area in question: in this case, Alton Turner’s Corolla, inside and out, the garage door itself, and its remote opener. Then a magnifying glass would be used to determine if there were, in fact, any prints left behind.
Hailey stood watching. She’d always been fascinated with prints and loved producing them to juries. The medical examiner’s detectives had also arrived and were busily measuring distances from here to there, the car tire to the body, the body to the kitchen door, the blood on the tire from Alton’s bloody, upper torso, and so on.
“Hey, guys. Want to take a look inside with me?”
Billings was heading through the door leading into Alton’s kitchen.
“Sure!” They said it at practically the same time.
The three walked carefully into Alton’s kitchen, scoping the room to take in every single detail. Finch whipped out a writing pen from his pocket and used it to open the fridge.
“Check this out. Every single thing except the milk is in Tupperware and labeled.”
Staring into the highly organized fridge, she checked out the contents. Lettuce in a crisper, butter in its specifically designed niche in the fridge door alongside eggs also in their designated holders, canned drinks stacked in two neat, horizontal dispensers . . . everything in its place.
Finch pushed the fridge door shut and turned toward the sink. Hailey followed but something caught her eye. Alton’s calendar taped squarely onto the upper right portion of the refrigerator. Today was the 24th. But his calendar said the 25th.
That wasn’t like Alton Turner at all, based on what Hailey could surmise. Where was the tear-away sheet for today?
Hailey opened the cabinet under the sink and, predictably, found a plastic kitchen trash can hidden under. Checking in, there was only one thing at the bottom of a white plastic trash can liner. A single paper packet of Dixie Crystals sugar, opened and empty. Alton must have had coffee just before he died.
Hailey turned on her heel to continue on through a largely beige and gold den with dark brown accents. The room was dominated by a dark brown pit group in front of a prefab, built-in fireplace. Fire tools were arranged perfectly at its side even though it featured fixed gas logs. Above the wooden mantel was an oil painting of Alton standing behind his mother, seated in front of him. It looked like one painted from a local church directory photo.
Alton’s mom had a really beautiful smile, and the strong similarity between the two was evident. Hailey had the eerie feeling Alton’s mom was watching her as she walked toward a narrow hall leading past a pristine guest bath with a night-light on, positioned over the sink beside the door. Just passing the door toward three bedrooms in the back of Alton’s house, Hailey passed a simple framed copy of his mom’s obit hanging alone in the hall. Her eyes again watched Hailey pass by.
Glimpsing into Alton’s master bedroom, she noticed the bed was carefully made. The bedroom next to Alton’s was done in shades of lilac and deep purple. Using her pen, Hailey gently pushed open one of the levered closet doors to see clothes that looked like they belonged to Alton’s mom. She must have stayed here often before her death.
Heading to the third bedroom across the hall from the guest room, it looked like Alton had turned it into an office of sorts. A blonde wood desk with a desktop computer sat in the center of double windows looking out onto the front yard through sheer, ivory curtains accented by deep gold rayon drapes on either side. A clear plastic carpet cover was positioned underneath a desk chair on rollers pulled in exactly to the center of the desk.
Hailey naturally headed straight to the desk after first using her pen again to nudge open a single closet door beside the desk and peek inside at stacks of office supplies neatly arranged alongside boxes marked for the past ten years’ worth of tax returns.
Out of curiosity, Hailey punched the “enter” button on the computer’s keyboard with her silver pen. To her amazement, she saw immediately Alton didn’t keep his computer in lockdown because the screen promptly lit up and his personal email appeared. The very first thing she noticed was a long list of sent mail to someone with a courthouse addy.
The list was most recently accessed the night before. “Hey, Billings! Better come here!” she called over her shoulder.
The heading of the last email read “Big Meeting Tomorrow.” As Billings stepped in behind her, Hailey punched a button and the message appeared. It read: “Left a message with his secretary. All set for 2 PM. Nervous. Call me as soon as you can!”
“Hmm. Wonder what that’s all about.” Hailey studied the email as if somehow its meaning could mysteriously be extracted from its brief message. Could be anything from a dentist’s office for a root canal to buying an RV to a new job interview.
Scrolling farther down, Hailey easily saw a bulk of the messages were to someone named Eleanor Odom. Eleanor had a courthouse address as well. The headings ranged from “the cookies were great” to ‘let’s meet for coffee in the cafeteria” to “lots of paperwork today!” Many of the emails to whomever Eleanor Odom was remained unopened.
At that precise moment there was a large crash simultaneous with loud male voices. Hailey darted down the hall and out the kitchen door to find Trimble standing at the forefront of a tight knot of officers and crime-scene techs. At his feet was the actual garage door.
Billings flew through the door right behind her. “What happened?” His voice was deep, loud, and harsh. Hailey turned just quickly enough to see barely controlled anger etched on his face.
All the guys looked straight at Trimble.
“I just wanted to see how it was tampered with . . . so I got the guys to loosen a few screws and plugs and . . .” his voice trailed off.
“Don’t anyone touch another thing. Evidence is not to be tampered with in any way. Another mistake like this could cost us a guilty verdict. Trimble, go to the station right now and complete the paperwork. Myers, oversee the rest of the photographs and work this scene.”
“Yes, sir.” A man dressed in light blue jeans with a navy blue CPD crime tech shirt tucked in stepped forward. He was clearly in charge of the techs on the scene.
Without a word, Trimble turned on his heel and stomped across Alton’s lawn to his patrol car. In dramatic fashion, he cranked up, reversed, and scratched off.
Not another word was spoken among the rank and file there on the scene as several of the techs moved toward to the garage door lying on the driveway. Hailey spotted two of them pulling out plastic gloves.
The garage door. This would have to be handled very delicately . . . and not just the door. Not a word of Trimble’s snafu could be openly discussed, as that type of conversation, much less anything put in writing, would absolutely be discoverable at trial by the defense.
They’d have a field day with it and end up making the entire investigation look like Keystone cops . . . Barney Fifes. The whole investigation could be tainted, and when the bad guy was caught, whoever he was, he and his defense team could make a joke of the investigation right in front of the jury.
They all knew it, and the air hung heavy with the thought of it as the crew tried to regroup. Billings started directing the techs in heaving up the door and loading it onto a lean, pristine white sheet of plastic laid squarely onto the floor of a huge evidence transport truck.
Hailey and Fincher turned and
