Page 48 of Not This Night

"Dr. Simmons," she said, turning to him. "I need every piece here documented and photographed separately before moving anything."

"Sure thing," he agreed readily, pulling out his camera.

Miguel Ortiz. Lucy Thompson. Heather Sinclair. Jenna Amos.

None of them native, yet with turquoise bracelets, memorabilia in their closets and raised bumps from inflicted scarring.

And then there was Scott Hawkeye. The only real native who’d been killed.

A hate crime?

Was someone hunting those they deemed as appropriators?

Then why Scott?

He’d been burned… A part of her had a fleeting, silly notion that what if his body was burned beyond recognition so he couldn’t be identified. What if Scott wasn’t the one in that car?

No. She shook her head. Silly. DNA and dental had already proven his identity.

"Ranger Blackwood." Jensen's voice cut through her contemplation, his face flushed as he approached. "I've got that address you wanted. The neighbor who called about the shouting."

She gave a quick nod of gratitude to the coroner, who was already busy cataloguing more of the victims.

She quickly said, “Please message me with confirmation of identities and any additional information. If you can find the knife, or discover the blade type, please let me know.”

“Of course,” the twitchy, bespectacled coroner said.

Two pleases in one sentence, she realized. Ethan was rubbing off on her.

She nodded at Jensen and approached where he lingered half in the room, half out, clearly hoping to make good his getaway.

She took the slip of paper from his trembling hand, her eyes scanning the details. This was tangible, a solid lead after wading through uncertainty. "Stay near a phone. We might need more from you." This time she left ‘please’ out of it.

“Can you tell me anything about this woman?” She read the name on the paper, “Bethany Meyers.”

He winced, shaking his head. “Ms. Meyers is a character,” he muttered. “A lot of calls.” He scowled briefly. "The typical nosy neighbor.”

"I see. Can you tell me a bit more about Ms. Meyers?"

“She lives across the street. I guarantee she’s watching all of this. Just go talk to her.”

Rachel felt her temper flare at his obstinacy, but Ethan—as if sensing her sudden irritation—stepped forward, forcing a smile. “It would help us to have some information up front.”

Jensen sighed. Shrugged. “She lives alone—a typical cat lady. Though, I think she has a pet lizard instead of a cat. She’s eccentric, keeps to herself most of the time. Calls us every few days about some perceived crime. Usually, it's nothing more than a stray dog sniffing around her trash bins or kids playing on the street after dark. She’s suspicious of everyone and everything."

Ethan nodded, glancing at Rachel. "Sounds like someone angry shouting and anything else that might've happened that night."

"Exactly," Rachel agreed, mustering her patience before turning back to Jensen. "Thanks for your time. We'll be in touch if we need anything else."

"Couldn't be happier," Jensen said, relief evident in his nod towards the door.

With the address for Bethany Meyers secure in her pocket, Rachel turned back towards Ethan, gesturing towards the stairs.

The two of them hastened away from the crime scene, elbow to elbow, dodging another forensic tech as this time she made her way up the landing.

The two of them hastened down the steps, maneuvering through a flurry of crime scene activity, their boots echoing on the atrium vinyl. The night had taken on an eerie quality, with the mansion looming over them in the dim light.

Already, news vans were parked on the curb, their lights casting long shadows. Rachel could see reporters huddled around a police barrier, their microphones extended in pursuit of a statement.

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