Barclay, Linwood Novel 08 - Never saw it coming

did.”
    “When we go into the house, you’re not to touch anything. And we’re just going to step in. You can see the living room from the front door.”
    “Is that where it happened?” Keisha asked.
    Wedmore looked at her and smiled. “Yes, that’s where it happened.” The officer Keisha and Gail had spoken to earlier was guarding the front door, and stepped aside to let them through.
    Keisha was rehearsing in her head how she’d act surprised. Turned out she didn’t need to rehearse at all.
    What she saw as she looked into the living room horrified her.
    A massive puddle of dark red had saturated the broadloom. It was concentrated in one area, but there were scattered splotches of red between where the body had been and the door.
    “Dear God,” Keisha said, her eyes fixed on the scene for several seconds before she turned away. “That’s horrible.”
    “Yes,” said Wedmore. “It’s pretty bad.”
    “Can we go now?”
    “Let’s just hang in for a second. Give your spidey senses a chance to pick something up, see who did it.”
    Keisha shot her a look, and turned away from the living room. “It’s not like that. I can’t just say, oh, it was a man, six two, heavyset, with a thick beard and a dark coat, driving a red Mustang, license plate 459J87.”
    “Is that a vision that just came to you?”
    “No! I’m trying to make a point.”
    “Okay, okay,” said Wedmore. “Maybe it would help, though, if you looked into the room one more time. There’s some things I could point out to you.”
    “Like what?”
    “Pull yourself together and have a look.”
    Keisha did as she was told, steeled herself, and turned around. “What things?”
    “You see the pink robe over there?”
    “Yes.”
    “And if you look there, you’ll see the sash from the robe. Also pink.”
    “Okay.”
    “So why isn’t the sash in the loops of the robe, do you think?”
    Keisha resisted an urge to touch her neck. “I don’t know. Do you?”
    “No. But I’ve an idea. I’m wondering if there was an attempted strangulation.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yeah. I’ve been trying to think it through. You see, I don’t think anyone came here intending to kill Mr. Garfield. I mean, if you were coming here to kill him, you’d bring along something other than a knitting needle, don’t you think?”
    “A knitting needle?” Keisha said. “He was killed with a knitting needle?”
    Wedmore nodded. “That’s right. If you were coming here intending to kill him, you’d bring a gun, or a knife, even a baseball bat. Wouldn’t you?”
    “I don’t know,” Keisha said.
    “To kill him with a knitting needle, that tells me that the perpetrator acted impulsively, that the needle was the closest thing at hand.”
    “You may be right, I honestly have no idea. Do I have to keep looking?”
    Wedmore ignored the question. “Even then, if you were going to act, like I said, impulsively, wouldn’t you be more likely to just hit him? Or grab something in the room that’s heavy and clunk him over the head with that? Like a lamp, or an ashtray, maybe, although I don’t think Mr. Garfield smoked.”
    “Really, I have no idea.”
    “To my way of thinking, the knitting needle is an act of desperation. A last-ditch effort or attempt at something. Maybe the only thing that the person who did this could reach. I’m even thinking it might have been a defensive move.”
    “Defensive?” Keisha asked.
    “Now we’re back to the sash. Suppose Mr. Garfield was strangling someone with that, and that someone grabbed the needle to try to save himself.”
    “You know it was a man?” Keisha asked.
    “I’m just saying,” Wedmore said. “I think it could as easily have been a woman.”
    Keisha swallowed but said nothing.
    “Is that how it happened?” Wedmore asked.
    “I don’t know,” Keisha said. “I’m not picking up anything like that.”
    “No, no,” Wedmore said. “I don’t mean in a vision. Is that how it happened, to you?”
    “What?”
    “Did he try to strangle you, Ms. Ceylon? When you came here to offer your services? Did he think you knew what had happened?”
    Keisha stared, dumbfounded, at Wedmore. “What?”
    “I was wondering if that’s how it played out,” the detective said innocently.
    “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never been here before.”
    “You’re sure about that?”
    “I am.”
    “Because we found your card. Tucked right into Mr. Garfield’s shirt pocket. Your