Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

handles cutting off the circulation to her fingers.
    She asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to help with those?”
    “I’ve got it, thank you.” Still, Nell grunted as she made her way up the last part of the driveway.
    Jared’s police bike was parked in front of the garage. The floodlight above the door was still on. Sara looked back at the street. There was no mistaking that a police officer lived here. Even in the dark of night, the light would’ve put the bike on display.
    Nell asked, “What do we do about this?” Police tape was draped across the door, but Charlie had yet to seal the house.
    “They’ve got more,” Sara told her, pulling the tape down. She didn’t open the door yet. “Nell, I need to tell you again that this is a bad idea. It’s going to be so much worse than you’re thinking.There was a violent fight. Jared lost a lot of blood. It’ll be on the floor, on the walls, on every surface. It’s a biohazard. Medical waste has to be properly disposed of. You really need to leave this to the professionals.”
    Nell hefted the bags. “I think I know how to clean up a mess.”
    “I can let you borrow the money. Or give it to you. I don’t care which—”
    “No,” Nell said, her tone making it clear that she was finished discussing the matter. “Thank you.”
    She stood waiting. Finally, Sara turned the knob, pushed open the door.
    There was a distinctive odor that could be found at all crime scenes—not the metallic scent of blood that came from the oxidation of iron, but the stench of fear. Sara had always been a firm believer in intuition. There was a baser part of the human brain that cued every living being to danger. That part became fully engaged the minute Sara walked through the front door of Lena and Jared’s home.
    A man had died here. Two men had almost been killed. A woman had fought for her life. The threat of violence lingered in the stale air.
    Sara watched Nell take it all in. Her posture changed. She nearly dropped some of the bags. Sara suggested, “Why don’t you sit down?”
    “I’m all right.”
    “Let’s sit down.”
    Nell shook her head. She looked around the front room of the house. The floor plan was open, with a combined family room and kitchen. Sunlight streamed in through the windows. The ceiling fan over the couch gave a soft whine as the blades moved. Nothing bad had happened in this space. The furniture was not overturned. The walls were a muted light gray. The only area in disarray was the kitchen, which was obviously being remodeled. Flat packs of unassembled cabinets were stacked in a neat pile.The kitchen sink was a bucket resting on an old washstand. The dishwasher was in the corner, the cord and drain hose wrapped around it like a bow. The stove was pulled away from the wall, but Sara could see the gas line was still attached.
    Without thinking, she said, “He’s just as bad as Jeffrey.”
    Jeffrey always had to have some sort of project going. Restoring an old car. Adding a second sink in the bathroom. Redoing his kitchen. Fixing things gave him a sense of accomplishment, if not completion. When he was dating Sara, a thick plastic sheet served as the outside wall to his kitchen. The refrigerator was in the dining room. A garden hose ran through the front window and attached through various valves to the ice maker.
    Nell said, “Jeffrey always liked working with his hands.” She set the bags down on the countertop, which was a piece of plywood on some two-by-fours. She ran her finger along the wood. Her eyes traveled to the sink bucket, the bare but cleanly swept floor. “I guess I can’t fault her housekeeping. There’s no way Jared cleaned up like this.”
    Sara didn’t answer. Lena had always been neat. Her desk at the station looked like something out of an office supply catalogue.
    “I’ll get his daddy in here to finish this up.” Nell nodded toward the stacked boxes. “Possum’ll get those assembled in a day. I’ll help him hang the top cabinets. He can do the bottom on his own. I don’t guess they have a countertop, but we’ll pick something out that—” She stopped talking. Sara followed her gaze to the couch. There was a pillow with a sheet neatly folded on the top. On the coffee table beside the remote were a pair of glasses, a glass of water, and a plastic case for a retainer.
    “Hello?” Faith Mitchell walked through the open front door. She’d already met Nell and Possum at the hospital. Sara had