They got a late start that morning.
Both, Mike's meeting with Olsen as well as scheduling a showing with the realtor in Burlingame tasked to sell "the murder house" had taken a lot longer than expected.
Thankfully, by 10am, traffic south of San Francisco was significantly lighter, and two Homicide detectives were a bit less exhausted after a reasonably good night of sleep. Using the extra morning hours to brush up on the thick file surrounding the Saunders' slaying, they were also a lot smarter when it came to some of the angles Alex had dug into.
"I can't believe he went through all the photo albums and managed to put together an accurate description of Kevin's clothes from that picture. It's so grainy, you can hardly see anything. He must have spent days comparing it to other photos in the family albums to identify the jacket and those pants."
"Alex was extremely detail oriented…", Mike explained with a sigh, "He could look at something for the fraction of a second and remember every single detail. He was truly remarkable."
"Sounds like it…", Steve countered and went around a slow semi-truck in the right-hand lane, "You guys worked together how long, five years?"
"Almost seven, actually. His youngest kid's Jeanie's age. That was part of what made us talk about joining the plain-clothed guys sooner or later. Neither one of us wanted to be the patrol cop getting shot on duty, leaving behind a widow and toddlers. We…I guess we figured this was a safer route; one that would promise both, a challenge of solving crimes without being out on the streets all the time and the relative comfort of avoiding many direct confrontations. It sounds selfish when I say it that way, doesn't it?"
"Not at all."
With a fervent headshake, Steve took the exit ramp off the highway, slowly rolling into Burlingame.
"This is a dangerous job, Michael. Especially when the stakes are higher, which they are when you have more than yourself to come home to at night."
The young Inspector's words were genuine and understanding, full of support for his decision.
But at the same time, they brought him back to the sad reality that these days, they both were returning to nothing but emptiness after a long day- except for the few wonderful occasions when his daughter came to visit.
It was the evolution of life, Mike told himself, especially as a widower with a daughter off to college. And while a normal family structure was well outside his grasp now, at least he was fortunate to share his loneliness and lifestyle with a peace-loving, sunflower-eating womanizer nearly half his age.
He was about to respond to his partner when they turned left on South Hunt Drive, the small home in question visible almost right away thanks to the bright yellow and blue "For Sale" sign.
A maroon firebird was parked along the curb, not in the driveway, awaiting the two San Francisco Homicide detectives patiently.
With no direct family left besides Kevin, the Saunders' personal belongings had been brought to City Hall where they were kept in several boxes somewhere in the basement near the city records, at least until the case could be solved and the little boy found.
Likewise, with nobody left to pay taxes on the property, the bank had resumed ownership and put the place up for sale.
According to the information gathered, the house had been completely gutted of all the furniture, then scrubbed, walls repainted and the carpet replaced to cover any evidence remaining from the massacre.
Even the old Buick, with still a small loan on it, had been returned to the dealership, where it was held until further notice.
To the keen eye, it seemed as though the boy was presumed dead and the killer never to be found- at least as far as the creditors were concerned.
Naturally, the house hadn't moved despite an outrageous number of walk-throughs, all of them interested in only one thing; visiting the place where two people had been brutally slain and their child kidnapped, hoping to quench their pathological thirst for human suffering.
It was safe to bet that not a single one of them spent even a moment worrying about that little boy and what the monster who took him might have done to him by now.
Swallowing the bitterness as they pulled into the driveway, Mike glanced down at the hands in his lap, noticing his clenched fists, then tried to relax, keep an open mind in a case that had shook the town and everyone in its wrath.
It was a cold morning, the humidity in the air chilling his bones as he got out of the car, file in one hand, the other one resting on the roof of the tan Galaxy, as they waited for the realtor to join them.
Without having to turn around, he could sense that their presence was noted by the neighbors. He could feel their eyes on the back of his head, undoubtedly lingering behind some curtain to see what two detectives were doing at the murder house.
Even across the street he could see people pause from their everyday routines to covertly glance up, one guy accidently watering the sidewalk instead of his garden.
"Well, I am glad you guys could make it down here…I am Florence Bartholomew, I am handling the sale of this…this home. Feel free to call me Flo.", the chubby lady in her mid-fifties greeted, her thick red lips accentuating her buck teeth in no complimentary fashion whatsoever.
Mike glanced over at Steve, seeing the young Inspector smile faintly at the bright pink mini skirt and matching jacket that looked to be a couple sized too small, forcing the short woman to keep her arms close to her chest to avoid any tears.
"Thank you for making time for us.", Mike responded in kind, flashed his badge, then cocked his chin over at his partner, "I am Lieutenant Michael Stone, this is Inspector Stephen Keller. We work for San Francisco PD Homicide."
"So, they finally decided to bring in the big guns, eh? It's about time, if you ask me…", Flo noted as she strutted past them, a thick file folder tucked between her left arm and voluminous chest, her right hand jingling the keys in nervous agitation, "I've done so many walk throughs on this place, even I know it inside and out by now. To be honest with you though, it never has lost that…that creepy vibe."
Sharing another brief glance with his partner, Mike followed the realtor to the side door, Steve staying a few feet behind and peeking through the small windows into the empty garage.
"What do you think happened to little Kevin?", Flo asked, making nervous small talk as she fought with the lock mechanism, "Everyone in town is so worried about him."
"We don't know. We hope for the best, but expect the worst."
It was all Mike could say, his stomach aching each time the topic came up.
Horrified was the term that came to mind, how he was horrified for the child's safety.
But obviously, in his position and this peculiar situation, having to carefully choose his words was of utmost importance.
"Here you go, gentlemen…sorry, the door sticks sometimes."
With a wave of the hand, she invited them inside, where three steps led to the kitchen and small dining room area.
The air in the small house was stale, the smell of fresh paint having long been overpowered by that of excess humidity and old lumber that spoke of the many generations of families that had come and gone in this place.
As expected, the house was empty except for a handful of cabinets and the kitchen counter, the sink having some rust stains where the dripping faucet had eaten away at the metal.
Noticing his glance, Flo leaned over to open and close the water lever, making sure the faucet wasn't dripping while they walked through the place.
"Pretty small house for a family of three…", Mike breathed and looked around, his avid mind painting the scene of the murder, knowing that this area had been spared of the blood bath besides a few splatters near the door to the main hallway.
A well-used metal sliding door was sweating on the inside, causing the cheap wooden paneling used for the framework to wrinkle and mold.
"It's a great starter home.", Flo countered defensively, as if preparing to get into her sales pitch, "It has two good sized bedrooms, a spacious living room, a decent size bathroom, this kitchen and dining area, we well as extra storage in the fully insulated attic up above…"
Nodding absent-mindedly, Mike scooted over to let Steve pass through, the young Inspector's lean frame disappearing around the corner that led to the living room.
The same held true for Flo's gaze that never left his partner's backside.
"Is there something specific you guys are looking for that I can help you find?", the realtor asked insecurely, her question aimed at Steve who seemed completely oblivious to the latest unsolicited female attention he was receiving.
"I didn't realize the living room was that small, Mike. It looked bigger in the picture. It's what…twenty by maybe twelve feet? In this case, Paul Saunders collapsed just a few feet away from the front door. It's like he barely got to open it before the attack began…"
"And the reclining chair was right here, between the door and the corner light…", the Lieutenant added and squeeze past Flo into the narrow hallway that connected the bedrooms and living room, before pointing at the north wall, "It's surprising that in his struggle, the furniture didn't get damaged besides the glass table. You'd think there would have been a violent fight going on for a while…"
Growing increasingly intrigued with the way they openly shared their thoughts, the realtor joined them by the entrance to the living room, arms still tightly wrapped around her chest.
"It's like the coroner said though, he may have aimed for the neck and chest first, disabling the victim early on to get him to drop down and bleed out.", Steve hypothesized and crouched down near where the body had been found, "With all those wounds, unconsciousness would have occurred within less than a couple of minutes, death shortly after. But that's a lot of stab wounds to put into somebody in just a few minutes even without Paul fighting the killer."
"Let's get Lenny in on this one too. There seems to be signs of great rage.", Mike hypothesized, "Somebody planned this out for quite a while and acted premediated…fast and…efficient. Lenny might discover something that Alex's guy overlooked."
"I thought about getting him involved before we left too, so I called the clinic. Lenny is on vacation until the end of next week. So it sounds like we're going to be on our own until he gets back- for better or worse. I even tried getting in a different guy but nobody seems to want to deal with case, go figure."
Letting the disheartening news sit out there for a moment, Mike squeezed past the realtor again, growing weary of the woman following them around rather than just staying in one spot in a house that wasn't built for the kind of traffic their investigation brought.
"This brings up an interesting point though…", the Lieutenant noted and let his fingers slide across the cheap wallpaper in the narrow corridor, "Marie was attacked in the bedroom but made it out here, before she died. She also received far more stab wounds."
"She hears her husband answer the door, walks in on the scene, then decides to hide in the bedroom…", Steve countered and peeked his head around the corner, unwilling to crowd the area further.
"But if our killer easily overpowered a 180lb male, why did it take him so long to get to Marie? There were no marks on the door, so she didn't lock it, maybe forgot about it in her panic. Meaning our killer just walked in and started attacking her. Maybe she fought back, causing a…renewed wave of rage. It goes along with the amputation of her arm. Think about it, Buddy Boy."
The sobriquet made Flo raise her eyebrows, before resuming to study the young Inspector as he ran a nervous hand across his freshly shaven chin.
"An arm is a strange thing to cut off, if you ask me, Mike. In sexually driven cases, you'd maybe see breasts cut off, intimate areas assaulted, faces being disfigured, up to complete decapitation. An arm though? What was the meaning behind it? And why do it while she was still alive, then throw it on the couple's bed?"
"You're the one with the handful of semesters in psychology…", Mike teased before entering the bedroom, picturing the armoire off to the right, the bed under the window.
"Well, whatever reason our killer had, I feel that there was some sort of connection with Marie, that's why she got most of his attention. Jealousy perhaps? An old boyfriend who couldn't stand seeing her with somebody else?"
"Alex went down that rabbit hole but couldn't find anybody in her past that fit the part. The boy she dated in high school is now a system's engineer in Chicago and has an airtight alibi for the night of the murder. She married Paul right after college and they had Kevin shortly after. Family life sounded nondescript according to the few witnesses Alex managed to gather. Neighbors said they never fought, were always cheerful."
"Beware the sinister secrets behind closed doors…", Steve countered from one room over where Mike could hear him open a window, the noise level in the small house rising almost immediately.
Following the young Inspector, he entered Kevin's room, seeing the corner where the small bed had sat, one window facing the street, the other one the neighbor to the north, a tiny closet off in the back to store his things.
"So, the house is well insulated, dulling most screams. But if they had marriage trouble, why are they both dead and the kid's missing?"
"Beats me…", Steve grunted and leaned against the window frame, his green eyes travelling along the edges looking for clues.
"What bothers me too is that he must have seen it all…watched his parents being butchered. Stuff like that can destroy an innocent young soul like that."
"I know.", Steve said, immediately catching on to the undertone in his partner's voice, that subtle cue that showed just how much he hated seeing children involved in their line of work.
"And there were no signs of struggle in this room. Just some undiscernible boot prints. Like he just picked him up and left."
Mike's words echoed through the empty house and he took a moment to look around once more, trying to envision the crime scene from eight months ago.
"That's what bothers me about Kevin being involved. If he just wanted the child, he could have kidnapped him. Why go through this anger-driven murder, literally butchering his parents in front of his eyes, then walk off like it's nothing? Why not murder the kid as well? What are his plans with him?"
"Maybe he's a trophy…"
Much to their surprise, it was the realtor who spoke up, then shrugged nervously.
"I read that in one of those murder novels once. The serial killer was taking tokens from each house with him, kind of like a trophy. He had a room in his house full of them. Maybe, for some…sinister reason, he took the kid as a trophy. As far as I understand from the other police officers, nothing in the house was missing. At least not from what they could tell."
Mike drew in a deep breath, loathing the notion of siding with the woman on that one but it was a valid point; one that made his stomach churn even more.
Surprisingly, it was Steve who pushed himself off the window ledge and shook his head.
"The attack was too premeditated. I don't buy that. Our killer knew exactly what house to knock on, he knew the layout of this place, he knew that both Paul and Marie were home and where to find them, he came prepared enough as to not leave any forensic evidence behind, and he managed to vanish into thin air once he reached the end of the road. This thing was planned out to a tee, I am even willing to bet he waited for the bad weather to hit in order to cover the screams and hide any footprints outside. It gave him a unique opportunity to move around freely with minimal chance of coming across an eye witness- and it worked out perfectly."
"You're siding with Alex that our victims knew their killer…", Mike surmised, unable to hide a chill running down his back, "It's a possibility. It's also just as possible that our killer knew them, but they didn't know him. I agree, this was targeted, but taking a kid that wasn't his own? That is still a mystery."
When his somber words were met with nothing but quiet nods, Mike cleared his throat again, then pointed at the nearby hallway.
"I think we are done here for now, Misses Bartholomew. Thank you very much for your time. I'd also like to remind you of the non-disclosure form you were sent this morning and signed. It means that nothing said here will leave this house, have I made myself clear?"
His stern words made the realtor's head snap up and she nodded eagerly, then turned around to head for the kitchen.
"Of course, Lieutenant. And please do let me know if I can be of any further assistance. I think everyone in Burlingame would sleep a lot better if this monster was caught."
"We'll do the best we can.", Mike reassured half-heartedly, then let his eyes drift over the place one last time. When he looked up at the ceiling, he noticed a small blood splatter that had been missed when the interior was repainted.
Slowing down, he pointed at the sole reminder of this heinous crime, wondering how many people had noticed it when walking through the house.
"The clues are out there, Michael…", Steve said quietly, noting his hesitation and patted his shoulder from behind, "We just gotta find them. I know they're there. Everyone makes mistakes, even this guy. We're gonna find him, and we're going to finish what Alex started."