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CHAPTER 49

WE WERE ESCORTED up the walk to the front door of number 1848. Brady knocked. The door opened and Crime Scene Unit director Eugene Hallows opened it. He looked like he was in pain. He told us to step inside and said, “I don’t have to remind you …”

We knew what he meant. Be careful where you walk. Don’t touch anything .

Hallows watched us glove up and pull booties over our shoes. When we were ready, he said, “I’m taking you the long way. Brace yourselves.”

The long way took us through the living room, where CSIs were photographing everything: walls, ceilings, windows, carpets, and good-looking furniture from all angles. I saw no blood spatter, no shell casings, no damage to the windows or doors, and no bodies in sight.

Hallows said, “They’re upstairs.”

I followed Brady and Hallows up a carpeted flight of stairs with a landing at the midpoint. We climbed the rest of the stairs to a hallway on the second floor, where Hallows pushed at the half open bedroom door and stepped aside so that we could see inside.

“Stay right there,” he said, reaching around me to flip on the ceiling light.

I looked beyond him. The king-sized bed was soaked in blood. A male body was lying half on the bed. A female body was on the floor beside the bed. Both bodies had been decapitated.

My blood pressure shot up. I looked at Hallows, and he said, “They were both shot before their killer performed surgery. The male got two slugs in the heart. She took a couple of head shots. Both heads are in the bathtub. I’ll get you pictures, but no one else goes in until the scene is processed.”

Brady asked, “Have the victims been identified?”

“We know who owns the house,” Hallows hedged. “We haven’t run prints. ID has to be viewed before we know for sure if the victims are the owners and the family is notified.”

“Names, please, Gene,” I said with my fists balled up behind my back.

“Orlofsky. Martin and Sandra. A judge and his wife.”

The judge of the Dario case had been killed like a rabid skunk so that the flash dancer in the dock, probably related to the killer, would get some kind of reprieve.

“When did this happen?” I asked.

“I’m waiting for the ME to say, but their bodies are coming out of rigor. I’d say early this morning.”

I had to ask. “Did the killer leave anything behind? A note, for instance.”

“No. But a connection occurs to me.”

I said, “The decapitated head Dario Garza left on the steps of the Hall.”

“Or a feint so we think the pattern is the same,” Brady said. “Let’s leave CSU to their work.”

I swear he looked as freaked out as I felt. A judge had been killed. A judge on an active murder trial that Brady’s wife was prosecuting.

We turned to leave the way we’d come. I wobbled once on the stairs and reached out for the wall out of reflex. Brady caught me before I landed a paw on it, and a minute later we were outside, walking toward the street.