Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [44]
Bodine bagged the hands. “You want to check her clothes before we take her?”
Marge said, “Yeah.” Meticulously, the two detectives went through the clothing looking for foreign objects—hair, fiber, anything to suggest the presence of another person in the room. Blood had splattered everywhere. It looked like a self-inflicted gunshot to the head, not unlike Gregory Hesse. But at least in this case, there were some answers as to the why.
When Marge and Decker had finished with the clothes, the CIs began the arduous process of wrapping and transferring the body, sliding the remains of Myra Gelb onto a steel gurney and wheeling her out the door. Eric sat on the sofa while all this was happening, head down, with his hands in his lap. It took a while for the young man to speak even after the investigators had left. Finally Eric said, “What now?”
“My partner and I would like to go over the room thoroughly. Open drawers, go through the closet, look under the bed . . . Do you have any objection to that?”
“No.”
Marge said, “Do you have any idea where Myra got the gun?”
Eric looked up and stared at her. “That’s a very good question.”
“Could it be your mother’s?” Decker said.
“Not likely. She never said anything about it to me.”
“We’ll ask her,” Marge said. “We’re going to take the gun with us to make sure that everything matches.”
“Okay.” Eric was very pale. “What happens after you go through the room?”
Decker handed Eric a card. “Once we clear the area, you can call up this woman. She and her son will come into the room and dispose of what needs to be cleaned up.”
“God, I never thought of that.” His head sank in his hands. “I guess you just don’t call up the cleaning lady.” Tears trickled down his cheeks.
“It has to be done by a professional. There are other people who do this, but we’ve found that this woman is very sensitive.”
Eric took the card. “Thank you, Sergeant . . . Lieutenant.”
“She’s the sergeant, I’m the lieutenant.” Decker and Marge gave Eric their cards. “Call us if you need anything.”
“What about the body?”
“After the autopsy, someone will call you to pick it up.” Decker gave him another card. “This is a contact at Forest Lawn. I don’t know if you have a cemetery, but at least here’s a name. I also have the name of someone who does cremations, if you want that. Once the body is released, the professionals will do the rest.”
Eric took the cards. “Thanks for the direction.” He looked up. “I’m totally lost.”
“We understand,” Marge said. “We’re going back to the room if that’s okay with you. In the meantime, do you have someone you want us to call?”
“No one I want to be with,” Eric told them. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”
Chapter Fourteen
The bedroom was functional: Myra’s belongings were meager. She was neat. Her desk drawers and her clothing drawers were organized and sparse. It was one of the few times that Decker ever remembered a female closet with room to spare. Myra had six dresses, almost identical in style—short sleeves, V-necks in solid colors. She had four skirts, and a half-dozen each of sweaters, tees, and jeans. Her shoes were sneakers, a set of black pumps, and flip-flops.
Not much in the way of ornamentation—nothing frilly like stuffed animals, glass figurines, or heart jewelry. Nor was there anything rebellions; no Goth accoutrements, no combat boots, no chains, no signs of cigarettes or pot. She didn’t appear to be into athletics, she didn’t appear to be into drama. There was nothing to put your finger on and say: Hey, this was Myra. She was a psychologically impoverished girl.
Her books must have provided her with some escapism: the Harry Potter series in hardback, the Twilight series in hardback, and Gossip Girls in paperbacks. She had no CDs, but she did have an iPod and a cell phone. With a gloved hand, Decker checked her most recent calls. Most were from Mom, but there were several from Heddy, Ramona, and Lisa. Eric had called her cell once in the last few weeks. There were also several