The resort beachfront cabin was one large room, comfortably sized, with a king-sized bed, desk, and sitting area with two love seats. A refrigerator was under the desk, and a small bathroom and closet were to the right of the entrance.
The first thing that struck Megan was the amount of blood. She looked around the room, saw blood soaked into the neutral beige carpet, spreading several feet across. Blood spatter radiated across the floor, indicating that someone had been shot while laying on the carpet. She said as much.
“Correct,” Dr. Clark said. “General Hackett was attacked three feet from the door-hamstrung. You can see the spatter on the bathroom door. He fell to the ground, and it appears he pulled himself toward the doors at the rear of the room. He moved six feet before he was shot-twice, a head shot and once to his back. From the amount of blood, a bullet pierced a major artery. There’s also brain matter and bone embedded in the carpet. We’ll be cutting out the carpet for further blood analysis.”
“Where was Rosemont found?” Hans asked.
Dr. Clark stood in the center of the room. “He was close to Hackett’s body and fell across his legs. He was shot in the chest twice.”
“Detective Holden said there was no knife found.”
“Correct. We’ve broadened the search, but so far nothing. We’ve also received a limited warrant to search every hotel room, occupied and unoccupied, in the resort.”
Holden said, “My officers are in the middle of that search. So far, nothing.”
Clark continued. “Though I will need confirmation from the autopsy, it appears that Rosemont attacked Hackett as soon as the door closed. I inspected Rosemont’s hands and he was wearing gloves. The gloves had small nicks in them, consistent with brushing against a sharp blade. We also found a medical-type bag with restraint materials and more than two hundred acupuncture needles. The needles tested positive for blood and there is multiple biological matter on them. He may have rinsed them off, but he never sterilized them.”
“Prints?” Megan asked.
Clark shook his head. “Far too slender to retain enough fingerprint information for a possible I.D.”
“What about prints in the room?” she clarified.
“We found several of Rosemont’s prints on the main door and the sliding glass door, in the bathroom, and on the desk. There are several sets and the hotel is providing us with prints of all its employees to compare to. But the only recent prints belong to Rosemont and Hackett. Hackett touched the doorjamb, the knob, and he had a key for this room in his pocket.”
“But I thought the room was registered to Rosemont under the name Ethan Rose,” Hans said.
“Correct. But Hackett had a key.”
Meg turned to Holden. “You said that Hackett was seen with a woman in the bar.”
“Yes.”
“Rosemont’s partner.”
Hans turned to her. “We don’t know that.”
“Why else would Hackett have a key to this room? Females are great lures.”
Holden said, “One of the housekeeping staff said she saw Rosemont and a woman on the beach earlier yesterday, but she couldn’t provide a description, only a blond Caucasian.” His phone beeped and he excused himself.
Megan looked at the two body bags, then at the door. “Did Rosemont shoot Hackett or was it Rosemont’s partner?” she asked, almost to herself. “What I don’t get is why such a public place. The general must have caused a raucous when he was hamstrung. He wasn’t gagged, correct?”
“No.”
Hans said, “Test his blood for all barbiturates. If he was drugged before he came in, he may not have been able to call for help.”
“And the killer escaped through the back door,” Megan said as she crossed over to the sliding glass doors. The beach spread out in front of her, the ocean rolling up only a hundred feet beyond.
“Look here.” Clark led them to the door. “See those prints?”
“Prints?”
“Shoe impressions.”
Megan squatted and looked carefully at a triangle pattern. “These are shoes?”
“High heels. There are no identifying marks, but we can see the impression of the spikes in a couple places- mostly by the main door. I think the killer tried to run on her toes and not put the spike part of the heel down, but sometimes she couldn’t avoid it.”
“You think the killer is a woman.”
“I think the killer is very likely a woman,” Clark said. “Hackett had lipstick on his face and neck.”
“And she ran across the beach?” Megan looked out. Crime scene tape divided the beach in half.
“Yes, south. But we were only able to track her footfalls for about thirty feet before they became too integrated with the other prints.”
“Heels in the sand?”
“No, she took her shoes off. Come here.” He opened the door and they walked to the small patio that fronted the sand. “No prints, so she probably had gloves on-”
“Wait,” Megan said. “If this is the same woman Hackett was getting cozy with in the bar, how could he have not noticed she was wearing gloves?”
“Maybe she drugged him,” Hans suggested. “Or used a towel or cloth to touch anything.”
“Regardless, she didn’t leave prints, but there is blood on the back of this chair, and a few droplets of blood that has me thinking she stood in the sand, took off the heels, and carried them with her. We’re scouring the garbage cans and beach between here and the pier, and so far nothing. No shoes, no knife, no evidence.”
Holden came out to the patio. “The bartender who served Hackett and the woman last night is here.”
“Let’s talk to him,” Hans said. “Do you have a sketch artist available?”
“Already on site,” Holden said. “We also have a witness. He sounds legit, swears that he saw Rosemont at a diner outside Blythe yesterday morning. He and his family are in San Luis Obispo and I was going to send an officer up there for a formal statement, but maybe one of you would like to go?”
“Agent Elliott will accompany your officer,” Hans said.
Before Megan could protest, Holden said, “Terrific. I’ll call Officer Dodge and have her swing by and pick you up. It’s only an hour and a half away. You’ll be back before dinner.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jack couldn’t find Megan anywhere in the hotel. He was about to try her cell phone again when he saw Hans Vigo walk into the main lobby with the same plain-clothes cop who had picked Hans and Megan up at the airport earlier that morning.
“Where’s Megan?” Jack asked as Hans approached.
Jack had been worried about Megan, unable to reach her, her cell phone busy or going directly to voice mail.
Hans Vigo looked at Jack oddly, then walked past him and said, “She’s on her way to interview a potential witness.”
“Witness? Who?”
“A family. They saw Rosemont in a diner only a few miles from where the Hoffmans were killed. They said a woman was with him. It’s a solid lead, so I sent her to follow it.”
Jack glanced at Holden. He didn’t need to say anything, but the cop understood and excused himself with a vague comment about checking on the canvass for witnesses.
“Where did she go?” Jack asked.
“San Luis Obispo. It’s an hour or two north.”
“On her own?”
“With an SBPD uniformed officer. What’s the problem, Jack? I didn’t realize I had to clear my orders with you.”
The tension wasn’t lost on Jack. “What does that mean, Vigo?”
“I don’t have to explain myself.”
“Right. Because you’re the senior agent.”
The federal agent’s face hardened. “What do you care? Your friend’s killer is dead. You can go back to Hidalgo and fight somebody else’s wars for them. I’m sure you’re in demand.”
“And I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Why hadn’t Megan called him? Jack pushed the thought aside. She was doing her job. He’d have liked to have known she was leaving town for the day, but she’d be back in a few hours. Still, Hans Vigo’s animosity was palatable. What was his problem? Did he know that Jack had slept with Megan? Was it possible that this agent, who was almost old enough to be Megan’s father, was jealous? Or was it something else? Jack didn’t know Vigo well enough to decide, though Megan had said he’d been acting unlike himself recently.