Next Door (A Chloe Fine Psychological Suspense Mystery—Book 1)

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

It was raining when Chloe and her field work instructor arrived on the scene. She felt very minor league as she stepped out of the car into the drizzling rain. Because she was an intern having to go alongside her instructor in shifts with other interns, they were not given high-profile cases. This one, for instance, sounded as if it were a typical domestic abuse case. And while the details of the case did not sound very graphic or brutal, the very words domestic abuse made her cringe.

She had, after all, heard those words a lot after her mother had died. Her instructor must have been aware of her past—of what had happened with her parents—but had mentioned nothing of it this morning as they had headed out.

They were in the town of Willow Creek on that first day, a small town about fifteen miles outside of Baltimore. Chloe was interning with the FBI to eventually become part of the FBI’s Evidence Response Team, and as they walked toward the simple two-story house, the instructor even let her take the lead. Her instructor was Kyle Greene, a forty-five-year-old agent who had been taken out of basic field work when he had torn his ACL while chasing down a suspect. He’d never healed properly from the injury and had been given the option to serve as an instructor and mentor of sorts for interns. He and Chloe had only spoken twice before this morning, having met via FaceTime a week ago to get to know one another and then two days ago, during her ride from Philly to Pinecrest.

“One thing before we go inside,” Greene said. “I held this from you until now because I didn’t want you dwelling on it all morning.”

“Okay…”

“While this is a domestic abuse case, it is also a homicide case. When we get inside, there’s going to be a body. A relatively fresh one.”

“Oh…” she said, unable to contain her shock.

“I know it’s more than you were expecting. But there was some discussion when you came in. Discussions to maybe let you peek behind the curtain right from the start. We’ve been toying with the idea of letting the interns have more responsibilities, letting them stretch out a bit more. And based on your dossier, we thought you’d be a prime candidate to test that out. I hope that’s okay with you.”

She was still taken aback, unable to form any real response. Yes, it was more responsibility. Yes, it meant more eyes would be on her. But she had never backed down from a challenge and she didn’t intend to start now.

“I appreciate the opportunity.”

“Good,” Greene said, his tone indicating that he never had a doubt.

He waved her on to follow him as they walked to the porch and up the stairs. Inside, were two agents conversing with the coroner. Chloe did her best to ready herself for the scene and while she thought she’d done a pretty good job, she was still shaken when she saw a woman’s legs sticking out from behind the kitchen island.

“So I need you to take a walk around the body,” Greene said. “Tell me what you see—both in terms of the body and the surroundings. Walk me through your processing.”

Chloe had seen a few dead bodies in the course of her interning; When she lived in Philadelphia, they had not been all that hard to come by. But this was different. This one felt a little too close to home—a little too familiar. She stepped behind the kitchen counter and looked down at the scene.

The victim was a woman who looked to be in her thirties. She had been hit in the head with a very solid object—most likely the toaster that lay shattered in pieces several feet from her. The brunt of the impact had been along the left side of her brow, hard enough to shatter the ocular cavity, making her eye look like it could very well slide out onto the floor at any moment. A pool of blood surrounded her head like a halo.

Perhaps the oddest thing about her was that her sweatpants were pulled down to her ankles and her underwear pulled down to her knees. Chloe hunkered down closer to the body and looked for any other details. She saw what looked like two small scratch marks on the side of her neck. They looked to be fresh and in the shape of fingernails.

“Where’s the husband?” she asked.

“In custody,” Greene said. “He’s admitted to it and already told the police what happened.”

“But if it’s a domestic dispute, why call the FBI in?” she asked.

“Because this guy was arrested three years ago for beating up his first wife so bad that she went to the ER. But she didn’t press charges. And his home computer was flagged two weeks ago for potential snuff videos.”

Chloe took all of that information and applied it to what she was seeing. She interlocked it all like a puzzle and spoke her theories out loud as they came to her.

“Given this man’s history, he was prone to violence. Extreme violence, if the crushed toaster is any indication. The sweatpants pushed down and underwear not quite all the way down indicates that he was trying to have s*x with her here in the kitchen. Maybe they were having s*x and she wanted it to stop. Scratch marks on her neck indicate that the s*x was rough and either consensual at first or entirely unwanted.”

She paused here and studied the blood. “The blood looks to be relatively fresh. I’d estimate the murder to have occurred within the last six hours.”

“And what would your next steps be?” Greene asked. “If we didn’t have this guy in custody right now and there was an active search for him, how would you follow up?”

“I’d check for evidence of intercourse. We could get his DNA and get a match. While waiting for those results, though, I’d look for things like wallets upstairs in the bedroom, hoping for a driver’s license. Of course, that’s if it wasn’t already suspected that it was the husband. If that were the case, we could get the name from the address.”

Greene smiled at her, nodding. “That’s right. You’d be surprised how many rookies miss the fact that it’s sort of a trick question. You’re in the guy’s house, so you’d already know his name. But if it wasn’t suspected that it was the husband, you’re exactly right. Also…Fine, are you okay?”

The question took her by surprise—mainly because she wasn’t okay. She had zoned out, staring at the blood on the kitchen tile. It pulled her all the way back into her past, staring at a pool of blood drying into the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.

Without warning, she started to grow faint. She braced herself against the kitchen island, afraid she was going to puke. It was alarming and embarrassing.

Is this what I can look forward to at any remotely gruesome crime scene? At any scenes that remotely resemble what happened to Mom?

She could hear Sally in the back of her head, one of the first things she’d ever said to Chloe: I don’t know how a woman would make an exceptional agent. Especially one with your traumatic background. I wonder if that sort of stress comes home with you…

“Sorry, excuse me,” she mumbled. She pushed herself off the island and ran back to the front door. She nearly fell down the porch stairs on her way to the lawn, sure she was going to throw up.

Thankfully, the fates spared her that particular embarrassment. She took a series of deep breaths, concentrating so intently on them that she almost didn’t notice when Greene came quietly down the porch steps.

“There are certain cases that get to me, too,” he told her. He kept a respectable distance, letting her have her space. “There are going to be scenes that are much worse. Sadly, after a while, you sort of become desensitized to it.”

She nodded, as she had heard all of that before. “I know. It’s just…this scene brought up something. A memory I don’t like dealing with.”

“The bureau has exceptional therapists to help agents process through things like this. So never think you’re alone or that something like this makes you less of an agent.”

“Thanks,” Chloe said, finally managing to stand upright again.

She realized that she suddenly missed her sister very badly. As morbid as it seemed, fond thoughts of Danielle would flood through her whenever memories of the day their mother died surfaced in her head. It was no different now; Chloe could not help but think of her sister. Danielle had been through a lot over the years—a victim of circumstance as well as her own poor decisions. And now that Chloe lived so close, it seemed unthinkable that they should remain so distant.

Sure, she’d invited Danielle to the block part this weekend, but Chloe found herself unable to wait that long. And Chloe suspected that she wouldn’t even come.

Suddenly, she knew: she had to see her now.

***

Chloe didn’t know why she was so nervous when she knocked on Danielle’s door. She knew Danielle was in; the same car she’d had as a teenager was parked in the apartment complex parking lot, still boasting the band stickers. Nine Inch Nails. KMFDM. Ministry. Seeing the car and those stickers brought a pang of nostalgia that was more sadness than anything else.

Has she really not grown up at all? Chloe wondered.

When Danielle answered the door, Chloe saw that she had not. Or, rather, it did not look like it in terms of appearance.

The sisters looked at one another for a period of two seconds before they finally moved in for a brief hug. Chloe saw that Danielle still dyed her hair black. She was also still sporting the lip ring, protruding from the left corner of her mouth. She was wearing a slight bit of black eyeliner and was decked out in a Bauhaus T-shirt and ripped jeans.

“Chloe,” Danielle said, breaking into the faintest of smiles. “How have you been?”

It was as if they had seen one another just the day before. That was fine, though. Chloe had not exactly been expecting any sentiment from her sister.

Chloe stepped into the apartment and, not caring much how Danielle would receive it, gave her sister another hug. It had been a little over a year since they had seen one another—and about three since they had actually embraced one another like this. Something about the fact that they now lived in the same city seemed to have bonded something between them—it was something Chloe could feel, something she knew would not need to be vocalized.

Danielle returned the hug, albeit lazily. “So…you’re…what?” Danielle teased.

“I’m good,” Chloe said. “I know I should have called but…I don’t know. I was afraid you’d find some excuse for me not to come by.”

“I might have,” Danielle admitted. “But now that you’re here, come on in. Excuse the mess. Well, actually don’t excuse it. You know I’ve always been messy.”

Chloe laughed and when she entered the apartment she was surprised to find the place relatively tidy. The living area was sparsely furnished, just a couch, a TV and TV stand, a coffee table, and a lamp. Chloe knew the rest of the place would be the same. Danielle was the sort of person who lived on only the minimal amount of belongings. The exception, if she hadn’t changed since her teen years (and it seemed she hadn’t) was music and books. It made Chloe nearly feel guilty for the spacious and elaborate home she had recently purchased with Steven.

“Want me to put on some coffee?” Danielle asked.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

They walked into the kitchen, again only boasting the necessities. The table was clearly something that had been scoured from a yard sale, given at least a bit of dignity with a ruffled tablecloth. Two lonely chairs sat at it, one on either side.

“Are you here to bully me about your block party?” Danielle asked.

“Not at all,” Chloe said. “I was interning today and came to this crime scene that…well, it brought everything racing back.”

“Ouch.”

Silence hung between them as Danielle set the coffeemaker up. Chloe watched as her sister moved about the kitchen, a bit creeped out at how much it seemed she had not changed. She could very well be looking at the seventeen-year-old girl who had left home with the hopes of starting a band, despite their grandparents’ wishes. Everything looked the same, right down to the sleepy expression.

“Have you heard anything about Dad lately?” Chloe asked.

Danielle only shook her head. “With your job, I thought you’d be the one to hear anything. If there was anything to hear.”

“I stopped checking a while ago.”

“Cheers to that,” Danielle said, covering a small yawn with the back of her hand.

“You look tired,” Chloe said.

“I am. Only, not like sleepy tired. The doctor had me on these mood stabilizers. It screwed with my sleep. And when you’re a bartender who usually doesn’t get home until after three in the morning, the last thing you need is a medicine that f***s with your sleep.”

“You said the doc had you on them. Are you not taking them anymore?”

“No. They were f*****g with my sleep, my appetite, and my libido. Ever since I stopped, I feel much better…just tired all the time.”

“Why were they prescribed in the first place?” Chloe asked.

“To deal with my nosy sister,” Danielle said, only half-joking. She waited a beat before giving an honest answer. “I was starting to get easily depressed. And it would come out of nowhere. I dealt with it in some…pretty dumb ways. Drinking. s*x. Fixer Upper.”

“If it was for depression, you should probably get back on them,” Chloe said, realizing as she said it just how intrusive she was being. “What do you need a libido for anyway?” she asked with a snicker.

“For those of us that aren’t about to get married, they’re pretty important. We can’t just roll over in bed and get laid whenever we want.”

“You never had problems getting guys before,” Chloe pointed out.

“And I still don’t,” she said, bringing mugs of coffee to the table. “It’s just too much work. Especially lately. This new one. A serious guy. We decided to take it slow…whatever.”

“That’s the only reason I’m marrying Steven, you know,” Chloe said, trying to get into the joking mood right along with her. “I got tired of having to go out and work for sex.”

They both had a laugh at this. It should have felt natural to laugh and smile together again but something about it felt forced.

“So what’s up, sis?” Danielle asked. “It’s not like you to drop by. Not that I’d know, as we haven’t had that opportunity in almost two years.”

Chloe nodded, remembering the one time they had actually spent together in the last handful of years. Danielle had been in Philly for some concert and had crashed at her apartment. They’d talked a bit, but not much. Danielle had been hammered and passed out on her couch. Their mom had come up in the conversation, as had their dad. It was the only time Chloe had ever heard Danielle openly speak about wanting to go visit him.

“That scene this morning,” Chloe said. “It made me think of that morning outside of the apartment. I kept thinking about the blood at the bottom of the stairs and it got to me. I thought I was going to puke. And I’m not that kind of person, you know? The scene itself was pretty vanilla compared to some of the stuff I’ve seen. It just hit me hard. It made me think of you and I had to see you. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. The mood stabilizers…I’m pretty sure all of the depression was coming from nightmares I was having about Mom and Dad. I’d have them and then be in a funk for days. Like, not wanting to get out of bed because I trusted no one else out in the world.”

“Well, I was going to ask how you cope with it when you think of what happened, but I guess I know the answer, huh?”

Danielle nodded and looked away. “Meds.”

“You okay?”

Danielle shrugged but she may as well have flipped Chloe her middle finger. “We’re together for about ten minutes and you already go there. God, Chloe…haven’t you learned to live your life without dragging that s**t up? If you recall, when you called to tell me that you were moving to Pinecrest, we decided to not talk about it. Water under the bridge, remember?”

Chloe was taken aback. She’d just watched Danielle go from dry and sarcastic to absolute furious in the blink of an eye. Sure, the topic of their parents was a sore subject, but Danielle’s reaction was bipolar in nature.

“How long have you been off the meds?” Chloe asked.

“f**k you.”

“How long?”

“Three weeks, give or take a few days. Why?”

“Because I’ve only been here for about fifteen minutes and I can already tell that you need them.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“Will you start taking them, please? I want you at my wedding. Maid of honor, remember? As selfish as it might seem, I’d like for you to actually enjoy it. So would you please just start taking them again?”

The mention of maid of honor did something to Danielle. She sighed and then relaxed her posture. She was able to look at Chloe again and while she was still angry, there was something warm there as well.

“Fine,” she said.

She got up from the table and went to a little decorative wicker basket on the kitchen counter. She pulled out a prescription bottle, shook out a pill, and swallowed it down with her coffee.

“Thank you,” Chloe said. She then pressed a bit more, sensing something else amiss. “Is everything else okay?”

Danielle thought about it for a moment and Chloe caught her casting a quick glance toward her apartment door. It was very brief but there was fear there—Chloe was sure of it.

“No, I’m good.”

Chloe knew her sister well enough to know not to press it.

“So, what the hell is a block party, anyway?” Danielle asked.

Chloe laughed; she had nearly forgotten Danielle’s ability to drop a subject and start another one with all the grace of an elephant in a china shop. And just like that, the subject was changed. Chloe watched her sister to see if she ever looked back to the door with that bit of fear in her eyes, but it never happened again.

Still, Chloe felt that there was something there. Maybe after some time together, Danielle would fess up.

But to what? Chloe wondered, casting a glance at the front door herself.

And it was then that she realized that she really didn’t know her sister at all. There were parts of her that seemed very much like the gothed-out seventeen-year-old she’d last known so well. But there was something new to Danielle now…something darker. Something that needed meds to control her moods, to help her sleep and function.

It occurred to Chloe in that moment that she was scared for her sister and she wanted to help in any way she could.

Even if it meant digging into the past.

But not now. Maybe after the wedding. God only knew what sort of arguments and mood swings talking about the death of their mother and incarceration of their father would bring up. Still, Chloe felt the ghosts of her past stronger than ever while sitting there with Danielle and it made her wonder just how haunted Danielle had been by it all.

What kind of ghosts lurked around in Danielle’s head? And what, exactly, were they telling her?

She sensed, the way she did a coming storm, that whatever Danielle was suppressing, it would all eventually involve her. Her new life. Her new fiancé, her new house. Her new life.

And it would all lead to nothing good.