Page 17 of Off the Hook

“After considerable questioning, I did,” I admitted.

Oscar’s eyes narrowed. “Did the Sheriff have any influence on your opinion? You may or may not be aware that he’s best buddies with the father, Spencer.”

“I’m aware. In fact, I asked him to leave the initial interrogation because he’s too close to the case. So, no, he didn’t influence my judgment.”

Oscar’s brows raised, a brief hint of a smile on his lips. Standing up to the Sheriff might have earned me some credibility. “It’s early yet for judgment,” Oscar cautioned. “And for the record, you were right. We should keep the Sheriff out of any investigation into Coulter Rodman. I know you’re new to this small town, but this is a damn good example of why detective work is tricky in Smugglers Cove.”

“Noted.” At least we agreed on that. Ramirez had made it clear that he hadn’t wanted me for a partner when I joined the force. In the few months since, we had disagreed on most things. This was the first time he’d ever said I was right about anything.

I debated whether to tell him about finding Coulter at the scene before I remembered that Coulter’s fingerprints would show up on the key. “When I went back to the scene this morning, Coulter was there.” I said, watching for his reaction. I explained the whole interaction in as much detail as I could recall. “Truthfully, after all that, he didn’t seem like a likely suspect.”

Oscar shook his head, disappointed. “Let’s get back out to the scene for another look before it gets even more compromised.”

A forest green Tahoe pulled in behind us as soon as we’d parked. A pale, drawn woman stepped out, her hands immediately covering her face when she saw us. Sobs escaped between her fingers. This must be Kylie’s mom, back from Texas.

“Mrs. Anderson?” I said gently, walking up to rest my hand on her shoulder. “Yes, Kylie’s mother,” she said, her voice trembling before she broke into sobs again. I patted her arm for a few moments as she cried, while Ramirez paced anxiously. A tall, lanky man stepped out of the driver's side, and reached to shake my partner’s hand. “Ed Anderson. Kylie’s stepfather.” After we stared at each other for too long, I finally said, “We need to walk through Kylie’s apartment with you, when you’re up to it.”

Kylie’s mom nodded, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes. “Just give me a minute to take my things upstairs.”

“Of course, take your time.”

While we waited, I walked Oscar through the scene outside, showing him the boat and the dock, before pointing to the north where the body had been found three houses down the canal. We exchanged theories in low voices, and both jumped when a blood-curdling scream came from upstairs.

“Mrs. Anderson? Mrs. Anderson!” We drew our weapons and raced up the steps. As we reached the top, she appeared at the door, visibly shaken, with her wide-eyed husband on her heels. “Someone was here. It’s been ransacked,” she shouted. “My whole house has been ransacked!”

We motioned for her to step outside and let us pass. “Accidental drownings don’t usually end up with a house being tossed,” Oscar muttered as we stepped inside. “Mrs. Anderson, you stay out here for a moment, while we clear the scene.” Ed stepped onto the landing beside her, hugging her into his side.

Immediately we noted the signs of a hurried search. The living room was in disarray: cushions thrown off the sofa, drawers yanked open and their contents scattered across the floor, and picture frames askew on the walls. Moving cautiously, we cleared each room one by one. The kitchen cabinets had been flung open, dishes and food items strewn about. In the bedrooms, mattresses were upturned and closets emptied haphazardly. I checked behind the doors as Oscar swept under the beds. As we finished the last bathroom, we exchanged a determined glance.

This was no accidental drowning.

“Mrs. Anderson,” I called, “You can come inside now, just please don’t touch anything until we can get forensics out here.”

She looked around dazed.

“Mrs. Anderson,” Oscar gently touched the woman on the elbow. “When you came up here, did you notice anything missing?”

“Um,” She aimlessly looked around the living room, “Can I look in the other rooms?”

“Yes, just don’t touch or move anything. And wait a minute,” I held up a finger, “let me get you some shoe covers.”

I ran down to the car and grabbed my case from the trunk. “Here,” I said when I returned, “Slip these on over your shoes.” I handed pairs to her husband and to Oscar, and we all booted up.

“Uh,” she muttered as her eyes darted around the room. “Let me see.” The woman truly looked lost. I felt for her. First her daughter, and now her home. She walked down the hall, peering into each room, but never going in, almost like she was afraid. After briefly looking into the room with the white canopy bed with pink ruffled spread, she pulled the door shut, tears forming in her eyes before she bounded down the hallway to the next room. “Here, my computer,” she pointed. As Oscar and I entered the office, it was clear the computer was indeed missing, with a charging cord and internet cable left dangling from the desk like severed veins.

“Was it a laptop?” I asked.

She nodded soberly, eyes wide with worry.

“What was on it?”

“Nothing, really. Ed and I just used it for email, and keeping records for taxes.”

“Okay, anything else missing?”

She shook her head. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Do you have a safe or something hidden they may have been looking for?” Oscar asked.

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