Page 5 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

“Debris? Maybe a tool?” Matt gestured toward the kitchen.

“There’s a tool bag full of possibilities.

” He walked into the kitchen to visually inspect the selection.

The top of the bag had been left open, its unzipped edges gaping like the wound on the victim’s neck.

On the outside, fabric loops held pliers, wrenches, screwdrivers, and all the other tools Matt could think of.

“Scissors, razor blade, handsaw, knife.”

“Not a saw.” The ME shook her head. “Not a serrated edge.”

Matt made a note to have all the sharp tools bagged and sent to the lab for testing.

Bree propped a hand on her duty belt. “The front door was unlocked, and we haven’t seen any sign of forced entry elsewhere. Maybe she knew her killer.”

Matt turned back to the family room. “Kelly was sitting on the couch, facing the TV. Let’s say the weapon was in the tool bag in the kitchen.

The killer grabbed it and walked up behind Kelly.

” He mimicked the action, walking toward the couch.

He raised his empty fist, feigning a grab-and-slash.

“All it took was that initial, well-placed cut to take Kelly out.”

“ If that’s the way it went down, our killer is right-handed.” Bree shifted her feet. The drop cloth was plastic coated on one side and rustled under her boots. “This plastic is noisy. The killer didn’t sneak up on her.”

“So she probably knew them,” Matt added. “If you turned your head and saw a stranger in your house, you’d likely get up to run or face them or something.”

Bree continued his thought. “She potentially knew them well enough that she knew they were in the house, and she felt comfortable with her back to them.”

Matt envisioned the crime again. He lowered his arm to brush his thigh. “The killer could have held the weapon down and kept it mostly out of sight. As long as Kelly was distracted and not feeling threatened, she might not have noticed.”

Bree nodded. “Because if she’d seen the weapon coming down, she would have instinctively raised her arms to block it. We would see defensive injuries. She’d have cuts on her hands, not just a couple of broken nails.”

“Yes,” Matt said. “Did the killer come here planning to kill her, or did they argue?”

Technically, the answer could mean the difference between first degree murder and manslaughter, a cold and calculated crime versus a heat-of-the-moment act.

Bree shook her head. “If they were arguing, Kelly would have been facing the other way.”

Matt pictured the blow coming down. “Then I suppose it looks more like murder.”

Across the space, Dr. Jones stepped back from the body. “I’ll let you know if I come up with anything else interesting.” Her assistant began photographing the body, starting in the far corners of the room and moving toward the victim in a spiraling pattern.

Matt and Bree left them to work.

They spent the next couple of hours searching the house, starting in the kitchen.

Matt donned fresh gloves, though he was careful to not touch anything unless absolutely necessary.

Bree changed hers as well. Gloves needed to be swapped often at a crime scene to avoid cross contamination between surfaces.

Also, everyone scratched an itch eventually.

It was important for responders to minimize leaving their own DNA on evidence.

He took in the home as he moved through it. He estimated the house to be thirty years old, based on the neighborhood. Whoever had designed the renovation had stuck to a neutral palette of gray, cream, and white. Matt was no carpenter, but he was handy enough. The work looked to be quality.

The new kitchen cabinets were empty. Boxes were stacked chest high in the walk-in pantry.

Labels indicated their contents belonged in the cabinets.

Neither the living nor dining room contained anything that seemed relevant.

Furniture was covered with dustcloths. Matt doubted the rooms had been used recently.

More kitchen supplies were boxed in the two-car garage next to a blue minivan.

The vehicle was registered to Kelly Gibson, but they found nothing of interest in it.

Given the snow, the vehicle was probably parked in the garage before the murder.

Upstairs was more lived in. Matt ducked into the hall bath, which had clearly been renovated.

An electric toothbrush sat next to each of the two sinks.

One drawer held shaving gear, acne cream, and an Old Spice deodorant.

The rest of the drawers held a billion hair, skin, and feminine products.

He looked in the tub/shower combo. On one side of the space, a bottle of Old Spice bodywash stood alone.

The opposite side looked like a Bath & Body Works had exploded.

Bree joined him in the hallway. She gestured toward the two doorways. “Looks like two kids, teens or older.”

Matt jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the bathroom. “Same in here.”

“Lot of empty space in the closets and drawers. College pennants on the walls. Kids are probably away at school.”

“Makes sense.”

The fourth bedroom had been set up as a home office.

They gave the space a cursory look-through, and then Bree said, “We’ll take the laptop and go through the papers in here later.”

Matt closed a drawer. “The paperwork looks old. Most people keep records digitally now. The laptop will be more useful.”

Bree stepped into the primary bedroom. “I wish we had this much space.”

The bedroom they shared at her house was half the size of this one.

Every night, they squeezed into a queen-size bed with two large dogs and a cranky old tomcat who hissed if the dogs didn’t give him enough room.

Sometimes Matt woke with his limbs at odd angles and pins and needles in a hand or foot, his blood flow impeded by a heavy canine head.

Outside, a vehicle door slammed, and voices sounded. The primary bedroom overlooked the street, and Matt peered through the blinds. A county van parked at the curb. “Forensics is here.”

“Good.”

“We should consider an addition,” Matt said. “It’s not like we don’t have the land.”

Bree had inherited her sister’s farm when she’d assumed guardianship of the kids. The house was smallish, but there was plenty of space to add on.

“We should.” She flipped on the light in the adjoining bath. “Could you imagine having a bathroom this big?”

A quick glance showed him a roomy, gray-tiled room with a freestanding tub and a huge shower. Two mirrored medicine cabinets were mounted over double sinks. Bree opened one. “This one’s empty.”

Two doors flanked the bathroom. Matt opened one to reveal a walk-in closet, fully outfitted with a fancy organization system.

Women’s clothes filled shelves and hangers.

Luggage was stored overhead. Purses and shoes lined up like colorful soldiers.

Matt backed out and tried the other door.

The second walk-in closet was mostly empty.

A few boxes and a coating of dust occupied the higher shelves.

Only a few men’s clothing items remained: snow boots, gloves, a parka. “Looks like her man moved out.”

Bree appeared at his side. “The neighbor mentioned he’d moved out last spring.”

Matt surveyed the items in the closet. “He hasn’t needed his cold-weather gear yet.”

They went downstairs and stepped out in the damp air.

Matt retrieved his jacket and handed Bree hers.

Despite the cold wind, the sun shone from a clear and brilliant blue sky, melting snow as its rays spread across the ground.

Matt shaded his eyes with a hand. An act of brutality had been committed in this pretty neighborhood with its neatly shoveled sidewalks, barn mailboxes, and lopsided snowmen.

Had the killer stopped to admire the twinkling lights on the house across the street?

Kelly Gibson hadn’t put up any decorations yet.

Had she planned to? Would her kids be devastated by her death?

The year before, neither Bree’s seventeen-year-old nephew, Luke, nor his sister, Kayla, had shown any interest in decorations.

They hadn’t been ready to celebrate a typical holiday season, not the first Christmas without their mother.

But this year, they both seemed excited.

Matt had brought the boxes of lights down from the garage attic the day before.

But he was thinking of taking the kids out to select some new things too.

Kayla had oohed and aahed over a light-up penguin on a lawn in town. A mix of old and new seemed right.

Did the murder occur while Matt had been enjoying a relaxing family evening? He thought of Kelly’s kids, likely away at college. They would never look at the holidays the same way again.

Todd met them on the front porch. From there, Matt could see several news vans parked on the street.

Reporters appeared to be giving sound bites with the house in the background.

“Deputies have completed their outdoor sweep. They didn’t find anything.

Forensics is working inside. Real estate records indicate the house was purchased by Harrison and Kelly Gibson twenty-one years ago. The deed is unchanged.”

Todd pointed to the house next door. “The elderly lady who lives there hasn’t seen Kelly in a couple of days. When I told her what happened, she said it was probably the husband. She isn’t a fan.”

“Does the elderly neighbor know where Harrison is staying?”

Todd nodded. “She says he’s living with his mother. She doesn’t know the address, but Kelly once mentioned that her in-laws had a farm and it smelled like shit—literally. Marge found an Elaine Gibson on Rural Route 87. She runs a small chicken farm.”

“I know where that is.” Bree peeled off her gloves, then stooped to tug off the shoe covers. “It’s Tuesday. In case he’s at work, do we know where that is?”

“Farris Corporation,” Todd said. “On Morris Road.”

Matt dropped his own gloves and booties in a receptacle just outside the front door, then headed outside. “Let’s go talk to the husband.”

“You know what the statistics say,” Bree said.

Matt did. Women were usually killed by someone they knew. “There’s a reason the significant other is always the primary suspect.”