Guilty Photographs Page 4

  “Yeah, or the son,” McKinley agreed as his eyes swept the room.

  They moved closer to the body to examine it. The body was slumped on the third step of the stairs leading to the second floor. The green silk green robe that reached his knees was covered in his blood. His house slippers were several feet away from his body, as if he’d slipped them off before he got shot.

  “It looked like he knew whoever shot him since there doesn’t appear to have been any struggle,” McKinley said. He took a small notepad from his pocket and jotted details of the scene and the body.

  “Yeah, it also looks like he was shot by the entrance as soon as the suspect entered the house judging by the blood smeared from the entrance to the stairs,” Coolidge said. Her eyes followed the trail of blood that led to the body.

  “And then got shot three more times from the back,” McKinley said, looking at the three shell casings scattered around. “It’s definitely Senator Dempsey,” he added as he leaned closer to look at the man’s face. Part of the senator’s skull was gone from an apparent gunshot. His brain matter was splattered on the walls around him and on the stairs. His pupils were large, as if they had been dilated at the ophthalmologist’s for an eye exam—evidence that his death had occurred a few hours ago. His blue eyes were opaque with the blue-white haze from the onset of lack of oxygen to his corneas, another indication that he had been dead for at least three hours. He’d wait for the ME to confirm his hunch.

  “Yeah, told you. I could tell from the black leather slippers and his attire, and his calves.” Coolidge pointed as she spoke, as if she were selecting items from behind the checkout counter at a convenience store.

  “You sound as if you knew him personally,” McKinley said. He turned his attention to her, studying her expression. She showed a small smile as if remembering a mischievous encounter but it quickly faded.

  “No, I saw his son once at a triathlon. His son, Jonathan, is tall and athletic. Doesn’t live with his parents,” she said flatly as she continued to scan the area.

  “I’m not going to ask how you know that as clearly that isn’t my business and not part of this case.”

  Coolidge smirked and walked closer to the steps, examining the banister.

  “It looked like he was going upstairs. I wonder why. His phone is right here on the table.” She looked at the body and then her gaze followed the steps until it reached the top.

  “Yeah, I guess we should go up there and take a look,” McKinley said.

  “We haven’t processed anything up there yet, so we advise not to do so at this time,” said Aaron, a member of the forensics team. He was dressed from head to toe in a white jumpsuit with a medical mask over his nose and mouth. In his right hand he held a large case containing his forensic supplies. Aaron and his team had worked closely with McKinley and Coolidge in most if not all of their homicide cases. He was thorough, meticulous, and efficient in his duties. His team placed FCCA cases as top priority whenever possible.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Aaron,” McKinley said as he watched Aaron and two others go around the senator’s body and up the stairs. A fourth stayed back with the body collecting all the evidence he could scoop up, scrape, and soak. Each piece was tagged with a description and its location.

  “You can go speak to his wife, Geraldine. She’s the one who found him when she came home. She’s in the kitchen,” Detective Rios said as he entered the foyer. He looked like he’d worked two shifts from the heavy bags underneath his eyes and the redness in his eyes.

  McKinley and Coolidge walked through the foyer, which led to a long narrow hallway with paintings of famous artists on the walls. McKinley wasn’t too inclined in the arts but he figured a senator would have expensive paintings in his home as opposed to his, which needed a feminine touch.

  The kitchen was large, almost twice the size of McKinley’s dining and living room combined. The appliances were all top of the line stainless steel surrounded by white polished white cabinetry and sparkly gray-veined quartz countertops. The space didn’t seem like anyone used it to cook; in fact, it was pristine enough for a photoshoot.

  Geraldine Dempsey sat at the turquoise blue kitchen table, which added a hint of color to the space. She was a small woman with light brown hair she kept in short curls. Her eyes were red and her face puffy from crying. A young man who had the same brown curly hair sat next to her. Jonathan Dempsey, the son, McKinley thought. He was instantly reminded of Coolidge’s comment from earlier and he wished she hadn’t mentioned that. Now he would have a mental picture of him and his calves throughout this entire interview. A minor detail that Detective Rios failed to mention but McKinley would’ve like to be mentally prepared for the encounter with Jonathan. Besides, Rios didn’t know about Coolidge’s comment so he kept his demeanor cool and calm. McKinley had work to do.

  “I’m Agent Carter McKinley and this is Agent Michelle Coolidge.”

  “Yeah, Michelle and I met before,” Jonathan said in a deep voice. He sat back in his chair and reached for his mother, rubbing her hands. McKinley wondered if he was keeping it together for the sake of his mother.

  Right, so I’ve heard, McKinley wanted to say but simply nodded and turned to a fresh page in his notepad.

  He looked over at Coolidge who was suppressing a smirk as she busied herself looking for her small recorder in her suit jacket.

  He guessed a recorder would be better than jotting down notes as he wanted to study Mrs. Dempsey and Jonathan, since family members are usually the first suspects in these sorts of crimes.

  “Mrs. Dempsey, I know this is difficult for you but we need to ask you a few questions.” McKinley studied both Mrs. Dempsey and Jonathan for any telling body language.

  She nodded. “I understand. Detective Rios informed us that the FCCA would be here to ask us questions.” Although she wasn’t crying now, she had been. Her hands were on the kitchen table clutching a wet tissue. In front of her was a box of Kleenex and next to it were a few crumpled tissues.

  Her voice was timid, distant even, compared to the strong woman he would see on the news standing next to Senator Dempsey throughout his campaign three years ago. The once collected and confident woman was disheveled and broken.

  Coolidge turned on the recorder. “We’re going to record this conversation as your statement and so we can review it later. It will eliminate the constant back and forth if we have to ask you questions in the future. Although we may contact you if new leads or information arises.”

  Mrs. Dempsey again nodded. Silent tears were again streaming down her cheeks. She wiped at them but they kept coming down like a leaky faucet.

  “Okay, for the record can you please state your name and your relationship to Senator Dempsey,” McKinley said.

  She leaned into the small black recorder that lay on the table in front of her. “My name is Geraldine Dempsey and Senator Dempsey is I mean was my husband.”

  “Where were you when Senator Dempsey was shot?” Coolidge asked loud enough so that the recorder could pick up her voice. She placed her hands on the table and intertwined her fingers, looking at Mrs. Dempsey as she spoke.

  “I was at a charity event for the Battered Women Association. Since my sister died from domestic abuse ten years ago, I’ve been hosting this event to raise money and awareness throughout the states. This one was held at the Fairmont Grand Hotel in the Elizabeth Ballroom. I had over six hundred guests. My assistant, Frances, can give you the guest list, the performers’ names, and the itinerary.”

  McKinley took his notepad and a pen and slid across the table toward Mrs. Dempsey. “If you don’t mind, Mrs. Dempsey, would you write down your assistant Frances’s contact info?”

  “Of course. But I want to speak to her before you do as to not cause her a panic attack. Her nerves are getting worse after her husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and I don’t want her to go into a frenzy. She’s become a good friend over the years.” Mrs. Dempsey dabbed the tissue at her eyes. She
seemed to be calmer but the grief still lingered in her gaze.

  McKinley nodded. “I’ll try but I will need to contact her today.” He glanced at Jonathan, who was looking at Coolidge, and then diverted his attention to Mrs. Dempsey as he crossed his arms on his chest and sat back.

  “Okay, I’ll have Jonathan call her as soon as we’re done here.” She slid the notepad back to McKinley. McKinley took the pad and examined the information written on it.

  “Why didn’t Senator Dempsey accompany you?” Coolidge asked, breaking eye contact with Jonathan.

  “He used to when I first started the association but when his workload increased his free time lessened, causing me to attend a lot of the charities I host to go with either Frances or Jonathan.” Mrs. Dempsey spoke slowly, trying to collect herself as to not start crying again.

  “Where you at this event, Jonathan?” McKinley asked. “Can you please state your name and your relationship to Senator Dempsey.”

  “Of course,” he said coolly. McKinley wasn’t sure if he was hiding something or if he was trying to maintain his composure. “I’m Jonathan Dempsey, son of Senator Dempsey. I wasn’t in this charity event, however, I was training at the 619 Gym with my personal trainer and owner, Chris. I’m there four times a week, and in fact, I was in the middle of a session when I got a frantic call from my mother. I didn’t even have time to shower before I drove here and barged inside to find my father dismantled and my mother a crying mess on the doorsteps.” He gently squeezed his mother’s hand as he spoke. McKinley was sure Jonathan was unaware of the gesture until Mrs. Dempsey placed her free hand over his.

  McKinley hadn’t noticed Jonathan’s attire until he mentioned it. He was in fact wearing a dark blue sleeveless tank and what he had thought were tears running down his face were in fact dried salty sweat. McKinley didn’t want to make it obvious that he was checking Jonathan’s attire, but he was sure Coolidge could tell him exactly what Jonathan was wearing.

  “Let’s go back a bit. What happened when you came home, Mrs. Dempsey?”

  “I came home around six thirty. Nothing seemed out of place when I pulled up to our driveway. Richard’s car was parked in its usual spot, I knew that Dotty, our housekeeper, would have been gone for the evening since I had dinner already at the charity event and there were leftovers in the fridge. I gave Dotty the evening off so I knew the only person home would have been Richard.”

  Her voice cracked and she paused a minute to continue. “When I opened the front door a horrible odor blew into my face. It’s hard to explain but my heart knew something was wrong. I stood at the entrance and before I entered I called Jonathan.”

  She removed her hand from Jonathan’s and took a tissue to dab at tears again. “He didn’t answer but I knew he was training and called the gym to get him to the phone. As I was on the phone with him I peered inside and saw blood on the floor and I screamed and closed the door. Jonathan was here in less than thirty minutes.” She looked over at Jonathan, blinking back tears, as he took up the narrative.

  “I walked inside, saw my father, and walked back outside to my mother. I asked her if she saw inside and she said only the blood. So I walked her to the back entrance. I called the police and we’ve been sitting here in the kitchen ever since you all came.” He placed his arms around his mother’s shoulder and began rubbing her back in a soothing circular motion.

  “At what time did Dotty the housekeeper leave?” McKinley asked.

  Mrs. Dempsey looked into the distance for a second as if trying to remember. “I believe around eleven in the morning.”

  “How sure are you of the time?” Coolidge asked.

  “I’m very sure. Dotty said she wanted to visit her mother at the nursing home and then she wanted to visit her granddaughter in Anaheim, which is an hour from here, and since Dotty was going to ride the Greyhound bus she wanted to leave early.”

  Both McKinley and Coolidge nodded. “We’re going to need Dotty’s contact information to corroborate her whereabouts,” Coolidge said as she looked at Mrs. Dempsey and then at McKinley, signaling for him to give Mrs. Dempsey the notepad. McKinley did so, watching as she jotted down the information and slid the notepad back to him.

  “Does Senator Dempsey have any enemies or do you suspect of anyone who might be involved in this?” McKinley asked.

  “My father is a senator, Agent. As with most politicians, he has more enemies than friends.” Jonathan furrowed his brow with aggravation.

  Mrs. Dempsey patted her son’s hand. “Sweetie, he’s just asking questions, he’s doing his job.”

  “Right, I’m trying to get information to rule the immediate family out as suspects. The more you tell us about Senator Dempsey the closer we come to narrowing down the ones responsible for his death.” McKinley leaned closer to the table, looking at Jonathan.

  “Was he expecting someone?” Coolidge asked, breaking the tension and calming the scene. Coolidge was the one who usually needed to be calm but for some reason McKinley was losing his cool.

  “I don’t know.” Mrs. Dempsey hesitated but then continued. “Well,” she paused, “I think so, because he said he needed to close a business deal before three in the afternoon and that was at seven this morning when I was getting ready to leave for my hair appointment. That’s why he couldn’t attend the event with me.”

  “Do you know who he was meeting or did he mention the person’s name?” McKinley asked.

  “He did mention their names but it was someone I hadn’t met before.” She looked deep in thought, rubbing her eyes and furrowing her forehead. “Tony and Gianni,” she finally said. “I’m sure those are the names because it got me thinking about the movie The Godfather. I’m not sure why I made the connection to the movie but I thought the names were Italian like the movie was based.”

  “Did he mention a last name?” Coolidge asked. Her voice was hopeful that they were getting somewhere.

  “No, and I didn’t ask about his job details. Those were boring to me and sometimes he would just talk endlessly about politics, policies, and laws.” She looked down at her hands and then looked up again. “Now I wish I could just hear his voice,” Mrs. Dempsey said, sobbing. “I will never hear his voice again.”

  Jonathan hugged his mother in an attempt to console her but the look on his face was subdued by his own hidden grief.

  After a few minutes Mrs. Dempsey’s sobs stopped and McKinley continued his questioning. “Did you come back to the house after your hair appointment?”

  She straightened in her chair and took a deep breath. “No, I took all my things to the Fairmont Grand Hotel. I had reserved a suite there to get ready so I wouldn’t have to battle with traffic. But I did speak to him around one this afternoon. He told me he’d been in the office upstairs all day and hadn’t eaten yet so I begged him to stop working, but he seemed his usual self and judging by the clean kitchen he never did eat anything.”

  “His usual self how?” Coolidge asked.

  McKinley pursed his lips to retract Coolidge’s question as he knew in which direction Mrs. Dempsey was going with her statement, but he thought better of it and decided it would be good to know how their relationship as a family was.

  “He was sweet and loving, he told me he loved me as he always did and that I was the most beautiful woman he’d married and gave him Jonathan. He loved Jonathan and was upset when he moved out but he understood that he needed to be an adult and be on his own. He was always praising me with gifts and words and he made me feel like I was his everything aside from Jonathan. I loved him. I will always love him.”

  “We’re deeply sorry for your loss, Mrs. Dempsey,” Coolidge said as she ended the recording.

  “If we have any other questions, we’ll be in contact with you,” McKinley said.

  The two agents gathered their things and walked to the hallway.

  “I don’t think either Mrs. Dempsey or Jonathan are involved,” McKinley whispered to Coolidge, rubbing his chin.

  Sh
e looked at him as they walked. “I don’t think so either. We need to find this Tony and Gianni, who are now two people of interest. Maybe Dotty might have seen them.”

  In the foyer where Senator Dempsey’s body once lay, Aaron was cutting the carpet drenched in blood as evidence. The other forensic techs were dusting for fingerprints.

  “Hey, you guys can go upstairs but there’s nothing there. Everything seemed intact. As if they came for the senator and left just as fast as they came,” Aaron said as he gathered his supplies.

  “What was his approximate time of death?” Coolidge asked him.

  He looked at his notes before he spoke. “According to his body rigidity I could calculate that his postmortem interval was at three but due to the house being cool his body acclimated to the temperature so it could’ve been sooner, maybe two forty-five, but considering the smell I’d say closer to three. My team and I will have to run some tests and inspect the body further,” Aaron said. “You’ll receive a detailed report by this time tomorrow.”

  The agents nodded and excused themselves upstairs.

  “I figure if Tony or this Gianni person came upstairs a blood trail would’ve been stamped on the runners from the stairs and the carpet in the hallways,” McKinley said.

  “Yeah, but the senator was coming up here for something. It wasn’t to hide otherwise he wouldn’t have opened the door,” Coolidge said as she looked around.

  “I agree. We need to get Detective Rios and his team to search his home office and his bedroom. Whatever he needed must be in one of those rooms.”

  They walked downstairs, scanning the room filled with forensic techs and officers—essential personnel only at this point. Detective Rios was standing next to one of the many paintings in the hallway when McKinley made eye contact with him.

  “Detective Rios, there’s two rooms upstairs we want you and your team to investigate. Any papers, trinkets, flash drives, his computer or laptop, files, anything you deem important, I want it tagged for processing,” McKinley said.

  “No problem, I’ll get to it right away,” Detective Rios said.