Mercy stared at the blood patterns.
They were bludgeoned.
“The other bedroom is similar,” said Bolton. He led her to the last room.
This room was slightly smaller, and the bed was the same size as the last one. It also had a bloodstain on the pillow. Mercy checked the small closet. Adult male clothing. “Another man lived here?” she asked, thinking of the second male skull. “Did you find a wallet?”
“We haven’t found IDs anywhere in the home. No wallets with credit cards or anything. I suspect he took them.”
“He may have wanted to use the credit cards. Jeez. He could have been charging up a storm for months and no one would know.”
“No doubt the cards were frozen once no payments showed up.”
“Good point. But he still had a wide window of opportunity.” Mercy made a mental note to check the Hartlages’ credit reports.
“Think this is related to yesterday’s discovery up on March Mountain?” Bolton asked.
“It’s a good possibility. Same number of victims. Obviously they’ve been gone from this home for a long time.”
“The remains you found were skeletal. How long does that take?”
“Depends on the environment they were left in.” Mercy took a deep breath. “So far there doesn’t appear to be any clothing or even shoes with the bodies we found. Either they were stripped before they were buried in the culvert, or possibly the bones were recently put in there.”
Bolton scowled. “They were dumped somewhere else first and then moved to the culvert?”
“I’m speculating out loud. I know they can test the bones to analyze the soil they were buried in, and then they can analyze the soil and debris in the culvert. I’m curious to find out if they’re the same.”
Bolton stared at her for a long moment. “You don’t think they were in that culvert for very long.”
“We have to consider that as an option. Why hadn’t they already washed away? We had rain last fall and this spring.”
“But I heard the water was flowing around the culvert. Maybe it’s been doing that for months.”
“True. This is just a theory bouncing around in my brain.” She studied the blood on the pillow. “You said there were some family pictures?”
“This way.”
On a small table in the living room were six framed photos. A young girl with dark hair clutching a white-and-tan cat smiled in one. Another frame held a school photo of a teenage girl. The others showed the girls with their parents.
“What’s her name?” Mercy picked up the picture of the young girl. She was missing two top teeth, but her wide smile proved she didn’t care.
“I found some coloring book pages in the pink bedroom with the name Alison signed on them. I haven’t figured out the teenager’s name yet.”
The tiny skull suddenly had a potential name. No longer would Mercy think of it as “the child.” Now it was Alison.
Maybe.
“Dammit.” She set down the picture and looked away. It’d been easier to think about the bones when they were nameless.
“I think we found the murder weapon outside.”
“Saving the most important evidence for last?” Mercy asked.
“I like to make an impact.” Bolton’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
They went out the front door and around the side of the home. In the tall grass next to the home lay a large hammer. It’d been washed by the rain and probably frozen by the snow over the last few months. Will there be any fingerprints?
“Awfully cocky to leave it behind,” Mercy murmured.
“I took it as a big fuck you,” said Bolton.
“What kind of hammer is it? I’ve never seen a head like that before.” Two-thirds of the head was a solid cylinder shape before it narrowed to a point at one end.
“I don’t know either. I’ve got an evidence team on the way,” Bolton said. “I’m not touching it until then.”
“I want the photos from this scene as soon as possible.”
“Not a problem.”
“Ask your team to look for dental or medical bills. We need the name of their dentist to get copies of their dental X-rays. If they don’t find any paperwork, check with the local dentists and see if any of them had the Hartlage family as patients.”
Bolton nodded as he tapped a notation into his phone.
“Meeeeoooow.”
A white cat with tan patches wound itself around Mercy’s ankles. “Oh my God.” The cat’s blue gaze met hers as it rubbed the side of its face against Mercy’s shin. It’s the cat from the photo. It was skinny but not deathly thin. “How on earth . . .” Shock and pity shot through her.
“The cat must have been living in one of the outbuildings. Catching mice.”
“You poor thing.” Mercy scooped up the cat and it immediately started to purr, pressing its head against Mercy’s hand.
“Looks like you acquired a cat.” Bolton leaned to one side and studied it. “A female cat.”
Mercy stared at Bolton. “Hell no, I didn’t.”
“Why not? I bet your niece would love it.”
True. “My place is too small.”
“Does it allow pets?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m sure you can work it out.” Bolton finally gave a real grin. “Or we can drop her off at a shelter.”
No! “Maybe.” The cat vibrated contentedly under Mercy’s stroking hand.
“I’d noticed two small pet bowls on the floor in the kitchen. And there was a cat bed in the pink bedroom. I bet she misses her people.” Bolton ran a hand over the cat’s back.
Damn him.
“We’ll see,” Mercy admitted. “Maybe there are some Hartlage relatives who would take her in.”
But deep down she suspected she’d just acquired a cat.
NINE
Truman knocked on the front door of Steve Harris’s home.
The house didn’t have a garage, and Steve’s truck was parked on the street, directly in front of the fire hydrant. Looking around, Truman realized that the man really didn’t have anywhere else to park unless he went down the street quite a way. His neighbors’ vehicles filled both sides of the street. Yes, it was a safety issue, but Truman figured it’d only take the firemen an extra thirty seconds to bash in the windows of the truck to access the fire hydrant. Bringing up the issue on this visit wouldn’t get him any insight into the Verbeek family murder.
Steve answered the door. In his midfifties, Steve was a tall, angular man with an oddly wide face that didn’t suit the rest of his body. He was bald except for a little hair above his ears. His eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of Truman on his front porch.
Truman held up a hand before Steve could speak. “I’m not here about the violation I just walked past at your curb.”
Steve relaxed a fraction, but his gaze was still suspicious. “Then what do you want?”
“I’m doing a little research about some cases from twenty-odd years ago.”
“The Verbeek murders,” he stated in a flat tone. The suspicion vanished from Steve’s eyes, replaced by a distant emptiness.
“Do you mind answering a few questions?”
“Why? Why do you care about something that happened so long ago?”
Truman paused, weighing how much to reveal. “Something came up recently that has us reviewing the murders of those families.”