In a Hard Wind--A McKenzie Novel by David Housewright

Author:David Housewright
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

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I parked in Evangeline’s driveway and passed through her backyard on my way to the top of the hill. When I reached it, I found streams of yellow tape with the words CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS surrounding what used to be the gazebo, the excavator, and about thirty yards of empty lawn. Neighbors were standing behind the yellow tape and watching while a half-dozen men and women wearing white jumpsuits, gloves, goggles, and booties examined and dug in the dirt. A massive blue van with a satellite dish mounted on top and the words RAMSEY COUNTY MOBILE INCIDENT COMMAND CENTER painted in white on the side, somehow had managed to follow the excavator’s track up the hill and was now parked outside the yellow tape.

I spotted Swenson standing on the far side of the crime scene, his hands in his pockets. I circled the yellow tape and the truck until I reached his side. I didn’t say hello and neither did he. We just stood there side by side and watched the evidence techs at work.

Finally, Swenson said, “Two bodies, both badly decomposed. We haven’t been able to identify the woman yet. The man still had his wallet in his pocket, though. David Carrell.”

Sonuvabitch, my inner voice screamed. That old rummy Dominic Belden had been right after all.

“Have you taken Jeanette Carrell into custody yet?” I asked aloud.

Swenson’s response was to stare at me for a few beats.

“Come with me,” he said.

The sergeant spun slowly around and began walking toward Jeanette Carrell’s house; I followed closely behind him. When we reached her backyard, we discovered Katherine Hixson standing on her side of the five-foot wooden wall; it was like she had been waiting for us.

“Are you happy?” she wanted to know. “Are you happy, now? I told you. Didn’t I tell you? I told you about that bitch but you wouldn’t believe me. You called me a liar. A liar.”

Swenson ignored the woman. So did I. The deputy who was standing guard outside Carrell’s back door gave us a shrug.

“She’s been like that all morning,” he said. “Guess she thinks we should give her a medal or something.”

“Or at least an apology,” Swenson said.

There were blue disposable gloves in a box outside the door. Swenson gave me a pair and we put them on before entering Carrell’s house.

“I want to show you something,” Swenson told me. “I don’t have to tell you not to touch anything. We’re considering the house part of the crime scene and the BCA hasn’t processed it yet.”

I followed him into the dining room. He gestured at the dining-room table. Very neatly arranged on top of the table I found Jeanette Carrell’s driver’s license, passport, Social Security card—I didn’t even have a Social Security card, only the numbers—birth certificate, American Express, Visa, and Discover credit cards, bank debit card, health care insurance card, American Red Cross blood donor card—she was O-positive—Costco membership card, AARP membership card, auto insurance information, and cell phone.

“She left all of this for us to find,” Swenson said.

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