expelled a muffled curse. “Why?”
“She said she thought he’d maybe fallen and hit his head, that he was unconscious.” Jones glanced toward the house. “The way he’s lying there, I can see how she’d think that.”
“If Ormiston was dead, he couldn’t have buzzed her through the security gate. Did she say how she got in?”
“No. If you need me to, I can check with the guard to see if he let her in. And if so, why he did without authorization from the person she was visiting.”
“Do that. Also find out if Ormiston had any other visitors tonight. Any idea who the victim’s next of kin is?”
“Ormiston’s a widower, with one son who lives a couple of miles from here. The neighbor I talked to is getting his address so we can make the death notification.” Jones angled her chin. “You want me to do that, or will you?”
“I’ll do it after I’m through here.” Jake looked back at the scout car. Nicole’s gaze had not moved from the house’s front door; her fingers were still threaded through the security screen. His stomach tightened. Dammit, she wasn’t under arrest, he knew that. She wasn’t a suspect. She was a witness, waiting to be interviewed. Maybe, he thought ruthlessly, his reaction to seeing her caged was because it hadn’t been that long since he’d been locked in a cell, charged with eight counts of murder.
“I need to have a look at the body,” he grated. Turning, he stalked across the pristine lawn toward the house while Jones took two strides to his one to keep up. “While I’m inside, Jones, I want you to do something.”
“What’s that, Sergeant?”
Jake paused at the brick steps that led up to a porch lined by tall, fluted columns. “Move Miss Taylor to my cruiser.”
“To your cruiser?”
He wanted Nicole out of that cage; he wasn’t going to waste breath trying to explain why when he didn’t understand it himself. “That’s right, Jones, to my cruiser. Think you can handle that?”
“Sure thing, Sergeant.”
“Tell her I’ll talk to her as soon as I get done inside.”
Jake took the steps two at a time. As he strode across the porch, he toyed with the seeds of suspicion that, when it came to Nicole Taylor, he was destined to act like an idiot.
When he walked through the wide front door, he saw the usual contingent of forensic people milling in the foyer. Opposite the door, a curving staircase of gleaming oak swept up to the second floor. The sight of Phillip Ormiston’s body lying facedown at the base of the staircase centered Jake’s thoughts on business.
He recognized the man crouched beside the body as Zack Upchurch, the M.E.’s assistant.
“Evening, Zack. What can you tell me?”
“Evening, Sarge.” The man used his tongue to nudge a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Not a whole lot at this point.”
Jake nodded. No matter what time of the day or night he ran into Upchurch, the man’s brown hair was always standing in spikes, as if he’d come to whatever scene he’d been called to directly from bed.
“Any idea of time of death?” Jake persisted.
“Twelve hours, give or take.” The surgeon’s gloves Up-church wore gave his hands a grayish hue that matched the dead man’s face. “Have to wait until we get him on the table to give you a better idea.”
A flash of light to his left had Jake turning his head. Beyond an arched doorway, a lab tech wearing a blue jumpsuit snapped pictures in a living room with paneled walls, acres of matching upholstered furniture and a shiny hardwood floor.
Detective Wes Gianos, a tall, swarthy man, stood near the room’s green marble fireplace, talking into a cell phone. When he saw Jake, he raised a hand.
“Ford just got here,” Gianos said into the phone as he walked across the expansive tapestry rug toward the entryway. “Smith and I will head there in a few minutes.”
“Got another call?” Jake asked as Gianos clicked off his phone and slid it into the pocket of his suit coat.
“This one’s on the east side. Got two DRTs,” he said, using cop shorthand for victims who were dead right there. “One shot, one stabbed. Sounds like the Gun and Knife Club is hard at work.” Gianos nodded toward the staircase. “Meet Phillip Ormiston. Did the uniform outside bring you up to speed?”
“Yes. Any sign of a struggle in the house?”
“No. Smith and I also checked for signs of forced entry on the doors and windows. Didn’t find anything.”
“Any drugs around?”
“Negative.”
Jake stepped forward. Leaning in, he examined the body, making sure not to touch anything that would get the forensic types all bent out of shape.
Dressed in a tan linen shirt, dark slacks and leather loafers, Ormiston looked as though he’d lain down on the marble floor to take a nap. His dark hair, fading to gray at the temples, lay sleek against his head. Beneath the spill of light from a crystal chandelier, a diamond winked from the ring on his left pinkie finger; a thick gold bracelet circled his wrist.
Jake figured he could mark robbery off the list of motives if it turned out someone had killed the man.
He met Upchurch’s gaze. “Any sign of trauma?”
“None that I’ve seen so far. Nothing visible on his neck. No defense wounds on either hand. This guy’s big and has the look of someone who works out, so it’s not like he couldn’t have fought back.” The M.E.’s assistant rose. “I’ll get a sheet from my station wagon, then turn him over. Maybe we’ll find something on the front of him, but I’m not wagering money on that.”
Gianos waited until Upchurch went out the front door, then looked at Jake. “Since Ryan wants you on this case, I didn’t question Nicole Taylor. Figured you ought to handle that.”
“Not a problem.”
“There’s something you need to check in the kitchen before you talk to her.” As he spoke, Gianos aimed his thumb across one shoulder in the direction of a brightly lit hallway that led toward the rear of the house.
“What’s that?”
“There’s a basket from a bakery on the counter, partially filled with muffins. A couple of empty wrappers are inside, so you’ve got to figure Ormiston sampled a few.”
Jake furrowed his brow while his mind fell into sync with Gianos’s thoughts. They had a healthy-looking man with no sign of trauma who seemed to have dropped dead while walking across his entry hall. “You saying you think he was poisoned?”
“I think I don’t know what to think.” Gianos shrugged. “Look, I know Nicole Taylor is Whitney’s new sister-in-law and her brother Bill is the number two man in the D.A.’s office.”
Mentally,
