Not Quite Dead Yet, page 5
“What’s that?” she sniffed.
Jack joined her, looked up. “It’s a cast-off pattern,” he said quietly. “From the weapon…between hits.”
“And they don’t know what the weapon was?”
“It has not been recovered.”
Cop speak for no.
Two voices moved through the hallway then, a snatched view of her mom and Chief Lou as they passed, bumping shoulders, Lou’s hand hovering behind Dianne’s back as they headed for the stairs. Shoes covered in blue.
“We already did a walk-through with Scott yesterday,” Lou was saying to her, voice butter-soft again, “but it would be really helpful if you can check for us too. Might have a better eye. See if you think anything is missing or out of place. Anything at all.”
Their footsteps disappeared upstairs.
Jet moved closer to the bloodstain, seeking permission in Jack’s eyes. She passed behind the couch, cushions fluffed, their top corners pointy, so neat and out of place in this room of horror.
Jet stopped. Right where her feet must have lain while her head was making all that blood.
“The doctor said I was hit three times,” she said, bending it up into a question.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s what the evidence shows.”
“What else does it show?”
Jack chewed his tongue, checked over his shoulder.
“Please, Mr. Finney. I need to know.”
Jack sighed, lowering his voice. “The blood-spatter evidence, there.” He pointed to the fireplace in front of the pool of blood, markers 13, 14, 15. “Suggests that you were hit twice while you were still standing, in the back of the head.”
Jet could have told them that. She heard it again: the crunch of her skull, an echo that reverberated inside her head. She should take more painkillers soon.
“And the third hit? This one?” She gestured to the dressing on the side of her head, above her ear. The blow that had stolen her words.
Jack pointed to another set of markers—7 and 10—almost subsumed by the hungry pool of blood. Jet squinted, could make out small dashes of red just beyond its boundaries.
“The blood spatter there suggests you were on the floor when you received the final blow, the one to the left side of your head. The attacker leaning over you.”
Jet swallowed, picturing it, because she’d already been gone by then, couldn’t remember the third crack. “Definitely wanted me dead, then.”
Jack rubbed his eyebrow, nodding to a forensic tech who’d just strolled into the room, a camera in his hand. Jet waited for him to leave, out toward the kitchen.
“Does the blood spatter tell you anything else?” she asked. “I’ve watched some Dexter, you know. Shit ending.”
Jack’s eyes shifted.
“No one’s listening,” she pressed. “Please.”
He spoke low and fast. “Trajectory of the spatter and the cast-off suggests that the attacker was using downward strokes. Which tells us that they are taller than you.”
Jet sighed. “I’m five foot three—it’s not hard. Anything else?”
“Right-handed,” he said. “The blow was only to the left side of your head because that’s the way you were facing when you fell. The attacker is right-handed.”
“So, right-handed and taller than me?” Jet said. “Doesn’t really narrow it down. Like, at all.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Anything else I should know?”
Jack looked around the room. “We don’t have all the findings from the search yet. Hairs have been collected. Fibers. Fingerprints. But, as this is a room with a lot of visitors, and there was a lot of activity after—from the first responders, the paramedics, Billy finding the scene—it’s hard to know if any of it will be relevant.”
“Do you know what time it happened?”
Jack pulled a small notebook from the chest pocket of his uniform, flicked through the pages. “We don’t know the exact time of the attack. But we have a range, from canvassing the neighbors, asking witnesses.”
“Witnesses,” Jet said. “They saw something?”
“No. They heard something. The dog. Screaming.”
Jet’s heart inched a little higher, reaching for her mouth. She’d heard the scream too, right before she’d heard nothing at all. She never knew dogs could scream.
“Did you hear?” she asked Jack. He was their closest neighbor.
“I wasn’t home,” he said. “Was still out after escorting Andrew Smith back to his apartment. I was in the car when the call came through the radio. I can’t tell you what that felt like, when I heard it was this address.” He paused to clear his throat, to rub his nose. “Anyway. The doorbell cam shows Billy approaching the door at 11:05 p.m., drawn by the sound of the dog, so we know it was before then. The Thomases in number 6 think they heard the dog from about 10:40. But Mrs. Elliott in number 12 believes it was later than that, more like 10:55 p.m. So, the attack happened sometime roughly between 10:40 and 11:00 p.m.”
Jet nodded, raking over his words again, committing those times to memory. She’d write them down later. “So, the killer probably didn’t hang around much after, knowing that the sound was going to draw at-t-at…” Fuck. What was that word? The word for when people noticed something. Fuck it, she’d go around it. “That people were going to notice the sound. So, the killer would have panicked, right? They left Reggie alone, but must have taken my phone and the weapon and ran?” Jet’s eyes left the living room, darting into the hallway beyond. But she stopped herself, corrected herself. “But not through the front door, because they would have shown up on the doorbell camera, and they didn’t. Which means they must have known we had one. So how did they get out? And in?”
“This way,” Jack said, turning his back to the bloody scene. Jet followed him, taking their morbid tour through the open archway into the kitchen.
Sophia’s Halloween cookies were still out on the counter, untouched, unmoved. Probably still good—it had only been a couple of days, right? No, shouldn’t eat the crime scene. But she should probably eat something soon, her legs felt weak, a little lightheaded, but maybe that was because someone had spilled all the blood out of it.
“Here,” Jack said, walking into the laundry room off the far side of the kitchen.
The back door was open, the crime scene tech standing outside, taking photos of the muddy grass right outside the door. More markers: 49, 50, 51, 52.
“You seen the size of their pool?” the tech said, not looking up, thinking they were somebody else.
The whine and hiss of the camera, a blinding flash. Another. Imprinted in the back of Jet’s eyelids. She cupped one hand over her eyes.
“Sorry.” The tech looked up now, a slow blink when he realized. “Sorry. I’m done.” He dipped his plastic head awkwardly, disappearing around the side of the house.
“This door was shut, but it was unlocked,” Jack said. “We think this is how they got in. A lot of shoe impressions. We’ve taken casts. But it looks like this door gets used a lot.”
Jet nodded. “I come in this way when I take Reggie for a walk. Mom makes the cleaners use it too. Dad when he’s gardening.”
“Your parents seem to think it was possible the door was left unlocked on Friday night?”
More than possible. Jet never remembered to lock it. But neither did Mom or Dad. That doorbell camera at the front was all the security they thought they’d needed. A show. A deterrent, Dad once said. But it had deterred nothing, and the killer had known to avoid it, to come around to the side door instead.
“It’s possible, yes,” Jet said. “Likely. Seventy-five percent chance it was left unlocked.” Because she spoke in percentages now.
“Got it,” Jack said, making a note in his little book.
A phone buzzed. Jet patted her pockets, forgetting that the killer had taken hers. She felt naked, incomplete, without one.
Jack glanced at her apologetically and pulled the phone from his pocket, checking the screen.
“That’s Billy again. He’ll be asking after you.”
“Does he know?” Jet asked, but Jack didn’t have a chance to answer.
Detective Ecker’s voice sailed through the open-plan house.
“OK, that’s it. The scene is released. Let’s get those cleaners in here ASAP. Move this poor family back in. Oh, sorry, Jet. Didn’t see you were still in here.”
Didn’t see her. Because she was small? Or because she was dead in a week and didn’t matter as much as the other people here, the ones who didn’t have a countdown hanging over them. Halfway between the living and the not, her edges less defined somehow. No…probably just the small thing.
Five
They carried the rug out, rolled up, the browning blood soaked through the underside. There was no saving it, apparently. Even though they were #1 in Forensic Cleanup and Decontamination of Crime Scenes, or so said the vans.
More plastic people, in and out the front door. And now Dad too, heading toward Jet on the drive, carrying a plate with a sandwich.
He handed it over. “Made this for you. Found a loaf in the freezer,” he said, as though that made the bread safe, separate from the murder somehow, behind the freezer door.
Jet’s stomach growled, a new song, now her head had gone quiet. She took a bite.
“It’s the good cheese,” Dad said with a small smile. “Not the low-sodium stuff. Figured you were allowed that now.”
Jet matched his smile. “Won’t be my kidneys that kill me after all.” She took another bite. He’d been liberal with the mayonnaise too.
“I bet that’s good.”
He was right, Jet already on to the second half.
“You warm enough?”
She nodded. She’d put a coat on over Luke’s sweats. Finally found some shoes too, the Birkenstocks from the closet.
Another two non-plastic people emerged from the front door: the chief of police and Mom. A look passed between them before they broke apart, Mom walking briskly toward Jet and Dad.
“You eating now?” she said before Jet could ask her anything.
“I was hungry.”
“Dinnertime soon,” she sniffed.
“Yeah, Mom. I think it’s probably OK if I don’t stick to standard mealtimes. I’ll be dead in a week.”
Mom flinched, closing her eyes. “Jet, please. Please. I’m going to ask you one last time.”
“You already asked me one last time in the hospital parking lot.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind. We can go back and Dr. Lee can—”
“—I made my decision, Mom. There is no going back.”
“Jet, please.” Eyes wide and begging, a cliff edge of more tears.
Jet couldn’t see her mother cry again, and she couldn’t keep saying the same thing. So she said something else instead, wanted to know what that look between her mom and the chief had meant.
“Was anything missing?” she asked, gesturing toward the house. “Or out of place?”
Mom shook her head. “No, don’t think so. Everything looks normal.”
Jet chewed the air and chewed her thoughts, now she was finished chewing her sandwich.
“So they weren’t in the house to steal something,” she thought aloud. “Or maybe they were, and I came home early and surprised them. But they hit me three times. Just once would have been enough for a thief to get away, if that was the motive. And why take my phone?”
“Let the police worry about all that,” Mom said. “It’s their job.”
Jet looked over at the cops: at Jack Finney and Chief Lou speaking to Detective Ecker, standing around an unmarked car.
“It’s their job,” she said. “But it’s my life. I have to do this. It has to be me.”
“Jet, don’t you—”
Jet wasn’t listening, spoke over her mom.
“—And they didn’t just hit me until I was in-inca-in—” Fuck, another hole in her head.
“Incapacitated?” Dad offered.
“Right.” Jet blinked her thanks. “I was down and out after the first two hits. But the blood spatter shows that they then leaned over me, hit me a third time. Which doesn’t seem like they were just trying to get away. Seems like they wanted to make sure. That they wanted me dead.”
“Excuse me.” Mom covered her mouth, stumbling away around the side of the house, toward the backyard.
“I’ll go after her,” Dad said, taking the empty plate from Jet.
“Wait, Dad. You also thought nothing was missing from the house, right? Checked everything?”
“Yes.”
Jet took a long breath, allowed the thought time to grow, winding through all the broken parts.
“If nothing is missing, that means they didn’t find the weapon at our house, that it wasn’t op-op—”
“—Opportunistic.”
Jet nodded. “Doesn’t that mean it was something they brought with them?”
Dad studied his feet.
“And if they brought the murder weapon with them”—Jet paused, not long enough to lose the budding thought—“that means they came here with one purpose. It wasn’t a stranger. It wasn’t a robbery gone wrong. It was someone I know. And they came here to kill me.”
Dad ran one hand over his stubble, pulling his mouth open, a silent scream.
“Who would want to kill me, Dad?”
His eyes filled. “I don’t know, baby girl.”
A car door slammed, breaking the moment, and an engine turned over.
Detective Ecker was pulling away.
“Wait!” Jet waved her hands, running ahead to cut him off, rapping her fist against his hood.
The engine cut out, car door opened again. Detective Ecker’s face, a new crease between his brow.
“What?” he asked, stepping out.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m working…on your case.”
“So am I,” Jet said. “And I’d say I’m slightly more motivated to find the killer. Seeing as they—well—killed me.”
The detective stared at her, waiting for more.
“Help me, and I can help you.” She folded her arms. “How many murders have you solved?”
“A fair few,” he grunted, crease deepening.
“This is my first,” she said, hands up. “First time being murdered also. Newbie. But I’m a quick learner. Adaptable skill set. Almost got a law degree, by the way.” Jet clapped. “So, if you’ve solved a fair few murders, then you’ve already worked out that if nothing is missing from the house, then this wasn’t a— Dad,” she yelled suddenly, “what’s that word again?!”
“Opportunistic!” he called.
“An opportunistic murder. It wasn’t a stranger robbing the house and I interrupted them. The killer brought the murder weapon with them. They came here with the intent to kill me. Someone who knows me.”
Detective Ecker screwed his mouth.
“We aren’t ruling out any possibilities just yet.”
Cop speak for: You’re right, Jet, and you’re amazing at this.
“OK, well, I am,” she said. “I’m on a pretty tight deadline here, bud.”
Jack had wandered over; the chief too, listening in.
“My Apple Watch,” Jet said. “You haven’t looked through it yet, I only just gave you the code. Do you have it?”
Detective Ecker hesitated. “It’s in the car.”
“Can I look through it with you?” she asked. “I mean, it is mine?”
Ecker looked back at Chief Jankowski and Sergeant Finney.
“Then you can take it and do whatever cop things you want to do with it, I promise,” Jet said. “I just need to see.” She glanced down at his wrist. A gold expensive-looking thing. “Looks like you don’t own one. I’m Gen-Z—n-no offense. But I know my way around an Apple Watch pretty well. I’ll find you the good stuff. Let me help you. Please.”
The detective checked with the other two cops.
Chief Lou shrugged. “Can’t see the harm in it. We’d tell her anything we find anyway.”
The detective sighed. He circled around and popped the trunk, coming back a few moments later with a small black device in his hands. Jet’s watch. He handed it to her, drawing close to look over her shoulder.
“Don’t delete anything,” he breathed in her ear.
“I won’t,” Jet replied. The device asked for her passcode and she typed it in: 0709.
“So,” she said, “I was thinking, you have an estimated twenty-minute range for the time of the attack from those witnesses.”
The detective looked over at Jack. Oops, might have gotten him in trouble there.
“But if we’re going to be asking for alibis, shouldn’t we know the exact time it happened, the very minute? This thing tracks my heart rate when I wear it. Won’t it show us the exact moment I…”
Jet trailed off, swiping a notification away: Yep, she was aware she hadn’t closed her activity rings the past couple of days, give her a break. She thumbed onto the small gray square with a red outline of a heart.
It brought up today’s data: no heartbeats, Resting Rate at 0 beats per minute. Only because she hadn’t worn the watch, but it felt pointed somehow, mocking.
Jet swiped to yesterday’s data, starting the day at midnight. Nothing. No beats. Was that because they’d taken the watch off her when she arrived at the ER? Or was some of it true: had she been in cardiac arrest as Friday turned into Saturday? She’d almost died, right here, somewhere in this blank data.
Jet swiped again, back to Friday, to Halloween, and the graph filled with white lines, the daily dance of her heart.
