Page 45 of Not This Night

The killer?

With a practiced eye, Rachel scanned the macabre tableau before her. Click. The camera whirred, trapping the scene behind its lens. She pocketed the device and edged toward the doorway, movements whisper-quiet.

"Anybody there?" A shadow loomed at the bottom of the stairwell. Flashlights danced on the walls, creeping closer with each heartbeat.

She scowled. Too late.

They were far, far too late.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The night had draped the luxurious gated community in a cloak of shadows. Upstairs, the crime scene was a hive of activity, with officers weaving through rooms, their movements precise and deliberate. Rachel stood firm, Ethan just behind her, facing the jittery gate guard who'd played gatekeeper earlier. His name tag read 'Jensen,' and it quivered with each shaky breath he took.

He smoothed at his upper lip as if he were used to having a moustache, but the lip was bare. Perhaps recently shaved?

Rachel took in small details dispassionately, watching Jensen and trying to decide if he was simply negligent or in over his head.

"Mr. Jensen," Rachel began, her tone even, "did it not strike anyone as odd that Lucy and Miguel hadn't been seen for weeks?"

Jensen's eyes darted to the staircase, then back to Rachel. Sweat glistened on his forehead despite the coolness of the air-conditioned room.

He hesitated, swallowing as if steeling himself. He was forced to step aside as a forensic tech hastened by, a small baggie clutched in hand.

Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a spectral glow over the blood-stained carpet. Upstairs, in the palatial home within the gated community, Rachel Blackwood's boots left faint impressions on the dusty floor as she shifted her weight, allowing the tech through the door and down the stairs.

Her gaze flicked back to Jensen.

Ethan Morgan, her partner, stood by her side, his presence an unspoken support against the tide of uniforms and flash photography.

Jensen swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I—it's a quiet neighborhood, Ranger Blackwood. People keep to themselves."

Rachel caught his glance veering toward the open closet where investigators snapped photos of a Native American shrine nestled among old beads draped above the bodies. The coroner was crouched by two bodies, his movements meticulous as he examined the deceased.

A different coroner, since they were three hours north of the prior crime scenes. This coroner was a small, twitchy man, who didn’t seem to enjoy making eye contact.

"Quiet enough to miss a double homicide?" she prodded, her tone sharp but controlled.

"Look, I just—"

"Did you see anything odd around here, Jensen?" Rachel cut him off, her piercing eyes locking onto his.

He shifted weight from one foot to another, his nervousness palpable. "You shouldn't have been here to find them," he countered weakly, a hint of accusation threading through his words. “We don’t trespasses into owner’s private residences.”

"Anything odd?" Rachel repeated firmly, sidestepping his implication and staying on the trail of questioning like a bloodhound with a scent. "Did you see anything?"

Jensen's gaze flitted to Ethan, then back to Rachel, defeat tracing the lines of his face as he confessed, "No, nothing."

“What about reports,” Ethan cut in. He had a gentler touch than Rachel, and seemed to note the man’s reddening tinge as a sign of embarrassment rather than indignation.

Ethan said, carefully, “Any of us could’ve missed it. I get it. Big house, wealthy patrons, right?”

The guard looked at Ethan as if he’d been tossed a lifeline. “That’s right!” he exclaimed. “I just do my job, you know.”

“Of course, of course,” Ethan said, nodding fervently.

Rachel knew that for her partner, this wasn’t just a manipulative tactic. He was genuinely an empathetic sort.

Jensen seemed less red in the face for a moment, and Rachel cut in, taking advantage of the handhold Ethan had created.

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