Marcus and Baldwin walked carefully around the perimeter of the small Cape Cod on Granny White Pike. A real estate agent would call it charming; buyers in their right mind would see a fixer-upper. Even in the faltering light, they could see the white paint needed refreshing. Ants foraged in the windowsills. Several unkempt azalea shrubs grew wild around the base of the house; while they would be spectacular when they bloomed in the spring, now they just looked sick and straggly. There were no lights on inside.
Baldwin went carefully up the stairs and onto the front porch. The boards creaked and he froze, signaling to Marcus to take the route leading to the back entrance. He waited until the younger man disappeared around the corner, then stepped as softly as possible to the front door. He took up a sheltered position to the right, where he could stand out of the line of sight, keep his weapon drawn, and still open the door freely. He reached for the doorknob and carefully started to turn it. It moved easily, and he stopped. The front door was unlocked.
Marcus appeared silently at the edge of the porch. Baldwin pointed to the knob and nodded. Marcus made his way carefully to Baldwin, then whispered to him.
“The back door is boarded up from the outside. Looks like it’s been that way for a while. I don’t think anyone is here.”
“Okay,” Baldwin whispered back. “The front door is open. Let’s do it.”
Marcus nodded and drew his weapon. Baldwin counted off one, two, three on his fingers, then he and Marcus burst into the open foyer. A stunning antique rolltop desk greeted them, and an Oriental runner led down a close hallway.
Baldwin took the lead and walked silently down the hall. It ended in a large kitchen, white cabinets and counters gleaming in the dark. A combination eat-in kitchen and great room was on their left. They could see the room was empty. Another dark hallway led off the kitchen to the right. Two doors were visible, closed. Another was open. Bedrooms.
Baldwin motioned to Marcus. They moved into the hallway, listening for any noise. They reached the open door. Baldwin stuck his head in and saw a neat bathroom. He pulled back into the hallway as Marcus opened the next door. The room was empty; a shell night-light plugged into the wall illuminated a bed made up with a hand-sewn quilt. It struck Baldwin that this house didn’t look like it belonged to a young college professor; it was the sort of home you’d expect from a retired grandmother.
Baldwin reached the next door and silently turned the knob. The door swung open, and the coppery scent of old blood assailed his nose. This room was a duplicate of the first, but the night-light spun dark shadows on the bed and walls. It smelled of death.
Marcus whispered a quick “We’re clear.” Baldwin nodded, holstered his weapon, and turned on the light with the back of his hand. The bedspread was black with blood, the wall to the right of the bed sprayed with an arc of dark red. Cast off. The knife had swung away from its target, blood flying off of it, creating a Pollock-esque pattern on the wall. An expert would be able to tell them every tiny detail of how the blood got there, every strike into flesh. Baldwin immediately thought of the autopsy photos of Jordan Blake. The gaping stab wounds in her young body must have been the ultimate cause of the stains.
He turned to Marcus and shook his head. They’d definitely found the killing house. He made his way back to the kitchen, snapping on extra lights as he went. When the room was fully illuminated, he started opening cabinets and drawers. In addition to the usual kitchen accoutrements, he found a large white-and-green bottle with a stopper top. The label read Aconite, and had directions for use. It looked as if it came from a store, like any other vitamin or supplements. Baldwin remembered Lincoln mentioning that aconite could be bought over the internet from many different sources. How convenient.
He opened it and took a whiff of the contents. He couldn’t smell anything. Marcus came into the kitchen, looking pale. Baldwin showed him the bottle. “Bastard bought it from somewhere. Man, that’s spooky. People can get anything online these days. The internet isn’t helping our jobs, is it?”
Baldwin gave him a sad smile. “No, it’s not. Time to call this in.”
Leaving all the lights burning, they retreated carefully, out the hallway to the front door, down the creaking porch steps to their car. Their backup was pulling up in their squad car. Marcus waved to them, then slid in the driver’s seat and keyed the microphone.
“This is eighteen at site two. Evidence galore. Bottle of something that starts with an A.”
They were being as cryptic as possible in case one of the media radios had accidentally been tuned to their frequency.
“Eighteen, is that our COD?” Fitz answered brusquely.