"No matter what happens from this point on, we have to promise each other that we will always look at the bright side."
Chapter 3
"About what time did you get home, Mr. Gunner?"
Van Pelt had pulled the husband aside to the tidy living room while forensics and the team got to work on the fresh case. The victims daughter sat on the couch below him, her face stained flush red and eyes swollen with tears. She clutched a gray sweatshirt in her arms, holding it tightly against her body as if for protection.
"About a half hour ago. That's when I found her..." Daniel Gunner's voice was shaking. He cleared his throat. "That's when I found Damali."
"And where were you coming from?" Van Pelt continued.
His eyes followed a member of forensics that passed behind Van Pelt luminous red hair. "Hollie and I took a drive. We were going to get ice cream but she started to feel carsick so we pulled over for a little bit before turning around and coming back home." His voice stayed low, eyes darting around, following as copious people moved through his home.
"About how long was this trip in total?" Van Pelt looked down at Hollie, who made eye contact briefly before shifting her eyes down to the floor.
"I don't know...maybe uh 15 or 20 minutes?" Another member of forensics passed by. He used the back of his hand and wiped the sweat from his pale white forehead, crossing his arms as he began rocking impatiently forward and back from toe to heel.
"And where were you going for ice cream?"
Gunner's eyes locked with Grace, his voice loud and sharp. "How in the hell is this of importance right now?"
The confident vest clad consultant entered the front door right on time. "Sir, everything is of importance right now. Your wife has been murdered." Patrick Jane approached the conversation, eyes locked with Daniel Gunner's. "Patrick Jane, FBI. Did you kill your wife?"
"No," he exhaled, his facial expression shifting from impatience to attentive. "As I said, we weren't home. We were going to get ice cream, she started to feel carsick, so we pulled over for a bit before turning around and coming home," sounding almost rehearsed.
Jane's gaze travelled down to Hollie whose eyes remained locked on the floor. He squatted down to her level. "And what's your name?"
"That's my daughter, Holl-"
"Excuse me," Jane shot his eyes up at the tall man. "I was talking to her."
Patrick's concerned blue eyes met the young hazel eyes full of fear. He took a deliberate breath in and out of his nose for calm, in hopes she would follow suit, only her eyes pleaded up at her father for help, or maybe permission.
Her father sat down on the couch next to her, reached an arm around to hold her, her head leaning against his chest as she continued to cry. "Agent, Hollie is in shock. Please have some patience," he requested of Jane. Gunner's demeanor shifted for Hollie at the drop of a hat.
"Not an agent. Consultant," Patrick corrected. He rose to stand, nodding at Grace as he walked away from the trio towards the crime scene in the bed room.
Their home was tidy, but almost too tidy-especially for a break in. The glass in the middle of the wooden doors leading to the backyard was shattered, laying broken on the outside towards the patio, the gold doorknobs completely busted off on both sides. Pictures of Damali, Daniel and Hollie perfectly placed on a bookcase near a television on the wall. More frames of Daniel and Hollie, Damali with what looked like her mother, father, and a sister with not a speck of dust to be seen. Among the living room furniture, he noticed a small ottoman with a corner of blanket sticking out from the side. Jane lifted the lid to find blankets, unfolded and stuffed into the small furniture storage. He replaced the ottoman top, feeling Daniel Gunner's eyes on him as he blew through the remaining living room analysis. Down the beige hallway to the bedroom were more framed pictures on the wall-calm paintings of flowers and scenery, accompanied by more pictures of Hollie and her parents. He rounded the corner into the bedroom.
"Ah, Jane. Nice of you to show." Lisbon teased.
"Well, until we get Clara her own car, someone has to get her home from debate team." Patrick retorted. "Unless you wanted to make it bring your kid to work day?"
She laughed, her eyes kissing him with just a look. Even though she's done it for 16 years, it was still hard to ignore the impulse to greet him with a kiss. They had made a habit to keep eye contact for a moment to connect before diving into the work.
Cho filled him in. "Damali Gunner, age 40. Found thirty minutes ago by her husband Daniel Gunner and daughter Hollie. Forensics found three stab wounds: one in the neck, two in the chest, followed by what looks like strangulation."
"Definitely a crime of passion," the blonde consultant added. He lowered himself to look closer at the body, her still warm brown skin glistened in the gentle lamp light of the bedroom.
"The blood pattern is consistent with her being murdered here, but we have yet to find a murder weapon. We're looking for a small blade, possibly a pocket knife." Rigsby informed, overseeing Jane as he completed his own analysis.
"Would you care to share?" Lisbon interrupted.
"Ah, yes." he began. "Two night stands, but no indication who sleeps on which side. Perfectly hung family pictures, well dusted, and absolutely no visible clutter." He made his way to the closest night stand to him, opening the drawer to reveal unsightly miscellaneous items. "But it's all in the drawers, see? And the closet over here," he continued, as he opened it. Piles of clothing fell out, hangers strewn about and messy, "A home of someone with something to hide."
"They said they heard someone," Van Pelt joining the rest of the team. "Male voice, loud but not yelling. Then Damali's scream. They entered the house and found the doors broken and her already dead and on the floor of the bedroom."
Jane moved towards her, "Any other details?"
"No, nothing other than that."
"Excuse me," Jane aimed past Van Pelt to talk to the Gunners again.
"They've already left for a hotel," Van Pelt informed. "They didn't want to stay the night here, especially unsure how long we would be."
Jane sighed, moving across the room to glance out the window, bringing his hand to his chin in contemplation. Among the ambulance and cop cars, he saw the two in an SUV backing out of the driveway. "Ah, Rigsby were any of the windows open when you got here?"
"Nope. I don't think so."
"Would you mind investigating the ground outside of this window?"
Rigsby gave him a look. "The ground..."
"Yes, Rigsby the ground since we are on the first floor."
The towering agent obliged, heading out of the bedroom to make his way outside to the front of the house.
"Did the daughter speak to any of you?" the blonde consultant asked the room.
Everyone shook their heads.
"He has a demanding control over her, he's closest to her in all the pictures around the house, and she looks at him as if she needs permission to do anything." Jane shared. "He may not have killed his wife but he certainly did something to her and Hollie."
Rigsby made himself known with a gentle knock on the window from outside.
Jane sighed and turned directly to Van Pelt. "Grace, how could you just let them leave?"
"Jane they had been here long enough-" she started.
He raised his voice, "Yeah well, we weren't finished with them yet! And you just let them walk away?"
"Jane, calm down it's not a big deal," Lisbon began to talk him down.
"No, I will NOT calm down. No, this is outrageous!" Jane voice was strong and loud. "I wasn't even ASKED if I was finished with MY investigation yet, and you just send them away? Without consulting me—the consultant?"
"Jane it's-" Cho started in.
He flattened his hand in Cho's direction. "QUIT INTERRUPTING ME PLEASE. I AM JUST TRYING TO GET MY POINT ACROSS AND NO ONE IS LISTENING TO ME. I WOULD JUST LIKE TO BE ASKED IN THE FUTURE PLEASE BEFORE OUR TOP SUSPECTS ARE ALLOWED TO JUST FLEE A CRIME SCENE."
The room fell silent with discomfort.
Jane moved toward the window, unlocking it and opening up to see Rigsby investigating the ground nearby. "Hear anything?"
Rigsby's head shot up, "What?"
"Did you hear anything just now?" the blonde consultant repeated.
"I mean just the team talking out here, nothing else. How come?"
Jane turned to Van Pelt. "They said they heard the yelling from outside?"
She blinked and shook her head, still holding on to the moments that had just passed. "Y-yes, when they got out of their car."
"Highly unlikely after my demonstration here." Jane stated confidently, looking around the room proud of himself. "It was impossible for them to hear anything happening in this room from right outside the window, let alone from getting out of their car."
"You didn't have to be such an ass about it." Van Pelt shot a look, crossing her arms.
"Nothing new after all these years," Lisbon retorted.
Jane looked her way and winked kindly, then continued. "Only way you could hear it would be from inside the house. This bedroom is on the first floor and this is where the murder occurred, one of the only ways out being through this window right here. Which was found closed and locked from the inside."
"Which means our killer got out through the house," Cho agreed. "The broken glass at the backdoor landed toward the outside, possibly ran that direction."
"And let's find out why they lied about hearing the attack." Lisbon looked at her husband. "Find out what it is he's hiding."
Two days had gone by with no movement on the Gunner case.
"Wylie, get anything back from their plates?" Cho entered the bullpen.
"No matches from the nearby traffic stops." Wylie shared, focused still on his computer screen. "I looked up every ice cream place within a 20 mile radius of the Gunner house and followed each route of traffic cameras to and from. Nothing. No movement from Gunner's SUV in any of the areas."
"And they have no at home surveillance to utilize for any evidence," Rigsby added. "So we can't prove or disprove if they ever left their house or if someone even broke in. Neighbors weren't home either."
"Check all traffic cameras in the surrounding area." Cho assigned. "Lisbon, anything on Damali's family?"
"They needed to collect themselves but finally agreed to meet. They said no one they knew would ever have it out for Damali, but she did work a lot of intense cases with social services. Her mother and sister also confirmed Daniel Gunner has a short temper and a really close relationship to Hollie."
"Too close if you ask me," Jane chimed in from a nap on his couch. He sat himself up, "He wouldn't even let her speak for herself. Is there a way we could get her in here?"
"Definitely not by herself," Rigsby "Especially being a minor."
"We could go to them?" Lisbon added.
"No, it has to be here," Jane persisted. "I know the investigation has been clean thus far but we need them both here. He's declined further comment because he's needed 'time to grieve' well I think we push that envelope. He's hiding."
"Jane, we have no evidence. The house is clean. No murder weapon, no blood stained clothes, no camera footage. Only hunch we had was lying about the sound. How can we be sure it was him?"
"70 percent of the time it's the husband, Wylie." Jane responded. "Lisbon, we can't track his vehicle. The only entry and exit point was the backdoor. We've got to have something there."
"Not enough to hold him on, Jane." Lisbon sighed. "It's feeling like a dead end to me."
Jane shared her exasperation. "Fine, then just to talk. Can we at least do that?"
Cho banged forcefully on the Gunner's front door. "FBI, we have a warrant. Open up!"
They entered the Gunner house with a kick in the door, desperate to find any hint of Clara.
Everything was still in tact—the uncomfortably tidy house. Jane pushed his way past the leading FBI team and began ripping the house apart.
"Clara? Clara?" He pleaded to the empty house.
Basement? Empty.
Living room? Untouched.
Hollie's upstairs room? Vacant.
No sign of Daniel Gunner or Clara.
"Clara!" Lisbon began her own thorough search, double checking the areas behind Patrick.
Jane entered Damali's office, scavenging through drawers. They had all her child protective service case files sent over to the FBI, but not belongings from her desk.
Office supplies, stamps, sticky notes in the top drawer. Cluttered and disorganized similar to the rest of the house.
He started to open the right hand drawer with difficulty—it felt stuffed with papers.
The drawer opened, crinkling some papers in the process. He sifted through the handwritten notes, the handwriting of someone young. They were all signed by the same person.
Lainey.
End of Chapter 3