Page 25 of Deathmarch

“Do the universe a favor and don’t think up any more jokes.”

Harper stepped inside the house, ducking under the yellow police tape that twisted in the wind. He closed the door and focused on the moment, pushing everything else from his mind. The first impression of the crime scene was the most important.

Small foyer.Booties or no booties, mud and snow had been dragged in, but no further damage, the chair next to the hall closet—so Lamm could sit to put on his shoes—was not turned over.No sign of struggle.

Harper crossed the cramped space and stopped on the threshold of the kitchen. Not a chair turned over; the dirty pots lining up on the counter had not been knocked onto the floor. “Hey.”

Chase glanced up, his tall husky frame folded into an uncomfortable-looking crouch next to the body. “About time.” His steely-blue eyes did not turn welcoming. “The captain told us you’d be taking the case. You think that’s a good idea?”

“I can handle it.”

“Allie Bianchi?”

“I can handle it.”

“We’ll see.” Chase rose and stood aside at last to give him a full view of the body.

The victim lay in the middle of the floor, his head resting on its side, a small hole in his forehead, a large one in the back. His brain was scattered all over the kitchen tile. Harper recorded his initial impressions in his notebook.

Single shot. Close range. Instant death.

While he absorbed every detail, Mike hurried back in, snapped a new battery into the camera he’d left on the counter, and went back to recording the scene. “Almost done here.”

“How are we with fingerprints?” Harper asked Chase.

“Close to being done with this room, then I can do the rest of the house,” Chase said with a slight edge in his voice. “Unless you want to take over.”

Harper didn’t want to interfere with either man. “Just want a good look at the crime scene. I’m about to start questioning the suspect at the station. She’s talking with her lawyer right now.”

“Allie Bianchi.” Chase’s tone was loaded.

Mike didn’t miss it. He lowered his camera to squint at them. “Who is she?”

“Daughter of the town screwup. Harper’s ex-girlfriend,” Chase said. “They cleared out about a decade ago.” He raised an eyebrow at Harper. “She tell you where they moved?”

“Haven’t asked yet.” And he wasn’t about to stand here and engage in a pissing contest with Chase. He took another good look at the victim, then at the kitchen. “What do you think happened here? Gut instinct.”

Chase took the hint and found his professionalism. “First thought was forced entry, but now I’m not sure.”

He set down his brush, then led Harper back to the front door and aimed his flashlight at the slightly bent lock, pointed at the single boot print next to it. “See?”

Blood on the print.With more light, the red was unmistakable.

“Lamm let the killer in.” Harper thought about that for a couple of seconds before he continued. “The killer shot him, robbed him, then on his way out, he made sure to bust the door so it’d look like forced entry.”

“Round-toe work boots would be my best bet,” Chase said.

Definitely not tapered-toe cowboy boots with spurs,Harper thought, as Chase added, “Around size twelve or thirteen.”

Too large for anything Allie would wear.“I’ll need good-quality, high-res photos of this.”

“Mike might have a few already.”

The wind picked up again, cold and wet, so they went back inside and closed the door behind them.

“Did you call the coroner to let her know to expect a body?” Harper asked as Chase returned to dusting for prints.

“As soon as I got here. But the side roads are buried. Route 202 has a tractor trailer tipped and turned sideways, blocking everything. They won’t send the van out from West Chester until morning, when the roads are cleared. I turned off the heat in here to better preserve the body. When I’m finished processing, I might crack a window open. It’ll be as good as cold storage. If that’s all right with you.”