Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

They secured the area and called for help. Once backup arrived, they found the point of entry and conducted a room-by-room search of the house. By that time, the perp was long gone. Fortunately, nobody was home. A neighbor told us that Mrs. Vogue is away visiting her parents in California, and apparently, both sons attend college someplace out of state. As you’ll see when we go in, the interior of the place was badly trashed. We’ll have to wait until Mrs. Vogue returns to find out what, if anything, was stolen.”
    Although we hadn’t had time to discuss how best I could assist, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that McConnell would focus the investigation on anyone who might have wanted Levi Vogue dead. In reality, that might turn out to be a lot of people in our prison or parole populations.

Chapter Three
    A member of the medical examiner’s office was busy examining the body as McConnell and I moved in for a closer look. The faint odor of urine and feces was unmistakable. Vogue was lying on his back with his left leg twisted under his body. White chalk had been used to trace around the prone figure. His dull, vacant eyes were half-open and staring blankly into space. The expression on what was left of his face appeared to reflect surprise rather than terror or fear, I thought.
    The force of the blast had blown away most of his jaw and mouth. One of his black penny loafers had come off and was lying next to the body. He was wearing an expensive Brooks Brothers gray suit. The white dress shirt was soaked in blood and covered a gaping wound in the upper chest area. A burgundy colored paisley tie had been stuffed into the suit coat pocket. A brown leather wallet was lying next to the body.
    The medical examiner, Harold Voddel, approached McConnell. “You’ve got a fresh kill here, Lieutenant, that probably closely coincides with the calls from the neighbors who reported the incident. There are early signs of postmortem lividity in the lower back and legs. His body temperature is down three degrees. It’s too soon for even early signs of rigor mortis. I’d estimate his time of death at about two hours ago. I’ll be able to tell you more precisely after the autopsy.”
    “Jesus,” I said. “Look at the size of these entry wounds.”
    “This work was done up close and personal,” replied McConnell. “After the medical examiner gets him cleaned up, we’ll have a better idea about the angle of the slugs and the approximate distance from the shooter. Although it’s hard to tell with all this blood, there doesn’t appear to be any discernable pellet pattern around either wound.”
    After donning latex gloves, we carefully examined Vogue’s wallet and discovered that it contained several credit cards, but no cash.
    McConnell turned to Voddell. “Bag each item of clothing separately and give us an inventory of all the items on his person. We’ll hang on to the wallet.”
    “Sure,” grumbled Voddell. Kate appeared to be lecturing the young assistant medical examiner, and his tone of voice suggested he resented it.
    “Call me later this morning and let us know when you’re going to perform the autopsy. I’ll either attend personally or send somebody.”
    “Okay,” replied Voddell.
    “Did you search his car?” I asked.
    “Not yet. We’ll do that after the crime scene crew finishes processing it for trace evidence.”
    “Shall we take a look inside the house?”
    “Yeah. Let’s do that now. We’ll have to navigate around the lab crew.”
    The Vogue home was a fashionable two-story Victorian affair built in the early 1900s.
    The upscale Avenues section of the city had long since been declared an historic district. Aside from the homes, the Vogues had probably been attracted to the neighborhood by the eclectic mix of residents that included many of Salt Lake City’s politicians and business leaders.
    We walked around behind the house and entered the same way the killer had. One of the glass panels near the door handle had been broken. All the perp had to do was reach in and unlock the French doors. He would have been inside in a matter of seconds.
    McConnell wasn’t exaggerating when she said the place had been trashed. Books had been randomly pulled from shelves and scattered around. Almost all the decorations in the family room had been smashed, including some crystal pieces, and several expensive Lladros. Shards of broken glass and crystal lay everywhere.
    “You know,