Page 46 of Not This Night

"Reports, Jensen. Did anyone call in anything unusual?" Rachel's voice sliced through the hum of activity, her gaze fixed on him like a hawk.

Jensen's hands fumbled with his security cap, his eyes darting away before locking back onto hers. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow under the harsh crime scene lights. Ethan gave him an encouraging nod. "There was... uh, an anonymous call," he stammered. "A few weeks back. Noise complaint. Shouting from the house."

"And?" Rachel pressed, her tone demanding an answer.

"Checked it out. Nothing." Jensen's words tumbled out in a rush. "Quiet as a grave when I got here." He winced at his own choice of words.

“I see,” Rachel remarked dryly. "Get me that call log. Now."

“Please,” Ethan added.

With a curt nod, Jensen turned and scurried out into the hall to make a call, his phone appearing in his hand, his shoulders hunched against the weight of her scrutiny.

Rachel pivoted on her heel, striding over to the coroner who was bent over the bodies, his hands deft despite the persistent tremor. As she approached, the unfamiliar, small man straightened up and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, leaving a streak of red where it mingled with the blood already seeping through his glove.

"Ranger Blackwood," he said, extending his hand before catching sight of the stain. He yanked his hand back, a flush creeping up his neck. "Sorry—Dr. Simmons."

"Thanks for coming so quickly, Doctor," Rachel said, eyeing the glove. "What can you tell me?"

"Both victims, three weeks deceased," Dr. Simmons began, his voice tinged with a nervous energy. "Multiple stab wounds, but—"

"Three weeks," Rachel echoed, the timeline settling into her mind like pieces of a puzzle. "And the cause?"

"Stabbings were post-mortem for the female victim. She was dead before the knife," Dr. Simmons explained, pointing to a set of gruesome photos laid out on a nearby table. "Her neck wound was the fatal blow."

Rachel crouched beside the body, eyes tracing the path of dried blood that painted a grotesque tapestry across the floorboards. Dr. Simmons cleared his throat, drawing her attention to a corner of the room where shadows clung to the walls like cobwebs.

"Take a look at this," he said, gesturing toward a native totem standing sentinel in the closet. The dim light glinted off turquoise beads, speckled with crimson droplets.

"Blood spatter... on the beads?" Rachel's voice was steady, but her pulse quickened.

"Affirmative," Dr. Simmons confirmed. "Whoever did this didn't care to avoid sacred items."

"Or they wanted to send a message." Rachel stood, her gaze fixed on the totem. Its presence here wasn't just ornamental; it bore witness to the violence, a silent sentinel amidst chaos.

"Anything else I should know about her injuries?" she asked, turning back to the coroner.

"Indeed." He pointed to a particularly deep gash on the woman's neck, now a gaping chasm in the pallid flesh. "Like I said, she was dead before these were inflicted." His finger hovered over the stab wounds riddling her chest. "This cut to her neck was the fatal one. She was gone before the knife went to work elsewhere."

"Execution first, then a frenzy..." Rachel mused aloud, her brain sifting through scenarios.

"Doesn't add up to a random break-in." Dr. Simmons met her eyes, his own reflecting the grim absurdity of it all.

"Murder-suicide?" Rachel probed further, searching for a motive in the madness. “Seems difficult with a knife attack.”

“Yeah. Not possible. Someone else did this.”

“Right-handed?”

"Left, actually," Dr. Simmons pointed to the wound's angle on the woman's neck. "The cut was made from right to left. That’s far more natural, and typical, for a left-handed person."

Rachel's gaze drifted to the man’s body, riddled with stab wounds, a horrific display of violence. “And him?” she asked.

"Same pattern," he confirmed. "Stabbing frenzy after initial fatal wound. But unlike the woman, his death wasn't instantaneous. He suffered before he died."

Rachel's eyes lingered on the native shrine above the bodies. Some items she recognized, but others were foreign to her. Her gaze fell on an intricate totem, its turquoise beads catching the harsh light of the crime scene. "What's with the totems?" she asked, her voice steady despite the churn of thoughts in her head.

Dr. Simmons adjusted his glasses, peering closer at the carved figures entwined within the piece. "Fertility symbols," he explained, pointing to the rounded bellies and interlocking arms of the figures. "They're common in various Native American cultures. Meant to invoke life, growth... a stark contrast to all this." His hand swept over the room, encompassing the grim finality of death.

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