about twenty policies, I enter the quiet house.
I feel nothing beyond the adrenaline. The living room is clear, just dolls and crayons scattered around. No one in the kitchen or backyard either. My heart pounds in time with my pants. The smell is making my eyes water. In the backyard I take deep lungful of fresh air. Where the hell is my back-up? I don’t want to be the one who…I glance at Daisy’s pink playhouse and straighten up. This is my job. I can do this.
Gun pointed, I return inside and make my way upstairs, checking every corner again, all my nerve endings and muscles tightening. I’m halfway up when I see a body lying face down in the upstairs hallway. A pool of blood and pink fluid is underneath what’s left of the face. I can tell by what’s left of the hair this is Marnie. I know there’s no point but I check her cold neck anyway. No pulse. I cough and gag from the smell and practically leap away. Breathing through my mouth, I take huge gulps of air. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck,” I whisper. Gotta keep going, Jo.
Careful where I step because of the acid and blood drops on the carpet, I check the spare bedroom. Marnie’s gown from last night hangs on the armoire and the only things out of place are the covers tossed off the bed. She must have heard a noise and gotten up to check. The other two bedrooms are down the hall. Master on the right, Daisy’s on the left. I go right, passing an indentation on the wall with blood in it.
I’ve lost track of how many murder victims I’ve seen. They run the gamut from peaceful to slaughterhouse, but this…this is just… Rebecca’s tied naked to the headboard with purple rope, arms and legs spread eagled for everyone to see. Her head is turned to the side, but I can see there’s a gag in her mouth. Her chest is nothing but an empty hole of jagged ribs and red gore. I back out of the room as if it was on fire, straight into Daisy’s. I don’t want to turn around, but I do.
The four-year-old lies on her bed with a pillow over her head, her tiny arm hanging over the side. Though my hand is violently shaking, I touch her wrist. No. That’s it. That’s all I can take. As quick as I can, I run out of that house, taking steps three at a time. My back-up arrives, sirens shrieking just as I step outside and puke my brains out right on Rebecca’s perfect rose bushes while my legs give out on me.
Dear God in heaven. What have I done?
***
At my command the uniforms that respond first do not enter the house. I don’t want anyone to contaminate the scene, so the men set up a perimeter. The moment they pull up, the neighbors peek out of their homes to check out the commotion. When the coroner van appears, there are a few gasps. Right behind the ambulance is the CSI van, followed by the first of the press. Let the circus begin.
I haven’t been back inside the house. I can’t. The ME and techs know their jobs and don’t need me breathing down their necks. There are other things I can be doing, interviewing neighbors for one, but instead I’m sitting in the backyard staring at that pink plastic house, trying not to feel anything. I walked back here through the gate like a zombie and just sit down in the same chair I was in a month ago for a bar-b-que. Rebecca at the grill, Justin teaching Daisy how to somersault, and me sipping beer and as always feeling out of place.
My hands haven’t stopped quivering. Even balling them into fists doesn’t help. Everyone’s left me alone out here, even Cam. I heard his voice barking orders a few minutes ago. It’s only a matter of time before he comes looking for me. I have to give my statement. I’m not an investigator on this one. I’m a witness. I’m part of the case now, and I think I’m the only one who realizes how big a part right now.