I jerk a thumb into the laundry room. “The elderly woman’s pet.”
Barton shrugs, and turns back to his phone.
While waiting for him to finish, I look back to the scene of the crime and take a moment to glimpse the ghastly images in front of me.
The blood splatter patterns around the body suggest the vic may have slipped. I look down at the floor where the indentation of a single footprint marks the puddle of blood next to her head.
Crime scene markers identify the important blood patterns around the room.
I hear the chief ending his call as he heads toward me, his rubber soles squeaking down the hallway.
“Discover anything?” he asks, coming to my side.
“Have you contacted Ryan?”
“No. I left a message on his voice mail.”
“So, what about the victim’s dog?”
“It’s with another tenant,” he says, pulling out his notebook, and licking his fingers to flip pages. “Mrs. Jackson. A friend of the victim.”
“I’d like to talk to her.”
He gestured toward the stairwell. “After you.”