Detective Larry Saunders arrived on the scene in his department-issued, unmarked white Chevy Impala. He wasn’t the first officer on the scene, and he wondered why they called him in. The responding officer, Joe Connoroe, had been through the residence and found no body, only an awful smell. Before entering the scene, Larry thought the smell could be a decaying rodent. However, the fact that this was a newer home, immaculately kept and professionally landscaped, disputed his first thought.

Joe swayed on the porch swing, his legs spread wide, and his head bowed. Larry parked at the curb in front and exited his vehicle, pausing to stare at the residence. He reached inside and pushed the release button to open his trunk, then rummaged through it for shoe covers and latex gloves. Larry prided himself on never compromising a crime scene. He carried the protective shoe covers and gloves as he strode up the cobblestone sidewalk to the steps leading to the porch.

“What do we have here, Joe?” Larry pulled the shoe covers over his neatly polished shoes. He shook Joe’s hand before slipping on the latex gloves.

“I responded to a wellness check. The mailman had no mail to deliver this week until today. He told dispatch there was mail in the box from last week.” Joe pointed at the box near the front door. “He noticed today that somebody did not fully latch the door. Nobody answered the bell when I arrived, so I pushed the door open and hollered out. With no answer, I entered the foyer, where I smelled the foul odor.”

“Other than the smell, did anything else seem strange?”

“No. I checked room by room, and the place was spotless. Other than the wretched odor, I couldn’t find any sign of foul play.”

Larry opened the front door, cautiously entering the home. The high ceiling, winding stairs to the second floor, and crystal entry chandelier impressed him. Joe followed inside.

The air smelled of death. Larry had experienced the unmistakable odor of decomposing flesh before, but not often. In his twenty years of law enforcement experience, fifteen of which as a detective, he’d only investigated one previous murder. Eagle Cove, Massachusetts, is a small, friendly community where people enjoy safe streets and an absence of violent crime. When he investigated the other murder, he didn’t remember the smell being like this. The case was straightforward and involved a crime of passion; the victim had been killed on the beach by a jilted lover and was easily solved.

“See what I mean about the smell, Larry?”

They continued past the bright foyer. The home was spotless, with stark white walls and polished stone floors. The original artwork and expensive furniture indicated that the owner had significant means. The smell worsened as they continued to the second floor. Somebody probably built the home within the past five years, Larry thought. It’s modern, with a steeply pitched roof.

“Where do you think we’ll find the entrance to the attic, Joe?”

“Builders hide ’em these days.”

They searched several rooms until finding a well-disguised scuttle to the attic in a bedroom walk-in closet packed full of holiday decorations. Larry pulled the stairs from the closet ceiling, and the horrible stench assaulted his senses. His hands shook, and his skin crawled. The taste of bile from his stomach rose in his throat, and his eyes burned.

Joe covered his nose with his sleeve and gasped, closing his burning eyes. “So that’s where the smell’s coming from.”

It was apparent at the top of the stairs that something was dead. Larry slowly crept up while covering his nose. He crested the opening for his first peek into the attic. Even with the limited light from the window in the peak, he could see the body and sensed this was not a natural death. The window stood open just a crack, inviting enough ventilation to make the smell barely tolerable. Larry pointed the flashlight on his cell phone at the corpse, knowing this was no accident. The body was lying on a plastic sheet, dressed only in a bloody white T-shirt and boxer shorts. It was in a pool of blood three feet from the opening, bloated and decomposing. Flies buzzed in Larry’s ears and flew in his face as he took in the gruesome scene from the top step of the scuttle ladder. Most of the blood had collected near the neck of the face-down victim, leading Larry to suspect the victim’s throat had been slit. The plastic was keeping the blood from soaking through the ceiling.

He flashed his phone light around the badly disheveled attic space. Overturned boxes were scattered everywhere. The victim had put up a terrible fight. Other undisturbed boxes were covered with a plastic sheeting similar to the one the body was on. He took pictures of the attic with his cell phone and eased back down the scuttle stairs to where Joe stood dumbfounded.

“Call for backup to secure the scene. I’ll contact the crime lab. There’s a body up there, and it looks like somebody slit his throat.”

“I’ll call the medical examiner, too.”

Gagging from the stench, they hurried to the front porch, where they made their calls.

Police officer Ty Flanders showed up minutes after Joe made the call. Once they told him what they found in the home’s attic, Larry gave them marching orders: “I need you both to canvass the neighborhood. Inquire about the home’s occupants and ask if anyone has seen people coming and going over the past few days. Keep details of the crime scene quiet until we learn more. I’ll wait for the medical examiner and the crime scene team.”

While Larry waited for the others to arrive, he returned inside and searched for anything to identify his victim. He started with the master bedroom closet, where he found clothes that appeared similar in size to the victim. Neatly pressed Armani suits, crisp white shirts, and expensive ties all hung perfectly. The five pairs of size ten shoes, made of soft Italian leather, must have set someone back a pretty penny. The other side of the closet was much the same, with expensive casual clothing. There were no women’s clothes. Searching the drawers in the closet, he uncovered undergarments matching the ones the victim wore. Soon, he found a wallet with a driver’s license.

When the crime scene team arrived, they photographed the attic, investigating each detail of what had unfolded there. Fingerprint technicians took prints from the scuttle and the open window. One tech measured the attic temperature and found it much warmer than the ambient temperature outside. They searched for a murder weapon but found nothing. Soon, the medical examiner arrived to begin his investigation. He photographed the body before getting help to turn it over. It seemed apparent that the killer had contained the vicious act to the attic.

Now, it’s up to me to determine who would commit this heinous crime. An ex-wife? A girlfriend? Were there other occupants of the home? Why had nobody been here to find the body before now?

Larry found no women’s toiletries in the bathroom and only one toothbrush. Nothing indicated a woman had ever used this space, and there were no prescription bottles. The photographs the medical examiner took showed a face so savagely beaten Larry would have to trust his instincts. The size of the victim compared to the clothes in the closet and the undergarments matching those in the drawer would have to be enough for now.

Larry left the crime scene and quickly stopped at home to check on his daughter, Katherine. Regardless of whether he stopped to check in, Katherine always went home and finished her schoolwork unless she had a sports practice or other extra-curricular activity.

Katherine took her physical condition seriously and was popular as an Eagle Cove High School junior. Intelligent but slightly introverted, she recently talked about attending the University of Massachusetts to study engineering.

He found her at the kitchen counter, finishing her calculus. Larry smiled and brushed her long blond hair from her face, then hugged her while she remained on her stool.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“It was fine. I got an A on my government test. Stacy didn’t do well, so I’ll help her study before the next test. How was your day?”

“My day isn’t over yet. I’m going back to the station. I may have a few long days to wrap up a new case I’m working on.”

“Mom called. She’s gonna be late. She said to have dinner without her due to some crisis at the lab. Does your new case have anything to do with the commotion on El Dorado Avenue I heard about?”

“Yup. It’s my new case. Sorry, I can’t tell you much yet.”

Larry peered toward the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with Katherine. The last thing he wanted to do was tell her there was a murder a few blocks away.

“How’s pizza sound for dinner?”

“Awesome.”

“What da ya want on it?”

“Can we get just extra cheese and veggies?”

“Sure.”

Larry called to order the pizza, taking money from his wallet. He handed Katherine a twenty, hugged her, and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t forget to tip the driver.”

“I won’t.”

“Be back as soon as I can. Call me if you need anything.”

Larry texted Sandra when he got into his car. I’ll be late tonight. I got a new case. It’s a tough one. He felt terrible that his beautiful wife was having a crisis at work while he was investigating the most significant case of his career. She’s worked as a laboratory manager for Elk River Pharmaceutical Company on the Atlantic shore south of Boston for her entire career. She rarely has anything out of the ordinary happen under her watch.

Larry and Sandra have lived in Eagle Cove their whole lives. They remain in the same modest, two-story home in a middle-class neighborhood they bought after marriage. The location was perfect: a five-minute walk from Eagle Cove High School. They recently paid off the mortgage.

He drove to the station to check on the progress of the canvass and get approval for overtime. It was much too soon to have crime scene or coroner’s reports. However, he wanted to see if the officers who canvassed the neighborhood had returned with anything useful. Joe had left a message on his desk phone asking him to call as soon as possible.

“Joe, it’s Larry. What da ya got?”

“There’s a lady across the street who doesn’t miss much. She says the house’s owner last came home about a week ago. She said he normally leaves for work at eight-thirty every morning while she’s walking her dog. He drives a white Mercedes SUV, and the last time she saw him was last Wednesday.”

Larry dug for a pen to jot down some notes. There was no car at the scene. “That was more than a week ago. You still there?”

“Yup. The medical examiner just left. I didn’t think they’d ever get that body out of the attic. Ty and I are sealing the house and putting up crime scene tape. What are we telling the media? There’s a reporter from Boston here asking questions.”

“Tell the reporter we cannot comment on an open investigation.”

“Will do, buddy.”

Larry reviewed the notes from the crime scene. Had the perpetrator taken the victim’s car? He found the photo he’d taken of the victim’s driver’s license, then did an internet search, presuming the body in the attic was the home’s occupant, Harold Blunt. The crime-scene address matched the one listed on the driver’s license.

Larry made a routine check of the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV). With any luck, the car would show up, and he could put out a BOLO for the white Mercedes SUV. He also started a Law Enforcement Information Network (LEIN) inquiry to determine if his victim was on watch lists. Five minutes later, Larry got the report back from the DMV showing a white Mercedes-Benz GLS registered to Harold Alvin Blunt. It took only a few minutes before the LEIN came back. His victim was squeaky clean. He had no criminal record, and his driving record showed no tickets.

Larry called the medical examiner to determine when he might have a preliminary report. “Dr. Stark, this is Detective Saunders. Can you tell me anything about our murder victim?”

“Given the brutality of the crime, I’m doing the autopsy myself. I’ll complete the preliminary exam before I leave tonight. I can tell you I have an identification on the victim.”

“So, you have a name for me?”

“His fingerprints were on file at the state because of his occupation in international banking. He’s Harold Alvin Blunt of Eagle Cove. He worked for Viva Bank as a banking executive.”

“Thank you, Dr. Stark. Is there anything else?”

“Not yet. I’ll call when there is.”

“Okay. Talk to you soon.”

Larry hung up and wrote more notes in his journal, reviewing everything from his preliminary investigation. Why hadn’t anyone reported this guy missing?

Next, he found the office number for the local branch of Viva Bank and dialed it. Glancing at his watch as the phone rang, he realized it was almost ten o’clock. A machine answered, informing callers of the regular bank hours. He hung up halfway through, took one last look at his notes, and went home.

Larry drove while his mind wandered over the day’s events. Before reaching his driveway, his boss, Chief Bernard Armstrong, called. Chief Armstrong had been with the department for more than five years. He was older, with a few extra pounds and thinning hair, but he was a capable leader who always supported the officers in his command.

“Saunders,” Larry answered.

“It’s Chief Armstrong. Where are you?” The chief’s voice cracked.

“Pulling into my driveway.”

“I just got off the phone with the mayor. We can’t have people being murdered in this town. How’s the investigation progressing?”

“We have the victim’s name, and I put a BOLO out for his missing vehicle. Chief, I sent you an overtime request. We need to wrap this up quickly. Shit will hit the fan when this makes the news in the morning. I suggest you schedule a press conference to assure the public we’re on top of it.”

“Already done. I also approved any necessary overtime. The mayor and I want to meet with you at eight to discuss the press conference so we can decide what to share with the public. You’ll be front and center for the media, so wear your best suit.”

“Okay. See you in the morning.”

Larry exited the car, exhausted from his longest day in months. He was surprised to see Sandra eating cold leftover pizza at the counter. He’d been married to his childhood sweetheart longer than he had worked for the department, but he’d never seen her like this. She had dark circles under her red, bloodshot eyes. Her face sagged, and her lips curved downward. He kissed her sweetly while brushing her soft blond hair from her face.

“You look awful,” Sandra said.

“I could say the same about you.” He kissed her lovingly again. “What happened at the lab today?”

“I’d rather not go into it now.” She looked away to break eye contact. “I saved you a couple of slices of pizza. It’s better if you warm it up in the microwave.”

Larry lifted a slice straight from the box, ignoring her suggestion and taking a bite. “It’d be better if it had meat on it.” He stared over the top of the box at Sandra, wanting to explain why he was so late and still wondering about her crisis. “We had a murder over on El Dorado Avenue. The guy’s been dead for over a week. I’ll spare you the gory details. You sure you’re not ready to share your crisis at the lab today?”

“I, too, will spare the gory details. Suffice it to say, my day was better than yours. We should turn in. I suspect tomorrow may be long for both of us.”

The couple went upstairs, briefly stopping by Katherine’s room to check on her. She was sleeping peacefully. When they reached their bedroom, Sandra set her alarm, undressed, and climbed straight into bed. When Larry came from brushing his teeth, she was already asleep. He wasn’t so lucky, lying awake for more than an hour, stressing about his day, and tormenting himself over his news conference in the morning. I hate getting in front of a crowd to speak.