Deputy Ben Davis and Detective Vargas sat in Danny Spaulding’s office, bracing for what came next. Spaulding stared at his screen, scrolling back and forth.

“I finally got Cyrus’ autopsy results. This whole thing doesn’t add up. Ben, you were right about the cord. Cyrus’s trace is on the cord, probably from the ligature marks on his wrists. But he also had bruising on his face, broken cheek bone, broken ribs, all separate from the bullet wounds. They are clear that manner of death is homicide, and cause of death is trauma, but they think he was already dead when he was shot, and they don’t make a strong statement about which injury killed him. I need you guys to think carefully about what you saw when you first went into that house.”

Vargas ran his hand back through his hair and gathered himself.

“ISP went back and swept the whole house. We just got those results. My trace, Ben’s, and the girl’s were where we expected, in the kitchen and living room. Cyrus was all over the house, as were traces of his wife and kids, or at least what we are assuming are them based on pattern analysis. We’re waiting to confirm. Low level traces consistent with old exposures. But here’s the thing: nothing else. Not a trace of anyone else being in the house, not even in the rooms that were obviously tossed.”

“And the stranger?”

“Nowhere else in the house, just the kitchen, same as before.”

Spaulding stroked his mustache and studied the report. The deputy shuffled his feet, looking between the two. Vargas watched, impassive. Spaulding looked up.

“So Cyrus comes home, he’s ambushed. They tie him up in the living room on the chair, use the lamp cord. They beat him? Must have, with the injuries. Why do they beat him? Something goes sideways. Did they intend to kill him, or things got out of hand? Then, they take him in the kitchen and shoot him, and leave him there. They toss the house looking for something, then they leave, but they don’t take the TV, the guns, nothing of value is missing. And they do it so that they don’t leave a trace.”

“Don’t forget the bullet holes.”

“The kitchen floor?”

“Yeah. They must have moved him after they shot him. He was face down, remember? The entrance wounds were on the front.”

“Yeah, and no defensive wounds. So that’s consistent with him being dead, or at least unconscious when they shot him. Why touch him afterward? For that matter, why stage the scene at all?”

“Maybe he had a heart attack or something while they were beating him?” the young deputy offered.

“So why shoot him then? Why move him? Again, why stage it?”

Vargas remained silent. Spaulding continued.

“Okay, two things we do know: one, the scene was staged. Why? Second, whoever did it knew how to cover their tracks. These weren’t meth heads or locals looking for pocket money. It feels professional, and we’re definitely missing something.”

“What about the other trace from the kitchen? Think that’s the perp?” Vargas offered.

“Gotta be, but why only the kitchen? Why so careful everywhere else and not there? Something to do with moving the body?”

“So now what?”

“I’ll call my FBI buddy, and see if he’s got something else for us. And we need to talk to Miss Shank, see what else she knows since she’s taken such an interest in this case.”

Ben Davis quietly exhaled.

Chapter 45