Page 3 of Only Girl Alive

Eve shivered again beneath her coat, dreading what lay inside. She’d seen death countless times but the murder of an entire family needed mental preparation.

Aaron and his minions drove away from the scene before Eve and her unit entered the home. Her specialized team consisted of highly trained forensic detectives whose job it was to weed through church corruption and lies to solve aggravated felonies such as homicide. With or without help from the surrounding community, they would discover why a family was brutally murdered.

Tightening her jacket more securely against the dipping temperature, Eve gloved and masked with her team. They spoke in hushed tones because they were accustomed to overeager ears of the community picking up every word they said.

“Your stepbrother was in fine form,” her second in command muttered.

Clyde had more overall homicide experience than anyone on the team and he was also their muscle on the rare occasions they needed it. He was not just her right hand; he was her confidant. He knew more about the feud between Eve and her stepbrother, Aaron, than the others. He didn’t know it all, though, and she wondered if she could ever open up completely. She guarded her private life, past and present. It said a lot for Clyde that she trusted him implicitly. It was not a trust she gave easily.

Their relationship was complicated. It had changed from friendship to something more during the previous year. Somehow it worked even though she wasn’t sure if the team was aware.

As an early mentor, Clyde was one of the reasons Eve became the solid investigator she was today. They had worked a difficult case together and both had walked away with deep respect for the other. Clyde’s skin color had made it difficult for him in the white-man state of Utah. Whereas most of the US had a Black population, around twenty percent, Clyde chose Utah and its one-point-six percent to settle down and establish his career in law enforcement. The fact he wasn’t Mormon, the dominant religion in the state, didn’t endear him either.

“He knows this case will blow back on the church. It’s the last thing they need right now,” Eve said with candor.

“You think one of the wives went off the deep end and murdered them?” Collin interjected.

Eve gave Collin her famous icy glare and he raised his hand.

“I know. No conjecture before we examine the scene.”

“Then why do you say stupid things?” Ray shot back, and smacked Collin on the shoulder like a two-year-old.

Collin and Ray were the team’s comic relief. They bickered constantly but would basically take on anyone who looked sideways at the other. They were police-academy buddies who remained friends and applied for the squad together. Exact opposites, Collin Smith, a Mormon, with classic blond good looks, a sweet wife, and four children, had a way of thinking outside the box that often solved crimes.

Ray Gonzales, a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic, attractive, single, and living the good life though his traditional Hispanic mother wanted him married, was able to unwind Collin’s theories and turn them into organized patterns.

The pair made a great investigative team and both had forensic specialties.

“Guys,” Bina reprimanded in an indulgent voice that could turn abrupt in nothing flat. “For once could you act professional?”

Investigator Bina Blau, short black hair with high prominent cheekbones courtesy of her Indigenous ancestors on her mother’s side, was five feet nine inches tall, had long legs, and could make anything she wore look good. Black cargo pants and white shirts were her usual attire. When Bina needed to dress up, she added a turquoise bolo tie that accented her long ancestral throat and oozed class. Even her police boots could look dressy in a pinch.

Bina was the team’s Energizer Bunny and came with her own set of specialized training. Like Eve, she could nix Collin or Ray’s antics with a look. She indulged them like brothers but hers was a work, work, work mentality. As the team’s technical guru, she handled everything from computers to surveillance equipment. If you wanted Bina working around the clock for days on end, you kept her supplied in black tar coffee and gummy bears.

Eve glanced at the overcast sky with little sun coming through the darkened rain clouds, then turned to her squad. Their gloved hands and masked mouths and noses were a sight she was accustomed to.

“We ready?” she asked, and handed out foot covers.

They knew a family was inside and that could mean one or more children. Eve hadn’t given them the tally her brother imparted to her. She knew this would be hard. Thankfully, she also knew they could handle it.

They walked to the front door and Collin turned the knob. There was no squeak of hinges as it swung inward. Keeping the door well oiled would have been one of many tasks assigned to the women and girls to keep their hands from being idle. Collin entered first with his video camera. Eve, as their forensic photographer, entered next. She would take photos of the home exactly as they found it while the team stayed out of the way. Clyde, Bina, and Ray placed their hands in their pockets and followed. They wouldn’t be touching anything or disturbing the scene in any way.

They entered a mudroom, complete with bench to change boots and shoes. Under the bench, multiple pairs of rubber boots rested as Eve’s camera clicked. When it rained in the area, the dry ground swiftly collected water and turned it to thick, muddy soup. Thus, the boots.

Collin pointed the video camera slowly in all directions. They each had a job to do and the team’s male–female diversity guaranteed they had different perspectives on each step of an investigation. Their individual gifts uniquely qualified them as vital members of Eve’s team.

She looked back before leaving the mudroom and noticed Bina eyeing what could possibly be a spot of blood about six inches from the bottom of the front door. Eve zoomed in on the stain and clicked while refusing to dwell on what lay ahead. They would encounter the bodies soon enough.

Next, they stepped into a living area, cast in partial darkness by thick drapes covering the room’s large windows. The space was tidy and did not appear lived in. This was normal within fundamentalist Mormon homes.

If any would not work, neither should he eat.

The doctrine hung on a plaque by the front door of Eve’s childhood home. Idleness was not something she understood as a child and she implicitly knew the amount of back-breaking work that went into keeping a house clean with large numbers of people living in it.

“Eve,” Clyde whispered.

He did it on purpose because he knew the similarities between fundamentalist homes spurred thoughts she would rather forget. She and Clyde always seemed to be in tune this way. Eve clamped down on her memories and snapped additional photos. The camera offered a view one step removed from the waiting horror.

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