Page 75 of The Fourth Option
Bates turned and saw the tussled sisal carpet and blood streaks on the wall. He had done five years in Homicide. While the other two cops waited behind him, he lowered himself to a crouch like a baseball catcher and shined his penlight along the floor molding, where fibers tended to collect. Five feet forward, he noticed something on the molding. He got to his feet and moved carefully down the hall. Gormley and Rayne waited. They had seen their boss at work and knew when to shut their mouths.
Bates bent down to examine what appeared to be dark animal fur, bunched up, atop a slight film of dust on the floor, which meant it was recent. It was too coarse to belong to a cat.
“Did anyone mention a family dog?”
“There wasn’t one,” Gormley said.
“Maybe she got one a week ago or something?” Rayne offered. “You know, because she was nervous after the kid thing happened.”
“Yeah?” Bates asked, turning slightly. Rayne was young, had a lot to learn. “Then where is the damn dog?”
“Gunshots could have scared him off?”
Gormley took it as an opportunity to correct the younger officer. “No dog toys in the yard, dish in the kitchen, or kibble in the pantry.”
“That’s why he’s the detective,” Bates said. He jerked his chin at Gormley. “Bag that fur, Hound. We should check it out before the CSIs do.”
Bates stood and entered the bedroom, his eyes drawn to the dead woman on the floor beside a chair in the room’s center, a bloody hammer beside her.
What a way to go.
Beyond her on the balcony was a massive body with a gunshot wound to the face.
Sergeant Otis Dupuis stood to the side of the dead woman with his thumbs in his belt loops. Bates didn’t like that and nearly told the patrolman to stand up straight. He was a COPE man. He had been Army, hadn’t he? Airborne or something? He should look like a COPE man. Then Bates reconsidered. He needed Dupuis for this. No sense in pissing him off right now. Might even be good to give him a little positive reinforcement. Dupuis had promise and it was important to build a base of supporters.
“You keep the CSIs out of here, Swampy?” Bates asked. Dupuis was from Jean Lafitte, Jefferson Parish, down Highway 45. The hardscrabble town was built on fill dirt poured into the swamp, named for an infamous pirate. Thus the name.
“Yes sir, Lieutenant,” Dupuis said, syllables softened by a lazy Cajun drawl.
“Nice work. Talk us through what we got here.”
Dupuis hitched his pants, removed his thumbs from his belt loops, and pointed out the features of the scene. “We have two deceased males and one female. Windows are smashed on the door that was locked in place, glass outward on the balcony. Wood splintering in the corner. I think it will match the brass casing from the Draco AK pistol over there,” he said, pointing at the weapon on the floor.
“Those fucking things,” Bates said. “What else?”
“Foot scuff on the sill, outside, like somebody hopped it.”
“And?”
“Room has been tossed. The way these books and papers are knocked all over the floor suggests the perps were looking for something. Contusions on the woman’s hands and feet indicate torture, sadism, or an interrogation.”
“And the rest of the house?”
“Upstairs rooms are tossed like this one. Downstairs doesn’t show signs of a search, so either they knew what they were looking for was on the second floor or they did not have time to toss the lower level.”
“Let’s talk about the vics. Start with this guy,” Bates said, pointing to a man in the corner whose face was a mess of bone, blood, and brain matter.
“Latin male, hard to tell how old he is. Face caught at least two rounds, maybe more. Tats visible on his arms and neck. Still holding the Draco.”
Bates walked past the dead woman and pointed his penlight at the muscled Hispanic man on the balcony. His face was blotted with tattoos.
“And him?”
“Latin male, about thirty, maybe a little older,” Dupuis continued, looking at his notepad. “There are bite marks on his right forearm, bicep, neck, and even the right side of his chest around the armpit.”
“Dog. What did I tell you?” Bates said, looking back at Gormley and Rayne.
“You knew there was a dog?” Dupuis asked.
