Perilous (2 page)

We crossed the street and walked toward the house, sitting on the corner lot. A small black wrought-iron fence surrounded the property. The home was a newer two story constructed to look like the local Mediterranean houses from the early part of the last century. Hank and I went to the gate and walked the house’s sidewalk to the red front stairs. Under the terracotta-roofed patio, we met Officer Lowen at the home’s front door.

“Lowen,” I said with a nod.

“Nice beard,” he said.

I smirked and ran my hand through my inch plus of gray-sprinkled facial hair. “About a month of growth. The missus seems to like it, and I’m heading up north on vacation.”

“Trying to keep warm?”

“You got it. So, what are we looking at here?”

“The neighbor called a forced entry to 9-1-1. I reported to the scene, confirmed the damage to the door, and called for backup. Rickson was on the scene here within a few minutes. We went in and cleared the property. I found the deceased woman in the master bedroom. A purse was on the dresser. I looked at the DL. It’s the woman who resides here, Susanne Riaola. The body is still upstairs.”

“And the husband is out of town?” Hank asked.

“The neighbor told him of the forced entry after the call to 9-1-1. I don’t know if the husband knows the extent of the situation here.”

“Where is the forced entry?”

“On the back door that leads into the garage. It looked like it was pried open.”

I nodded. “What did your first impression of the homicide tell you?”

“Rage induced. She was stabbed I don’t know how many times. The knives are still in her. It’s a mess.”

“Knives? Explain,” I said.

Lowen scratched his chin. “Whole kitchen block full of knives sticking out of her body.”

“Where is the neighbor?” I asked.

“Next door at his house. Rickson is there with him, getting a statement.”

“Did the neighbor enter the property?” Hank asked.

“When I arrived on the scene, the neighbor was standing at his front door. He announced that he was the one who made the call. I asked if he went in, and he said he hadn’t.”

“All right, lead the way.”

Lowen turned into the house, and we followed. The home’s dark wooden floors spread out before us as we walked through the entryway. A bit to the left and just ahead of us was the stairway leading up to the second level. Past two white pillars, through the curved entryway, was the living room to our right. The dining room could be seen to the left.

Lowen pointed up the staircase and then motioned to the right. “The forensics guys are upstairs. Just head to the right once you get up there. I don’t want to see that again.”

“No problem. Let Rickson know we’ll be over to talk with the neighbor in a few minutes. See if you can get in touch with the husband.”

“Will do.” Lowen left through the front of the house.

Hank and I headed up. I examined each step as we ascended, looking for any drips of blood. I found nothing noticeable. We got to the top of the steps and took a right down the hall. Rick from forensics stood at the doorway leading into the master bedroom.

“Hey, Rick.”

“Kane, Rawlings. How’s it going?”

“About as good as could be expected. What have you found?” I asked.

He jerked his head into the room. “We already photographed the entire scene. The kid is trying to pull prints now. Have a look for yourself.”

Hank and I entered the master bedroom. Pax stood next to the woman in the bed, dusting the handles of the knives sticking out of her. At a quick glance, I counted at least a dozen buried in her torso. She was wearing a nightgown. The sheets were pulled back, and blood had soaked the bed and pooled on the floor. A pillow covered her head.

“Pax. What are you seeing?” I asked.

“Each handle is clean. They’ve been wiped down.”

I nodded. “Do we know if the knives are from the house?”

“Well, we didn’t find any in the kitchen. Plus, there’s that.” Pax nodded to the knife block sitting on the far nightstand. “I doubt our killer broke in carrying a knife block. I think he probably grabbed it from downstairs and then sat here using each knife one by one. The largest knife from the block is the one through her heart.”

“Did you dust the block as well?” I asked.

“Already did. Again, no prints.”

“How long do you think she’s been like this?” Hank asked.

“I’d say a day. Obviously, Ed will be able to give you a better time frame.”

“How much longer do you have here?” I asked.

“An hour or two. I have to remove all the knives and get each one bagged. After I get everything taken care of here, I’ll head back to the lab and get started processing. Maybe there is something on the blades. I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything,” Pax said.

I turned back to Rick. “Is this exactly how she was found when the officers arrived on the scene?”

Rick nodded in confirmation.

“Did you guys find anything else?” I asked.

“We have a small smear in the blood pool on the floor there.” Rick pointed.

“Shoe?”

“I don’t think so. It looks more like something brushed through it.”

“Not from any of us?” I asked.

Rich shook his head. “Perpetrator, probably. We have some photos of it. I’ll try to see what I can make of it back at the office. Aside from that, the pillow over her face suggests remorse. I’m guessing whoever did it knew her. I already took prints from the back door that showed forced entry. I’m going to print the entire kitchen after this. If we can get good sets of the homeowner’s prints, we’ll have something to work off of.”

“Is Ed on his way?” I asked.

“Yeah, we figured it would be a bit before we were finished and he could take her.”

“All right. Thanks, Rick. We’ll leave you to it.”

I left the bedroom, and Hank followed.

“What do you think, Hank?”

“Husband out of town and his wife gets murdered like that? Either the husband himself or a boyfriend. Someone who knew her. Nothing looked like it had been rummaged through. Purse on the dresser in plain sight—definitely not a robbery.”

I started down the steps back to the first floor. “Let’s talk to the neighbor. We’ll figure out a way to get in contact with her husband and let him know what happened here, if he doesn’t already.”

We walked out the front of the house. Rickson and Lowen were speaking with the neighbor on his front patio.

“Go introduce yourself to the neighbor,” I said. “Have him run through it for you. Get some contact information for the husband. I’m going to talk with Lowen and Rickson, see what they picked up from the guy.”

We walked down the sidewalk. Hank made for the officers and the neighbor at the front door. I waited, and the two officers walked back toward me.

“Is the guy’s story staying the same?” I asked.

Rickson nodded. “We went through his whereabouts over the last two days—work, kids’ sports, and at home with the family here. The guy has no priors. Everything, whereabouts-wise, is written on the statement if you want to make sure it all clears.”

“Thanks. Did you get a hold of the husband?”

Rickson let out a breath. “Yeah, I told him we found his wife deceased. Homicide. I didn’t elaborate.”

“His reaction?” I asked.

“It seemed normal for the most part: disbelief, followed by a breakdown. The guy said he would get on the first flight back.”

“What was his name?”

“Charles Riaola”

“Okay. I’ll have Waterman at the airport get me his flight information. Do we know where he was at on business?”

“Atlanta.”

I wrote it down in my notepad. “Where’s the statement from the neighbor?”

“Sergeant Rawlings has it. I handed it off to him when he walked up. I think he’s running through it with the neighbor one more time.”

“All right.”

Hank walked back toward us. He handed the sheet back to Rickson. “The guy seems on the up and up. I got a mobile number for the husband.”

“Did the neighbor hear anything funny going on over here last night or the day before?” I asked.

“Nope. He said everything was normal. He also didn’t see anyone coming or going from the property,” Hank said.

“Yeah, well, someone did.”

The coroner’s van rounded the corner, and Ed backed the van into the driveway and hopped out.

“Thanks, guys. Can you make sure there’s a copy of the neighbor’s statement on my desk when you get back?”

“No problem, Lieutenant,” Lowen said.

Hank and I headed for Ed standing in the driveway.

“Kane, Rawlings,” Ed said.

“Hey, Ed. How are you doing?” I asked.

He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Same old same. Did you guys get a look inside yet?”

We nodded.

“Woman filled with knives,” Hank said.

“Are Rick and Pax still working on her?” Ed asked.

“The last we checked, they were. Are you going to be able to start the autopsy today?” I asked.

“I should be able to, depending on when I get out of here.”

“Let me know. I need to get some flight information for the husband. I want to be the first face he sees when he gets off the plane,” I said.

“The husband was out of town, huh?” Ed asked.

“Atlanta,” I said.

Ed ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, that’s convenient.”

“Okay Ed, we’ll leave you to it. Give me a buzz later.”

“No sweat, Kane.”

Hank and I headed back to the station.

I sat at my desk going through my notes from the scene and the neighbor’s statement—he checked out. I had tried calling the husband five or six times. Each of my calls went straight to his voice mail. I’d left him a message each time. After my talk with Waterman, I knew he didn’t have a flight booked back to Tampa yet. If the guy was guilty, he could have run. The time inched toward five o’clock, and Callie and I had dinner plans. I figured I’d try the guy one last time before I started to shut everything down for the day.

I scooped up the phone and dialed the number for the husband—it rang twice in my ear.

“This is Charles,” a man answered. His voice sounded normal, not distressed.

“Mr. Riaola, this is Lieutenant Carl Kane with the Tampa Police Department. I left you a few messages.”

“I got them. I’m sorry I didn’t call back right away.” He paused. “I just needed some time to think. Plus, I’ve been trying to find a flight back.”

“Okay, well, I just wanted to introduce myself to you and see when we’d be able to get together. I understand you’re in Atlanta on business, and this has to be terribly difficult. Yet, the sooner we can meet, the better.”

“I’ve been trying to find a flight back. There’s just nothing available. My original nonstop flight gets me back tomorrow early afternoon. I think I’m just going to drive my rental car back.”

I jotted
no flights
and
rental car
down in my notepad with a question mark after each.

“Can… Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

“She was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

He took a moment to respond. “Have you found who did it?”

“Not as of yet. We have a team collecting evidence from the house now and are just beginning our investigation.”

Silence came from the other end of the phone again. Riaola cleared his throat. “What evidence did you find?”

In all my years working homicides, I’d never heard that question asked right out of the gates.

“We’re still processing everything,” I said.

“Has she been taken from the house?”

“She has, Mr. Riaola.”

“How do I…? Where do I need to go to?”

“You’ll need to speak with someone at the Hillsborough County medical examiner’s office.” I gave him Ed’s number and flipped my notepad to a clean page. “While I have you on the line, I’d like to ask a few quick questions.”

He let out a deep breath of air into the phone. “Sure.”

“When did you leave for Atlanta?” I asked.

“I left Monday morning.”

“And you flew out of TPA?”

“Yes.”

I tapped the end of my pen on my notepad. “And this was a planned business trip?”

“It was. I work in sales for an industrial supply company. I flew in for a Tuesday and Wednesday trade show. I was flying back tomorrow morning.”

“The company you work for?”

“American Industrial Materials.”

“Is that out of the Tampa area, here?”

“It’s based in Tampa, yes.”

I wrote down his employer’s information in my notebook. “Did you park at the airport in Tampa, or were you dropped off?”

“I parked there.”

“And do you remember which lot?”

“Um, I’m sure I have the information lying around somewhere. It was one of the long-term lots. I have to ask how any of this is important in finding the person who did this?”

“I just need to be able to verify your whereabouts.”

More silence came from the other end of the phone.

“Mr. Riaola? Are you still there?”

“I’m here. Do you think I had something to do with this?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Riaola. I have a call coming in. Can you just hold on one second for me? I’ll be right back with you.” I placed him on hold.

Any time I would get that question, I always gave the person asking a minute to think about it. His response when I came back to the phone would tell me a lot. He would do one of three things: lawyer up, toss someone under the bus, or give me everyone under the sun that could confirm where he was.

I thought about his answers to my questions so far. His demeanor and quick responses had thrown up a red flag. When he did pause before an answer, it seemed timed for effect. Normally, when I barraged people with questions, they would interrupt, asking about their loved ones—they would stop, cry, and be hysterical. That guy was answering everything in a calm, direct manner. I needed to lay off. He was out of town, and if I pressed too hard, he would never be back. I needed this guy in a room.

I clicked the phone off of hold. “Thanks for holding for me. To answer your question, I have no way of knowing that one way or the other right now. My job is to collect evidence and make sure everyone I’m in contact with is where they say they were. That’s going to help me find out who did this. Try not to take the questions personally. They need to be asked just to rule you out.”