Page 15 of Operation: Sharp Angel

Becca arrived in front of her sister’s home fifteen minutes early for her meeting with the two private investigators. She sat on the hood of her car, waiting for them to arrive. It was another unseasonably warm, sunny day. The sun beating down on her felt good, especially on her bare arms. She wore blue jeans and a short-sleeved girly T-shirt, what had become her favorite outfit. She may never go back to wearing suits.

For the first time since she was notified of their deaths, she felt hopeful, hopeful that what really happened in that house may be discovered. When the police were investigating, it hadn’t occurred to her that they’d close the case declaring that Nick had done it, so she just felt devastated. But knowing in her heart that he did not, she had to set the record straight as well as find who really did it and make sure they were punished. Her sister and her family deserved some kind of justice.

A car pulled up and parked in front of hers, leaving a six-foot gap between them. The younger of the two investigators got out of the car. He walked up to her. She noticed he held a Starbucks cup.

“Good morning,” Tessman said to her.

“Morning,” she replied. She hadn’t said good since the murders. “Tessman, right?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You got a first name?”

“Carter,” he said. “But not many people call me by my first name.”

“Is that a military thing?” she asked. “You and Jackson, as well as most of the men in your organization are ex-military, aren’t you?”

Tessman was more than a little surprised by her question. He was aware of his lips tipping into a smirk-half smile, which he knew was his tell. That was why he didn’t play poker. “Why would you say that?”

She saw a little smile curve his lips. It was cute. “Detective Davis mentioned it.”

“Yes, to answer your question. It’s a military thing.” He took a sip from his coffee cup.

“Which branch were you in?” she asked.

“Oorah! Marine Corps, ma’am,” he said with a grin.

She couldn’t picture this baby-faced man as a Marine. She couldn’t stop the smile that formed, either. It was the first time she’d smiled in weeks. “How long were you in?”

He couldn’t tell her that technically, he was still in. “All of my adult life and I’m thirty-five.” He saw Jackson pull up and park across the street. “And here’s Jackson now.” He was glad. His arrival stopped any further conversation.

Becca couldn’t believe he was thirty-five years old. He didn’t look old enough to buy a beer in a bar.

“Thank you for meeting us here,” Jackson said to Becca as he approached her car. She still sat on the hood.

“You’re welcome, but I’m still not sure I’m ready to go inside.”

“We get it,” Tessman said. “The blood stains are emotionally hard to see.”

“But it’s important we ask a few questions, and you have to see exactly what we mean,” Jackson added.

She eased off her car and stood in front of them. “One request. I don’t want to go into the girls’ rooms.”

Jackson laid his hand on her shoulder and nodded. He understood.

They crossed the street and walked up the sidewalk to the front door. Her heart pounded in her chest. For the first time, standing in the alcove under the front porch, Becca realized how secluded the front door was from the street. She watched Jackson unlock the door with her set of keys. He went in first. Tessman motioned her in and then followed.

Right in front of her was the first blood stain, which she knew would be there. It was where Nick died. And there was an odd smell in the house. She couldn’t place it. She assumed it was due to the blood.

“Everything is very orderly,” Jackson’s voice invaded her thoughts. “Was this normal for this room to be so immaculate?”

Becca’s eyes scanned the living room and portion of the dining room she could see from the entry. “Yes. Nicole was never one for clutter. She had no collections, no chachkas sitting around collecting dust.”

“And there were never the kids’ toys in this room?” Jackson asked.

“No, this was the one room they didn’t play in.”

“Let’s go through to the kitchen,” Jackson said.

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