House of Stone by T. K. Thorne

Author:T. K. Thorne [Thorne, T. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Epicenter Press Inc.
Published: 2021-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Three

It’s late by the time I meet Tracey at Laurie’s apartment. There isn’t much to see or maybe there is too much to see. We stand inside the front door looking down the narrow hall. Her body lies between the living room and the small dining area of her apartment. At this distance, I can’t tell much except there’s not a lot of blood, which means she died quickly.

The Vestavia detective handling the case, Sergeant Andy Young, a black man in his forties, badge clipped to his jeans, stands with us.

“Glad for your help,” Young says. “Vestavia hasn’t had a homicide in years.”

I’m happy Tracey doesn’t mention that his partner is a rookie. He, at least, has homicides under his belt and several more years as a detective.

“Can you give us the basics on this?” Tracey asks.

“Yeah. Young woman, a grad student at UAB. Shot at close range. We’ve got a light powder ring on her head.”

I do know that means the gun was very close to her skull, close enough for gunpowder to leave a residue, which means the end of the gun was probably touching her head. This is often true in a suicide.

“Do you think it was a suicide?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not with the hole in the back of her head. It was definitely not a suicide, but we think the perpetrator may have used a suppressor, since the neighbor said he didn’t hear anything, and the walls are pretty thin.”

“Who found her?” Tracey asks.

“Same neighbor. He came over to borrow a spatula, and the door was unlocked. He said he knew she was home and opened it to call to her. That’s when he saw her on the floor.”

“Have you got a time of death?”

“Medical examiner put it roughly between 2 and 5 p.m. The body wasn’t touched until the paramedics got to her, but she was obviously a goner, so they didn’t move her.”

“Any other evidence?”

“Nothing. Evidence tech made a thorough sweep. No signs of struggle. He tried to pick up some prints, but Miss—” He checks his report. “Miss Stokes kept a pretty clean house.”

“Gloves?” I say.

Young nodded. “Could have.”

“How did he get in?”

“That’s the thing that makes us think she knew him or her. There were no signs of forced entry anywhere. She let him in.”

“How many shots?” Tracey asks.

Young touches his forefinger to the back of his head, his thumb extended. “One shot.”

Tracey frowns. “Doesn’t sound personal.”

“Professional job. Nothing taken that we can determine, though. Office said her name was flagged by Birmingham.”

Tracey nods. “That’s right. One of our cases.”

“You think there’s a connection?” Young asks.

“Might be,” Tracey replies. “Or maybe just a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe too much in coincidences.” Young scratches the side of his nose.

“Me either,” Tracey says.

“What’s the connection?”

“Two weeks ago Benjamin Crompton, a professor at UAB, was found dead in his office. We thought it was an accidental insulin overdose—” Tracey stops and looks at me. “At least I did. My partner had it pegged as a homicide from the beginning.

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