A Simple Lie Page 17

  Thomas was an excellent teacher, explaining each process as they performed it. Val was nervous at first, but he quickly put her at ease. She found him friendly and approachable. He was attractive for an older man, neatly styled and polished. She guessed him to be in his mid to late sixties and couldn’t help but think that he resembled a more mature version of Jack.

  Gwen held up the photos depicting how Julia died. Though Val didn’t want to look at them, she had no choice. She had to see where to put her end of the string.

  The carpet had two sections of pooled blood on the left side of the bed, presumably where Julia had been lying when she was attacked. One was smaller than the other. It was thought that she was first stabbed in the location of the smaller one and then managed to move a short way before she was assaulted again, creating the larger area as she bled out and was subsequently dismembered.

  The walls to the left and right side of the bed had been sprayed with blood spatter, and as Val finished placing the last piece of string, Thomas stood back inspecting the projections and asked Jack, pointing at the wall, “Do you see what’s wrong there?” Val quickly glanced at Jack, waiting for his response. She couldn’t tell what Thomas was referring to and wanted to know the answer.

  Jack walked closer to the left side of the bed, inspecting the string, then glanced at the photos. He pointed to the same section of the wall Thomas did. “The cast-off spatter pattern, right there. That’s what’s wrong.”

  Thomas signaled for Val and Gwen to stand next to him. “Ladies, do you see the problem?” he asked them.

  Val narrowed her eyes in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” She had crammed all night with her textbooks to learn as much as she could about spatter analysis. The size of the droplets on a surface will tell the speed in which blood travels from the victim. These were about one to four millimeters, exactly the size they should be for this type of attack, which was stabbing. They were also teardrop shaped with an elongated tail on the pointy end of the tear. The tail end shows the direction it was traveling.

  The shape of the drop gets longer as the angle of impact gets smaller. The angle from the floor to the wall wasn’t that big, indicating the person had been attacked on the ground. The string confirmed this.

  Val continued, “These photos show a large area of medium velocity spatter, which is consistent with someone being stabbed. The angle is also consistent with the victim being on the floor and Julia was stabbed on the floor. Everything looks okay.”

  Gwen nodded in agreement. “I don’t see anything wrong with it either.”

  “That’s an excellent observation and you’re correct, but it’s not the size or angle of the droplets that’s the problem,” Jack said.

  Val just stared. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s the fact that they’re even there that’s the issue.” Jack put his finger on the photo and pointed out the aquamarine-colored lamp that sat on top of the nightstand. “This is why.”

  Val looked at the lamp in the image, and experienced the sickening feeling she had felt the first time she saw it. It caught her eye the day she’d found Julia dead. The sight of the blood on the ceramic surface had made her knees buckle then, and it did so now. The noticeable reddish-brown stains in the image were glaring. It was one of the few things in the room that did have visible blood, obviously missed by the killer in the cleanup attempt—after he took Julia apart.

  “The spatter shouldn’t be on that specific part of the wall because this lamp is in the way. There’s spatter on the lamp and there’s spatter behind the lamp,” Jack said. “When blood is traveling from the victim and spraying on an object, it will be blocked from depositing on any surface behind the object. There should be a blank spot on the wall if this lamp was there during the attack. There is no void.”

  “We noticed the issue of the lamp, but really it’s insignificant,” Warren said. “Colin spent quite a while cleaning the room and he obviously must have moved it there at some point after he murdered his wife.”

  Thomas chimed in. “Oh, it was moved from somewhere, Detective Warren, you’re right about that. It wasn’t on this nightstand to begin with. That’s why there isn’t a blank spot on the wall. This lamp was placed here after the attack was completed. It couldn’t have been anywhere on this table while Julia was being stabbed. Not only is there no blank spot on the wall, the spatter pattern on the lamp is going in the opposite direction than on the wall. That, gentlemen, is also impossible if the lamp was here during the attack. So, it’s not the blood on that part of the wall that’s the problem. It’s this misplaced lamp. My question is why put it here?”

  Val felt her jaw drop open slightly. She wanted to ask questions, learn more, but she just listened, amazed by what she’d just heard. Thomas Hayden was impressive on Crime in the City, but he was even more so in person. Jack was brilliant too and she began to wonder why he was never featured on any of Thomas’s broadcasts.

  “Maybe Colin needed some light while he was cleaning the blood?” Gavin said sarcastically.

  “If the lamp was moved, if the killer had his hand on it then it should have been cleaned too. The blood on this lamp is obvious. It couldn’t have possibly been overlooked. Why leave the blood here when such meticulous cleaning occurred in this room?” Thomas added sharply. “Someone would have had to be blind to miss this. That fact makes me think this lamp was placed here, purposely.”

  Thomas then went back to the pictures and asked Gavin this time. “What is wrong with the blood on that part of the wall?” He pointed to the right side of the bed, to the other area of spatter.

  Gavin said nothing and waved Thomas away, dismissively.

  “How did that occur?” Thomas questioned again, not affected by Gavin’s attempts to ignore the findings. “The angle depicted by those droplets indicates that our killer and Julia had to have been closer to that part of the wall, but there’s nothing to show movement to get over there.”

  Gavin again, failed to engage in discussion on this.

  Thomas said, “How did they move from right here without leaving a bloody trail? Based on these large pools of blood on the carpet, Julia would have bleeding profusely. How did she get to that side of the bed and leave no blood on the carpet if she was stabbed again over there? This is impossible. The blood on that part of the wall also didn’t occur during the attack. It couldn’t have landed there, at that angle, from this point.”

  Thomas walked around to the right side of the bed and studied the angle of the droplets shown in the photographs. “This had to have happened somewhere around here, on this side of the bed, not that side. It’s as if someone took the bloody instrument and splashed it here to make the spatter look more expansive.”

  “Maybe this was the point of origin of the attack, Thomas,” Gavin said. “He stabbed her here and she managed to run to the other side of the bed where he finished her off. That would make this spatter pattern isolated from that one.”

  “Even if this is where it started, some type of blood trail would be seen from here to there. Julia would have been bleeding. The killer would have had an instrument that was dripping. There is no trail. There is no blood on the floor here or anywhere to show movement from one side of the bed to the other. Not a drop. How do you do that?” Thomas challenged.

  For the third time Gavin didn’t respond.

  “There are obvious signs of staging here,” Jack said. “It’s made to look like something other than what it really is. You have to at least admit that, Detective Gavin.”

  “Why clean it then if that’s the case? Why clean any of the crime scenes?” Gavin finally asked, his tone challenging. “If there’s blood on the walls and floor, we can spray luminol and know where it all once was. So why bother getting rid of it? Why go through the trouble staging the blood and then removing it?”

  “Excellent point. Why clean it? That’s what we need to find out,” Thomas said, hesitating for a second before continuing. “But this is a
staged crime scene. The lamp and that impossible blood pattern confirm it.”

  “All the more reason for Colin to be guilty,” Gavin said. “Only killers with a connection to the victim would bother to create a crime scene that makes it seem like something happened that really didn’t. They would want to throw the investigation in the wrong direction. That’s what staging’s all about. He wanted his wife’s death to look like it was connected to the others.”

  “But why would he do that? Mitch, as you know, the most common type of staging is usually when someone tries to disguise a murder as suicide or accident, hiding the fact that the manner of death is really homicide. The guilty person wants to avoid apprehension. Here, they are masquerading in a completely different way. Someone wants us to know a murder occurred, a violent murder no less,” Thomas said. “And the circumstances practically point to who’s responsible.”

  Gavin shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t seem to care.

  “The pillowcase was the same but the sheets were changed. It’s the signature. Only the killer would know to do this. The murderer of Jeanne Coleman and Francine Donohue committed this crime. Why would he need or want to stage this crime scene—unless he was implicating someone else?” Thomas asked. He took a deep breath, adding, “I think the killer intentionally made this crime scene look like his others.”

  Jack joined in. “If Colin were the killer why would he stage a crime scene in a way that would only incriminate himself for multiple murders? He would be the prime suspect. This is his wife. They were going through a nasty, complicated divorce and he was the last one to see her alive.”

  Both Warren and Gavin stared, having no quick reply. Gwen grabbed Val’s arm and mouthed, “Oh my God.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Thomas said. “It tells us that Colin’s either incredibly stupid as a murderer or he’s been set up. And the person committing these crimes is anything but stupid. So, this makes me believe that the killer not only knew these women, this killer knows Colin and has an agenda because the staging focuses the investigation on him.”

  Gavin’s cell phone began to ring. He glanced at who was calling. “I have to take this,” he said and then walked out of the room.

  He was gone for only a few minutes before he hurried back in. A smile was on his face and Val wondered what the phone call was all about.

  “Well, gentlemen. I hate to spoil your theory. That was the crime lab calling with the DNA results from Colin’s clothing. I must admit that your idea sounded interesting, that Colin was set up, but we have more against him now. It’s overwhelming. The district attorney is going forward with murder charges for Julia and Francine Donohue. The inclusion of Samantha Ritcher is pending the final results of the toxicology report.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Jack said, stunned. “The link you have to Francine Donohue is weak. A gum wrapper under her bed? It’s circumstantial. Hell, talk about staging.”

  “There’s more evidence. This is a little more concrete. We found DNA on his clothing.”

  “I would expect Julia’s DNA to be on it. He said that her blood got on him. There was never any question we would find her DNA on his clothes.”

  “It’s not Julia’s DNA we’re concerned about. Francine Donohue’s DNA was detected on his pants, quite a bit of it actually. He knew this woman.”

  Val heard the words, but she couldn’t believe it. She watched Jack’s eyes open wide, the surprise evident. Thomas just pursed his lips together before he said, “This makes no sense. DNA from both women got on the same pair of pants?”

  “Killers can be very ritualistic, even down to wearing the same clothing for each murder,” Gavin said. “You should know that, Thomas.”

  “So, you’re also not concerned that this scene is staged in a way that makes no sense if Colin is guilty?” Thomas insisted.

  “Colin is guilty. You have to accept that. All of the evidence points to him.”

  “It also points away from him too. The staging tells us that.”

  “Tell me how Francine Donohue’s DNA got on his clothing then. How do you stage that Thomas?”

  23

  Jack stopped the car. Thomas sat next to him. Val and Gwen were in the backseat. Good crime investigation focused on following leads, re-examining evidence—going after every shred of evidence until all was exhausted. New day. New perspective. Something may jump out at you. This is what Thomas and Jack told Val as she looked at the apartment that belonged to Stanley Wallace, the manager of the Eastville Projects. Francine Donohue’s place was vacant and he’d agreed to let the group see it again.

  Though she had originally liked the thought, that she’d be seeing this place again, that Jack and Thomas wanted her opinion, Val began to wonder if she should be here or not.

  Her doubts had been brought on by Gavin, who had had a talk with her about getting involved in this case. The detective had stressed the huge risk she was taking by being around Jack and Thomas. “If Blythe finds out, you’ll lose your job,” he said seriously. Gavin had agreed to keep it quiet that she had been to Julia’s house. “But,” he’d added, “there is only so much I can do if you persist with this. I’m giving you my honest opinion here: Thomas and Jack are taking this case in an absurd direction. It’s insane to think that Colin could be innocent.”

  She wondered what Gavin would say if he knew where she was and what she was about to do right now. I’m not going to worry about that, she thought. She didn’t need to. He wouldn’t be coming for the visit to the apartment today. There was no reason for it. Like Julia’s place, this apartment was not a crime scene anymore. Plus, Gavin had lost interest in any musings these two privately hired detectives might come up with, and elaborate on. DNA had sealed Colin’s fate. It was ironclad.

  Val looked around at the shabby, government-subsidized buildings. Their depressing appearance told a story of poverty and Gavin’s warnings about being fired intensified. The twinge in her gut strengthened to a wrenching twist. She was one paycheck away from an existence like this.

  But Val couldn’t ignore the possibility that Colin might have been set up. And she couldn’t ignore the suspicions she had about Dr. Blythe. Something just wasn’t right. And then there was the prominent role of Francine Donohue. More of Francine had been found than of any other victim. And now her DNA had been discovered on Colin’s clothing. What was her link with these other dead women—apart from the similarities in the killings?

  Though Francine’s murder seemed to be strongly connected to Julia’s, Val had some doubts about what might be gained from visiting her apartment today. She finally broke the silence in the car by saying, “I told you that the fingerprints on the back of the linen closet and on the ceiling in the bedroom closet both belong to Francine Donohue. Both places had small repairs to the drywall and she probably did it herself. I’m not sure why you want to see this in person.”

  A good set of usable prints had been obtained from the mummified remains of Francine’s hand. Gavin had told her that they had compared these prints with those found in her residence.

  “Because that,” Jack said, “is something interesting.”

  The group got out of the car and went up the walkway. Thomas knocked on Stanley Wallace’s door. It took a few moments for him to appear, and after some hesitation, to let them in. Val could see why he wasn’t eager to have guests. The place was nasty.

  It was as shabby on the inside as it was on the outside. Val couldn’t help but notice that Stanley himself didn’t seem right standing in the dingy space. He invited the group to sit down. Once positioned on the couch, carefully trying to touch only what was absolutely necessary, Val took a closer look at Stanley, studying him as he answered Thomas’s and Jack’s questions.

  Each time he lounged back in his chair he placed his hands behind his head and the arms of his shirt pulled up to expose a gold watch on his left wrist. Everything he wore appeared too expensive, something he couldn’t afford. Val wondered where he got the money to p
ay for it. She looked at the watch again. Her own gold watch, a Rolex, was the first thing she pawned when she needed money for a new furnace last fall.

  “I don’t know much about Francine Donohue,” Stanley said. “She was quiet. Paid her rent on time. I don’t bother with the quiet people who keep to themselves. I have too many people in this complex always complaining about something. They make me run around, doing everything short of wiping their asses, and are still never happy because they want me to do more.”

  “What about Jeanne Coleman?” Thomas asked.

  “That woman was a nutcase who rarely came out of the house. What do they call that? A recluse?”

  “Is her apartment also vacant?” Jack inquired.

  “Yeah, hers is too.” There was something in Stanley’s voice that suggested that letting an apartment in which a psychopathic lunatic had viciously murdered a woman would be an impossible task, even in these projects where people didn’t bat an eyelid over other types of death. Drug or gang-related was socially acceptable; rumored serial killer was not.

  “Can we see her place too?” Thomas asked.

  Stanley shrugged his shoulders. “Sure.”

  Gwen and Val chatted quietly on the walk to Jeanne’s apartment, mostly remarking on Stanley. Thomas and Jack were a few steps ahead of them. Val commented on how Stanley was opening up, letting his guard down. When they neared Jeanne’s building, he was speaking a little more freely about Francine. “I think he had a crush on her,” Gwen said.

  When they finally arrived at the entrance, Val’s heart raced as Stanley opened the door to the residence that once belonged to Jeanne Coleman. There was a faint smell of paint in the air. Someone had attempted to erase what happened here. Nothing could bring this place back to life. As they entered Val noticed the place was desolate. Not a piece of furniture remained. No rugs covered the floors. As the group walked the floorboards creaked loudly and their voices echoed in the empty rooms.