Lie To Her (Bree Taggert #6)(5)

“Yeah.” Chief Deputy Todd Harvey stood at her other side. “Fuck.”
Bree had no better response.
Their three flashlight beams brightened a patio made of gray stone pavers. A sunken firepit had been built into one of the outside corners. The body of a man was sprawled between the french doors and the firepit. Something shiny and opaque covered his face. No, it was wrapped around his whole head.
Bree leaned closer. “Is that plastic food wrap?”
“I believe it is,” Todd answered.
A resounding fuck echoed in Bree’s brain.
Todd continued. “Avery Ledger called 911 at 6:07 p.m. to report finding the dead body of Spencer LaForge. Mr. LaForge is the homeowner.”
Using the few details she’d provided, dispatch had labeled the call as a 12-77, a possible homicide. Legally, homicide was a broad term defined as the killing of one person by another. That killing could be legal, as in self-defense, or illegal, as in murder and manslaughter.
Bree eyed the victim’s hands, bound behind his back.
No question. This was definitely murder.
Matt gestured to the zip ties around the victim’s wrists and ankles. “Zip ties will dig into the skin if you try to get out of them. I don’t see any deep cuts. The victim was either surprised and/or quickly overpowered and restrained.”
Bree stepped back to view the scene in its entirety. She eyed the tipped-over, broken glass vase and scattered flowers on the pavers. A bottle of wine stood upright on the table. The chairs were still neatly tucked under the table. “An extensive struggle would have left a bigger mess. They didn’t even knock over the bottle of wine.” She pictured an efficient, fast, well-planned attack. “He isn’t a small man, and he looks to be in good physical condition. He should have put up a fight.”
“There could have been more than one intruder,” Todd suggested.
“That’s possible.” Bree scanned the grass but saw no path of crushed blades that would indicate a body had been dragged. A bloodless kill meant no obvious trail of blood to follow. The victim wore running clothes: black track pants and a zip-up jacket with neon stripes on the sleeves. One sneaker was missing. Bree spotted it on the patio near the door. “The sneaker by the door suggests he was dragged from the house or kicked it off at some point during the murder.”
Her gaze returned to the plastic-shrouded head. Had he been conscious? Had his lungs burned from lack of oxygen? Had he known what was happening?
A urine stain darkened the front of his pants. His bladder could have voided after death as normal—or in his last moments as he panicked. He would have blacked out in a couple of minutes, but those could have felt like very long minutes.
Unease swirled sickly through her gut. No matter how many murder scenes she’d worked, the sense of wrongness never failed to flatten her. How could one human do such terrible things to another?
“Could this victim be someone other than the homeowner?” Bree asked. “We can’t see his face.” And they’d have to wait for the medical examiner to remove the plastic wrap, which could contain trace evidence, fingerprints, and/or touch DNA.
“The woman who found him recognized his tattoo. She says it’s a full sleeve.” Todd pointed to the edge of Spencer’s jacket sleeve, which was pushed up, revealing three inches of intricate ink above the zip tie. Todd scrolled on his phone, then tilted it so Bree could see the screen. “Here’s his driver’s license photo and info.”
At six feet tall, Spencer LaForge had been a fit one hundred seventy pounds. He was clean-shaven, and his dark hair was short and cut in a precise style.
“OK. So, it’s probably him.” She blinked, shifting her gaze to her chief deputy. “Did you clear the property?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Todd turned his shoulders and pointed behind him, at a set of french doors. “We gained entry through the patio doors, which were unlocked. There was no one inside.”
Large windows spanned the back of the restored farmhouse. Lights blazed inside, providing a clear view of the open floor plan interior. Bree could see into a large, modern kitchen and family room. There was too much glass to call the house a fishbowl. It was a frigging aquarium.
Todd said, “It was clear he was dead, so I thought it best not to remove the plastic.”
“Good call.” Bree pointed her flashlight at the body. The visible skin of the hands and neck looked gray in the artificial light.
Saving a life was always the number one goal, but if that wasn’t possible, preserving the evidence was the next priority. Once evidence was moved, there was no putting it back.
Todd exhaled. “I notified the medical examiner’s office and called for a forensics team.”
“We’ll need additional deputies too,” Bree added, turning her attention to her chief deputy. Back in September, he’d been kidnapped, beaten, and nearly killed in an investigation. He’d recovered and even resumed both his work and his triathlon training, but he’d lost weight from his already-lean six-foot frame. Bree was concerned about his emotional well-being. This would be his first murder investigation since his trauma. Though he’d been cleared for duty by a psychiatrist, she would keep a close eye on him.
Todd nodded. “On the way.”
“Call in everyone you can get. Get an ETA from the ME. If she’s going to be long, set up a tarp or tent over the body. Prioritize searching outdoor areas.” Bree eyed the sky. Flurries drifted in the damp wind. The big, wet flakes melted as they landed, but the temperature was dropping. Normally, she preferred daylight to search outdoor crime scenes, but tonight, they couldn’t wait. “We need to find evidence before it’s covered in snow. We’ll need a generator and portable lights.”