“So what now?” asked Sterling, puzzled by Stone’s hazy explanation.
“Well, all we’ve got to do is check out the place and find something, no matter how insignificant it seems, just need to find anything that can prove that I am right.”
“Well that can be a really tall order when you are probably wrong.”
“Now, now, it shouldn’t be too hard to find much. I know medical examiners aren’t exactly adept at finding clues or anything, but I’d appreciate if you would at least back me up here.” Sterling merely nodded, though her disposition appeared more apathetic than Stone had planned.
As they settled into the driveway of Dominguez’s house, Stone couldn’t help but feel the antagonistic atmosphere around him, his instincts telling him the obvious fact that he didn’t belong here. Diving over and dodging the tape, Stone noticed a cheery and undisturbed scene, a glitzy Christmas tree in the corner with several wrapped present scattered around the base of the tree. Treading as lightly as possible and inserting his hands into sterile gloves, Stone and Sterling ventured toward the blood splatter on the wall, when a macabre thought popped into his head that it reminded him of some innocent modern painting at a museum somewhere he wasn’t sure of.
“Okay, let’s start looking,” remarked Stone coolly, with Sterling nodding. Sterling pulled out the pictures to examine the positioning of the bodies, and noticed something that seemed impossible. She beckoned Stone towards the scene.
“OK, notice how the stain is at a downward angle? According to the report, she shot herself and her kid with a .12 gauge shotgun. Now it would be virtually impossible to shoot yourself with a shotgun by lifting it above your head, as it would be much easier to shoot it parallel to the ground or to shoot from below the jaw, which would cause an upward stain.” Stone eked out a half-smirk, extrapolating Sterling’s direction with this theory.
“You know what I noticed? Why would the mother bother to carry her sleeping child all the way to her eventual death scene and kill her there and then shoot herself? That makes no sense at all. If she did kill her own kid, shouldn’t it be in her bed? I mean there was no sign of struggle so the kid clearly was sleeping when she died so why drag her here? Unless if someone shot the mom and killed the kid to make it look like a homicide-suicide when in fact it was a double homicide.”
“Stone, do you think Klein would actually buy that? It seems a little sketchy.”
“Yeah, it’s sketchy, but maybe I’ll persuade him to get a second look at least.”
The next day Sterling and Stone tried to explain the positioning of the bodies and the logistics of the scenario but Klein grew more and more oblivious until it became yelling into deaf ears—useless.
“Listen Chief, it just doesn’t make logical sense. Why would she go through all the trouble?”
“Really, you’re trying to see the logic of a woman killing her child and then herself? Go ahead and question her methods but I can guarantee you no amount of logic will sway me.” The phone rings. “Oh, excuse me for a second. Hello, this is Chief Klein, what is this about? What? Yes, I’ll send the best people I have towards you right now.” Klein then Grabs his jacket and mutters ‘Follow me’ to the pair and lights a cigarette, a trail of wispy smoke as the trail to where he headed to the parking lot. As they each struggled to slide into the cluttered car, Klein gunned as fast as he could, not even hesitating to assess the situation to Stone or Sterling.
As they pulled near a run-down gas station—the questionable type that usually puts watered gas—Stone noticed the throngs of not only squad cars but news vans. Those are never a good sign. When Stone surveys the crime scene, he smells the repulsive, pungent odor of rotten meat. As he drew nearer, what lay before the normally suave and callous detective rattled him beyond belief. As Sterling caught up to him, she couldn’t utter a single syllable, only a stifled sob. A man who had been in his late thirties hung on a rope tied to a cramped bathroom ceiling, with many shotgun holes strewn across his body, with mangled flesh dripping with congealed blood. Behind him sprawled throughout the wall were the words “FOR EM!” in crimson ink produced from the carnage itself, in his own blood.
“Stone, he’s toying with us! He’s toying with us! What do we do?” cried Sterling shaken up and panicking.
“I don’t know. In all my life I’ve met killers face to face, been shot by some, and shot some others. But never have I seen such a sick, twisted motherfucker like this. Never.” Too dazed to even move, Stone had never come across someone, no something, like this. This fucker is actually baiting him, how could he match up to that?
Regaining his composure, Stone clenched his fists and shouted to no one in particular, “If it’s a game you want, then it’s a game you’ve got you fucker!”
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