CHAPTER TEN
Owen thought it was weird, in this case, how they seemed to be shuttling between a bunch of luxury establishments. What was going on? Why were these wealthy people being targeted? Never had he thought that this peaceful community would ever experience such a level of violent crime. Any murder was terrible. But a killer targeting the wealthy, he knew from experience, would bring a whole new level of panic and blame. This serial killing spree would make news headlines, in all the wrong ways.
What had triggered it? he wondered, confused, as they pulled up outside the magnificent entrance of Rushway River Lodge, slotting in between an ambulance and a coroner’s van who he guessed had probably just arrived.
He felt they didn’t know enough yet, and that they were stumbling around in the dark, but he was sure that May would get to the gist of it.
She was as sharp as a tack. She was pretty. She was super-capable. And above all, she was kind. Owen had seen how she cared for the people who were in need, the ones who couldn’t help themselves, those who needed a hand.
That had already earned her all his admiration. He was proud to have her as his investigation partner. It was because of people like May that he’d chosen to quit the field of accounting and move into law enforcement, where there was more chance of helping people and making a difference. So he thought, anyway.
They hurried inside.
The receptionist immediately rushed over. She was young and well-groomed and looked devastated.
“Are you the police? This is so terrible. Let me take you to the room where it happened.”
“Is the victim a guest here?” Owen asked.
“Yes, she is. A guest who arrived yesterday evening. I have all her details here,” the receptionist said, passing over a sheet of paper. “It’s this way, she’s in the Waterlily Suite. I am so upset. I just can’t believe it’s happened to one of our guests. It seems like someone broke in and attacked her. And then left her in the tub with the water running. That’s how housekeeping was alerted. They saw the water overflowing and went in to see.”
Owen paced down the corridor behind her, feeling unsettled by her words. This was extremely disturbing. Was it another serial case? he wondered. If so, why was this killer targeting wealthy people in upmarket hotel locations?
He glanced back at May. She was as cool as a cucumber, but she was clearly studying the scene ahead.
As they approached the luxury room, Owen saw it was already a hive of activity.
It was large and magnificently appointed. A four-poster bed was the centerpiece of the room. It had huge windows overlooking the forested grounds of the estate. And on the far side of the room, an arched doorway led into a bathroom.
There, Owen saw Andy Baker on site, leaning over the bathtub. Sheriff Jack was standing nearby, watching solemnly and making notes.
They stopped inside the door and put on head covers, foot covers, and gloves.
“It looks as if the killer gained access through the sliding door that was open,” a cop from the Misty Hills department told them. “Maybe the victim left it open. It doesn’t show any sign of being forced.”
Owen watched as May moved forward into the large luxurious bathroom.
It was decorated in a stunning contemporary style, with black and white check tiles on the floor and wall, and chrome fittings. There was a large, free-standing bath tub with a shower to the side of it. The floor was still slippery with water.
Owen wasn’t sure he was ready to see this. He had only seen a few other murder scenes in his life. Would he ever get used to it?
May was so matter of fact, so focused on her job, she didn’t seem to be fazed. He drew his strength from her.
He moved forward. Sheriff Jack gave him and May a nod of welcome, his face stern. Then Owen took a look.
The woman was fully clothed in a gorgeous burgundy dress. She was wearing expensive jewelry and earrings. And she seemed to have an injury on the back of her head that reminded him a lot of the one on the body he’d pulled out of the lake yesterday.
Both victims had been hit from behind and then drowned. One in a lake, one in a bathtub.
He watched, feeling a sense of apprehension, as Andy Baker opened the woman’s mouth.
“Now this is interesting,” Andy Baker murmured. “We have a serial, for sure.”
Owen felt his heart accelerate as Andy pulled out another folded five-dollar bill.
He handed it to May, who took it and opened it up, holding it carefully in her gloved hands as she frowned down at it.
Owen had a sense of foreboding as he watched her expression. He could tell she was thinking hard, and that she was puzzled.
“What do you think this means?” Owen asked.