Death Order: A Serial Killer Crime Novel (Dana Capone Mysteries Book 2) by Claire Feeney

Author:Claire Feeney [Feeney, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-01-17T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

Tuesday, September 25th, 2018

When the double homicide call came through, I dropped everything I was working on at the station to beat Tweedledee and Tweedledum to the scene.

No luck.

Detectives Krantz and Towers had been out to lunch not a mile from the apartment complex when one of the responding officers called it in. They must’ve already finished their food, because I couldn’t imagine them skipping out on a little pleasure to hurry over to “a couple of stiffs,” as Towers would say. Never mind that it was their job to do so.

The apartment complex was among the newer builds on East Riverside that looked sleek and modern enough but was in the right stage of gentrification to make tech bros neighbors to low-grade meth dealers.

The whole building had been taped off, and a quick count gave me a dozen police vehicles and four news vans already on scene when I arrived. More “high-profile” victims? Or was the news media just that bored of covering our homicidal president after two long years of it? Maybe both. I’d soon find out.

Small groups of two or three cops gathered around the edges of the perimeter, likely gossiping about something completely unrelated to murder. In one of those clumps, I spotted Krantz and Towers. They were chatting up a female corporal who didn’t appear disappointed when I stole them away. “You been inside yet?” I asked.

“Yeah, took a peek around,” Krantz said, scaling the stairs ahead of me. “Thought we’d wait for you to show up, so you didn’t bitch about us not being a team.”

“Wait, all I have to do is bitch for you two to start using your brains? Great. Count me in.”

The buildings were arranged in a large rectangle around the property, with the center space containing a pool that was most certainly billed as “luxury style,” a tennis court, a fenced-in dog park, and a community garden that no one seemed to be using. We arrived at the third-floor apartment, and after I slipped on shoe coverings, I started by checking the door. No signs of a forced entry around the frame or handle. When I pushed it open, I noticed two freshly installed deadbolts, not unlike the ones I’d added to my own apartment. “Looks like they were worried about someone getting in.”

“Could’ve been dealing drugs,” Krantz said.

“Sure,” I conceded. “Or could have been worried about a serial killer.”

Unlike the other scenes, of which this one was likely connected based on the preliminary description—hence the three of us hauling ass to it—there was no blood in the entryway of this apartment. Change of MO?

Once I entered the living room, though, any doubt of a connection vanished.

The two victims—both white males, perhaps mid-twenties, though it was tricky to tell with all the blood—lay in the middle of the room, each rolled onto his side so that they faced one another. At first glance, their hands appeared clasped between them, but as I moved closer, I saw that they were stacked in a pile together.

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