The Love Killings Read Online Free PDF Page B

need.”
    He wondered if she realized that one-eight-seven was the penal code for homicide in California, but didn’t ask. Instead, he watched her cross the lot as he slipped on the vinyl gloves. A light snow had begun to fall that reminded him of the ash drifting down on his home in LA. He wondered if the house was still standing, and if the coyotes that slept beneath his deck were still alive. Four pups had been born last spring and had survived the grueling heat of summer.
    Matt blocked the thought out and took a deep breath, then punched in the combination to the lockbox. Removing the key, he unlocked the door and returned the key to the lockbox. He paused for a moment, trying to quiet his mind and his imagination. Then he turned the handle and pushed open the door. As he stepped over the threshold, he was greeted by the pungent smell of rotting blood. The foul odor seemed to permeate the entire foyer, and he almost choked before covering his nose with his hand. He panned the flashlight across the massive staircase and along the wall. When he spotted the switch panel, he turned on the lights.

CHAPTER 6
    Matt pulled his hand away from his nose, forcing himself to get used to the harsh odor. As he moved closer to the staircase, he could tell that the stench was emanating from either the second or third floor and drifting down into the foyer like a toxic cloud of death. And the ghosts were here—lots of them. He could feel their presence in the stillness of the house, the silence, the finality and fate of the five people who had once lived here, but were gone now and never coming back.
    The lights to the foyer on the first floor were lit, the rooms dark. Matt didn’t bother looking for light switches as he made his first sweep of the layout and searched for anything that might stand out. To his right was a small sitting room with French doors opening to the pool. Directly ahead was a library with an entrance to the living room. Beyond the library he found a sunroom that spanned the length of the house and gave way to a formal terrace. Matt stepped into the living room, noting the high ceilings and another set of French doors that opened to the pool. A rich dusting of fingerprint powder seemed to coat every piece of furniture and doorknob in the room. He gave it a second look, then returned to the foyer and followed the hallway to the very end. The doors on the left opened to the house manager’s office and a powder room; on the right, a large dining room and kitchen. Matt shined the flashlight across the dining room table and through the doorway into the kitchen. Every room that he’d seen so far included a fireplace, and he guessed that he would find fireplaces in every room upstairs as well. But what struck Matt most about the building was the extensive woodwork. The paneled walls in the library that continued into the foyer and up the wide staircase. The ornate moldings and the fireplace mantels that were obviously carved by hand.
    The woodwork stood out because he had never seen anything like it before and guessed that the art had been lost, and no one knew how to do it anymore.
    But even worse, Matt guessed that no one probably cared.
    He let the thought fade and tried to shed his disappointment. The first floor was clear. There were no signs of a disturbance. Although Matt’s initial walk-through had been brief, he hadn’t seen any blood or anything that seemed out of order. As he moved to the staircase and started up the steps, the harsh odor stiffened and became oppressive. When he reached the second-floor landing, he moved the beam of light over the walls and carpet, felt his chest tighten, and froze.
    He had reached his destination and needed a moment to get a grip on himself. It wasn’t easy. His eyes swept over the pools of dried blood on the floor, the spatter almost completely masking the paint on the walls. A single gunshot to the chest could never account for what he was seeing. For some reason he