Page 31 of Whispers Left Behind

October

Monday — 8:22 am

The usual hustle andbustle of the homicide division was absent for a typical Monday morning. Only two other detectives besides Kinsley were at their desks. She wouldn’t have been stuck with paperwork from last week if it hadn’t been for the coin toss Alex had won on Saturday afternoon. The loss for her meant that she would remain behind to catch up on paperwork while he drove out to the auto dealership for some scheduled interviews.

Kinsley took a sip of the caramel-flavored coffee she had picked up at the café on her way into the station. She stared at her phone, examining the grainy footage of the street outside her home. The timestamp was from Friday, but there was no indication that anyone had been surveilling her front door. She relinquished her coffee to zoom in on a tree, trying to determine if the shadows hid a figure.

“I found nothing in the wreckage at impound to suggest foul play.”

Kinsley fumbled her phone before managing to grab it securely. The only time she had ever been this on edge had been in the days leading up to Gantz’s death. She hadn’t been able to prove it then, but she had fully believed at the time that someone had been monitoring her every move.

Then…and now.

“Sorry,” Izzy quipped as she raised an eyebrow in curiosity. She then rolled out Alex’s chair from his desk. She was wearing a black turtleneck with matching jeans. Her choice of clothes covered the tattoo sleeve on her right arm. “You’ve either had too much caffeine or not enough. Anyway, sorry I couldn’t get to Baird’s vehicle on Saturday. Not sure if you saw the news, but there was an incident involving five vehicles at the intersection near the silo north of the city.”

There was no one better at reconstructing crash sites than Isabella “Izzy” Martinez. The woman had made a name for herself a couple of years ago during a high-profile hit-and-run case. That particular investigation had occurred in a small town about forty miles from Fallbrook, and their law enforcement officials had been stumped for months. Once a request had come through the proper channels, she had performed a meticulous analysis of the crime scene, tire marks, and vehicle damage.

It had been Izzy’s discovery of a unique paint chip that other reconstructionists had discarded as nothing more than debrisfrom a nearby road sign. In actuality, the small piece of evidence had been from a vanity plate on the vehicle of the accused. The successful resolution of the case solidified Izzy’s reputation as a top expert in the field.

“Not nearly enough caffeine,” Kinsley replied with a tight smile. She set her phone on the desk. “Nothing odd stood out to you? Forget evidence for a second. This guy’s sister was forced off the road. She crashed headfirst into a tree, suffered an injury from the shrapnel embedded in the airbag, and then hunted through the woods to a barn where she was ultimately murdered. You don’t think it was a coincidence that her brother was in a car accident three days later?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a hell of a coincidence,” Izzy said with a half-smile as she used her black boots to rotate the chair back and forth. “I’m reporting to you that nothing stood out to suggest the wreckage was the result of anything other than an accident. He was going too fast around the corner near the covered bridge. His brake pads were worn, and the result was basically metal on metal. Oh, and the techs couldn’t find any place in Rachel Hanson’s wreckage where there was paint left from the other vehicle. I know you were hoping for better news. How is the brother, by the way?”

“Not good.” Kinsley reached for her coffee, though she didn’t take a sip. “I spoke to the mother on my way in this morning. The doctors aren’t sure that Gage Baird will have full use of his motor skills.”

“Where are you on the case?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Kinsley noticed that Izzy was studying the murder board. “Alex and I spent most of the weekend searching both Hanson brothers’ residences and a storage locker. We’re still waiting on footage from the hotel to confirm Sebastian Hanson’s alibi. The domestic abuse investigation involving Jack Hanson didn’t amount to anything,either. I tracked down the other party involved yesterday, and though the two were arguing, it never amounted to anything physical. With that said, the man doesn’t have an alibi for the time of death.”

“What about Friday night?”

“The brothers claim they were together. We’re collecting doorbell camera footage from the neighborhood to confirm it. Doesn’t mean they didn’t sneak out the back door, but what would their motive be to kill Rachel and Gage Baird?”

Kinsley had already filled in some of the timelines on the board. The black line started at five o’clock on Wednesday with a phone call between Rachel and Jack. Around an hour later, Sebastian Hanson spoke with his wife. Gia Torres last saw Rachel roughly thirty minutes after that phone call. Since Rachel had been killed between the hours of one and three, that left six hours unaccounted for.

“And the grandfather?”

“Tobias Zayn is coming into the station this afternoon. I have some additional questions for him. While it isn’t out of the realm of possibilities, I don’t believe he could have physically kept pace with Rachel Hanson through those woods.”

Kinsley didn’t mind going over the details of the case with Izzy. Her curiosity was just that. Still, talking through the specifics helped Kinsley analyze the pieces a little better.

“I was hoping that your analysis of Gage Baird’s crash site would help eliminate him as a suspect.” Kinsley took another sip of her coffee. The contents had cooled a little too much for her liking, and she grimaced at the lukewarm temperature. “I’ve got a call into the rancher Gage conducted business with up in Leeds. I’m expecting to hear from him today.”

“Where's Alex?” Izzy’s gaze swept across the impeccably organized surface of his desk. She purposefully reached out andbegan to shift some items around just to annoy him. “Did you hear about the wager going around?

“Save your money.”

Izzy’s hand stilled above Alex’s stapler. She narrowed her eyes in scrutiny over Kinsley’s advice. She had always been envious of Izzy’s eyelashes. They were so dark and long it was as if she had her tattoo artist ink permanent eyeliner on her lids.

“You’re not going to spill, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Kinsley replied right as her phone chimed. She almost ignored the text, but the distraction prompted Izzy’s exit. “Thanks for taking a second look at the crash site.”

“Anytime.” Izzy had purposefully left Alex’s chair turned away from his desk. “Oh, and word to the wise? Stay away from Wally. He doesn’t have any players on his roster in tonight’s game. He lost this week, and you’re the reason.”

Izzy’s advice caused Kinsley to laugh, because she had checked her Fantasy Football points while brushing her teeth this morning. She had not only come in first this weekend, she had done it by a landslide.

“Duly noted,” Kinsley called out, noticing that Sam was exiting the elevator while Izzy was motioning for him to hold the doors. By the time Kinsley had finished reading Alex’s text, Sam was standing at her desk. “Morning, Sam. Hey, aren’t you poker buddies with the service manager from Birdie’s Auto?”

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