Protector - Laurel Dewey [52]
“Yes.” Weyler opened the closet door to reveal a single row of tightly packed clothing on one side, a neat line of shoes underneath and a bevy of oversized bed pillows scattered on the floor. “The door was slightly cracked. Emily was found completely buried in the center of the pillows. The patrol officer who came on scene didn’t see her at first. He had his gun drawn as he searched the house. When he opened the closet, he had to look twice before he saw Emily staring straight at him with, what he called, a poker face. No emotion at all on her part. A box of coloring pencils were strewn across the floor right here.” Weyler pointed to the front of the bedside table. We believe the perps caused that to happen when they bumped against it. If you go into that closet and hunker down and crack the door just exactly like it was when they found her, it’s possible to assume she had clear line of sight on their faces.” Weyler directed Jane’s attention to a three-inch square of pink carpeting in front of the table that had been removed. “Right here is where we found drops of blood that fell off one of the knives. We theorize the perp was standing still when the blood dropped from the knife tip. In other words, there could have been a good ten, fifteen, maybe twenty seconds of him standing in one spot in direct line with where Emily was hiding. Enough time for her to clearly see the perp.”
“That’s just wishful conjecture,” Jane replied in a dismissive tone.
“It’s a possibility, Jane.”
Jane felt herself thankfully slide back into her body. She could now be all business again. “From what you said, the individual or individuals did not leave a trace of their presence, right?”
“Correct.”
“So that means they probably covered their shoes to hide footprints, wore gloves and most likely covered their face with something to prevent us from finding sweat and hair and getting a DNA sample.”
“That’s what we’re thinking up to this point.”
“Okay, then you have to assume that certain things follow. First, they are professionals. They know the drill. They know what cops are gonna look for at a scene. Second, the killer or killers knew Emily existed or why would they bother to come upstairs? Oh, and by the way, Chris really fucked up when he told the media that Emily was in this house during the murder! That’s the kind of information the perps don’t need to know! That’s also the kind of info that’ll keep that kid in protective custody for a lot longer!”
“Point noted, Detective,” Weyler said wearily.
“So the killer or killers come up to this room. But Emily’s not in her bed like she should be and it doesn’t follow to them that she’d be anywhere else in this room. They figure the kid’s not here. She’s at a friend’s house. End of story. They’re hyped up. They just killed two people downstairs. They’re flying a million miles an hour. Neither one of them is going to stand still after all that and contemplate what he just did, even if he thinks he’s alone. They want out of here! But let’s just say for the sake of argument that the killer or killers did stop for five or ten seconds. And, as luck would have it, they just happened to stand still right in line with Emily’s point of view. So what? They’re wearing masks! They could have stood in front of this door for hours and it still wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference because she couldn’t see their faces anyway. In my opinion, I think the whole thing is far too speculative.”
“It’s only speculative if you’re not willing to think outside the box. Remember, Detective, Emily’s prints are on the staircase. And her bloody footprints trailed blood from the head of her mother’s dead body, up those stairs and into this closet.” Weyler waited for a response but was greeted with stony silence. He leaned closer to Jane. “She stood in their blood, Jane!”
“She saw her parents! That doesn’t mean she saw the killers! Those