“Let’s look at the crime scene photos.” Morgan opened the laptop on her desk and pulled up the file. Sharp and Lance gathered around her.
The first set were of Noah’s body in the grass. He was on his side, his arms stretched out.
“He’s dressed but barefoot.” Morgan pulled out the preliminary autopsy report. “He wasn’t wearing underwear, as if he got out of bed for some reason and stepped into jeans and a T-shirt.”
Lance rubbed his chin. “He was killed in the kitchen.”
Morgan scrolled slowly through the pictures. The images followed a bloody trail through the front door and living room to the kitchen, where blood had puddled.
“That’s where he was stabbed,” Sharp said. “Not a lot of blood spatter, considering he had three wounds.”
Morgan scrolled slowly through more photos. “No. The ME says the first two wounds bled mostly internally. It was the third that nicked an artery and caused most of the external bleeding.”
“And this spray of blood over here.” Sharp indicated a red streak on the wall.
Lance said, “The size of the bloodstain on the floor tells me Noah lay there for a while, bleeding, before he tried to crawl away.”
Sharp tilted his head at the photo. “The blood on the floor is all smeared.”
“Noah did crawl through it.” Lance leaned closer to the screen. “But how did it get all over Haley? Did someone carry her unconscious body into the kitchen and slide her around in the blood?”
Morgan checked the crime scene fingerprint report. “The fingerprint tech says all the bloody toe and footprints they found belong to Haley or Noah.”
Like fingerprints, toe prints had unique ridges and whorls that could be used for identification.
“The only prints on the knife belonged to Haley. Noah had had a gaming party the night before with a dozen friends attending, including Isaac, Justin, and Chase, along with Noah’s brother, Adam. There were a number of unidentified prints on scene, which wasn’t unexpected.”
Sharp scratched his chin. “But any fingerprints not on the weapon or made in blood are basically useless unless we identify another suspect who has never been to Noah’s house for a legitimate reason.”
“Like Kieran Hart,” Lance suggested.
“Right,” Morgan agreed. “But unless he has a prior felony conviction, his prints won’t be on file anywhere. We can’t force him to submit his fingerprints without probable cause.”
Sharp leaned back. “We definitely need a blood spatter expert. That kitchen floor looks like Jack the Ripper channeled Jackson Pollock. I have the perfect guy. I’ll call him today.”
Morgan moved on to study the rest of the kitchen photos.
A bag of potato chips, the open end rolled up and fastened with a paper clip, sat on the kitchen counter. A close-up shot of the kitchen sink showed a Ziploc bag of water and two glasses sitting in the bottom. An empty plate and a jar of peanut butter sat on the counter. Every piece of evidence was marked with a yellow evidence tag.
“The Ziploc bag was probably the ice pack he made for her. She also said he gave her water and potato chips.” Morgan pointed at the screen.
“He took out an empty plate and peanut butter.” Lance leaned over her shoulder. “Did someone come to the door before he finished putting his snack together?”
“Kieran?” Morgan asked. “Maybe he followed them from the bar.”
“Possible, but why would Noah let him in?” Sharp’s brows knitted. “Do they know each other?”
“We’ll have to ask Kieran when we see him.” Morgan wrote the question down.
Sharp continued. “If someone else killed Noah, he didn’t get out of the house without blood on his clothes and shoes. He could have tracked it into his car.”
Morgan followed Sharp’s train of thought. “If we find a suspect, a search of his car and house might turn up physical evidence. The problem is that we’d have to find enough probable cause to convince the sheriff a search is necessary and a judge to issue a warrant.”
“Yes,” Sharp said. “But I’ve worked with Colgate over the years. He’s a veteran cop, not a politician. He thinks Haley is guilty right now, but unlike the last DHIC, he won’t suppress evidence to get her convicted.”
Morgan gave Lance a questioning look. “DHIC?”
“Dickhead in charge,” Lance translated.
Sharp nodded. “If we get real evidence on a plausible suspect, Colgate will ask for a search warrant to look for bloody shoes and clothing.”
“Unfortunately, our theories don’t demonstrate probable cause.” Morgan closed her laptop. “It’s time to head to the crime scene. Let’s go find some evidence.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lance parked his Jeep outside Noah Carter’s rented house. Crime scene tape fluttered from the doorway. He dug in his glove compartment for shoe covers and gloves. Sharp parked his Prius next to them. Lance took a camera from the center console. They would take their own pictures.
A sheriff’s deputy pulled in next to them. He got out and unlocked the door. Though forensics had finished collecting evidence, the sheriff had not yet released the scene. Booties and gloves were no longer required. Lance handed them out anyway. They had all seen the crime scene photos of the kitchen. No one wanted to step in blood, even if it was dry.
The deputy unlocked the door, then stepped back. “I’ll be in my vehicle. Let me know when you’re ready for me to lock up.”
Clearly, he had no burning desire to see the kitchen again. Lance couldn’t blame him. Lance followed Morgan and Sharp into the house. He was glad the cop stayed outside so they could speak freely without worrying about him overhearing.
The front door opened into a foyer with a small formal living room on the right. They walked down a short hallway to the family room. A couch faced a flat-screen TV. The room was neat and uncluttered, with no knickknacks aside from a few framed photos—about what Lance would expect from a young bachelor.
Morgan reviewed Haley’s memory of leaving the club, tripping, the ride home. “After Noah brought her chips, water, and an ice pack, Haley remembered kissing him on the sofa. Then she blanks out. She assumes they had sex but has no memory of it. But in the morning, she found her dress on the floor in here.”
They moved on to the kitchen. Lance went through the doorway and stepped to the side to make room for Morgan and Sharp. They stood in silence several minutes, taking in the scene.
“I can’t believe Haley was strong enough to overpower a healthy young man,” Lance said. “She barely weighs a hundred pounds. Noah had at least a fifty-pound weight advantage and six inches of reach on her.”
“Haley isn’t any kind of athlete either,” Morgan said. “If anything, she’s fragile.”
“He was stabbed in the front of the body.” Lance studied the space. “He must have been facing his killer at the time. Did he not see the knife coming? The dress wasn’t covered in blood, so she was naked when she supposedly stabbed him. She wasn’t hiding the weapon in her clothes.”
“Let’s run the mechanics of the prosecutor’s case,” Sharp suggested. “Noah was at the counter preparing a snack. Haley came in and grabbed the knife from the block without him seeing. He turned around and she stabbed him before he realized what was happening.”
“That’s the only way I see this occurring.” Lance realized with a sinking feeling that Sharp’s explanation was too plausible and would not help their defense.
From the expression in Sharp’s eyes, he knew it as well.
Sharp examined the spray of blood on the wall, then pointed to a spot on the floor in the middle of the largest bloodstain. “He would have been standing there. These spatters of blood”—he pointed to two groups of small blood spatters on the cabinets—“were the first two stabs. They didn’t cause much external bleeding, but a few drops would have flicked off the blade as it was pulled out of his body. The larger spray was from the last and fatal stab wound.”
“He never tried to run or evade the attack, so the wounds must have been delivered in quick succession.” To demonstrate, Lance moved his arm in three quick jabs.