Chapter 3

Detective Barry Michaels arrived late to the execution of the search warrant at the Ventura home because of a call from his mother, telling him his younger brother, Lucas, had been injured in a “serious” car accident. His mom was in no position to visit because of a recent hip surgery, so she’d wanted him to check on her “Little Lucas.”

Little, Barry had thought as he rushed to the hospital, worried because she’d made it sound like a matter of life and death. Lucas had been the tallest in the family for over a decade.

Lucas had a broken finger, a few scratches, and a bruised face—the total extent of his injuries—and he’d been in the process of getting released when Barry arrived.

Barry shook his head and parked outside the Ventura home, trying to get his mind back into work mode by getting a feel for the place from what he could see in the car.

The alarm over his brother had thrown him out of his usual mental processes. He always found it difficult to get back into the right frame of mind after something like that happened. It wasn’t like he could flip a switch. The people he worked with wouldn’t understand, so he wanted to get his head back in the game before going inside, even if it took a few extra minutes.

Chad Ventura. What happened to you?

Barry’s working theory was that Mellicent Ventura was withholding something significant or was somehow involved. Perhaps she was the actual killer or had hired a hit man. Or maybe she’d been aware of a specific threat and had done nothing to stop it.

But if she did any of those things, why show up at the murder scene, demanding to see Chad’s body like she expected to find something?

There was an explanation for her behavior, and Barry wouldn’t rest until he discovered what it was.

The two-story red-brick home was in a well-to-do neighborhood. The scruffy lawn was patchy with plenty of weeds. Though recently mowed, it had the feel of rarely being tended. A girl’s bike lay on the porch as if dropped when the little girl ran inside.

Bree, that’s her name, Barry reminded himself.

The bike seemed too small for her. Was she a late bloomer who hadn’t yet moved to a bigger bike? Or was this an indication her parents were absorbed in their own lives and not paying attention to the needs of their daughter?

A likely conclusion based on Mellicent’s earlier behavior.

Barry was already concerned from what he knew about Chad and what he’d found during his perusal of Mellicent’s very active social media profiles. Chad had a reputation for being a workaholic and running his staffers ragged, especially when in the middle of a trial. Mellicent lived online, apparently to the exclusion of all else, including Bree.

Trash was strewn across the front porch. An empty bucket of KFC, a couple soda bottles, and some empty beer bottles. It all looked recent.

This gave Barry pause because it was a striking contrast when compared to the photos Mellicent Ventura posted on Instagram. She often posed in designer clothing, but those weren’t getting much attention, probably because so many were doing that these days. An influencer now had to bring their presentation up to the next level to gain traction, and from what he’d seen of Mellicent, it was unlikely she had the requisite skill set.

Barry only had to examine a couple posts before realizing the clothing she wore had tags that had been tucked out of the way or covered by the camera angle, taking a practice known as wardrobing to a whole new level while foolishly posting evidence of her behavior online.

Some of her other shots were from around her home. A project she’d worked on or some dish she’d tweaked until it looked just right. Her Instagram posts from the last few weeks had been more random than usual, and it seemed she was trying anything she could to see what worked. They seemed to have a tinge of desperation.

Barry couldn’t help but wonder what her small group of online followers would think if they knew what the front of her home looked like. Nobody would suspect that somebody like Mellicent Ventura, who was constantly posting glamorous photos, lived like this.

If she’s hiding this, what else is she hiding?

On Facebook, she took a different approach, talking about politics and attacking those she disagreed with. She was active daily and sought out fights. On YouTube, Mellicent had tried multiple things. She’d posted countless videos of her bowling, but they never garnered much attention. After that, it was downhill skiing but to the same effect.

It’s odd Chad was killed in the same bowling alley where she spent so much time.

In a Facebook post several days before, she’d criticized Frannie Ventura, Chad’s mother, for her support of the current mayor of Salt Lake City. Reading between the lines, Barry was confident Mellicent didn’t believe what she was spouting and had been hoping to draw attention.

Frannie never responded, and the post didn’t have more than a handful of likes, something surprising, considering the number of local reporters Mellicent tagged in her desperate bid for attention.

“You’re late!” Ramirez called through the open front door as Barry started up the steps, navigating around the bicycle. “How’s your brother?”

Barry had been thinking of snapping pictures for his private research notes, but he’d wait until nobody was around. He always created an unofficial file because it gave him more to work with at night when he didn’t have anything else to do. It sometimes came in handy too. The last time it had, his superior had told him he needed to stop because it might one day get him in trouble.

But Barry wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t. He was driven to continue, so he had no choice but to be more clandestine.

Barry chuckled. “My mom was worried about nothing. Lucas had a broken finger.” He followed Ramirez into the house, where the search had already been underway for some time. The warrant specified they could seize evidence of domestic disturbance, knives, and firearms.

He’d gotten a call from Ramirez telling him how the judge hadn’t blinked after reviewing the warrant affidavit. They’d thought he’d balk at issuing the warrant based on so little, but Ramirez had been persuasive enough to convince him.

There wasn’t yet a drug angle on the case, but Barry assumed they’d find a connection because of how weird Mellicent had been acting. It would explain a lot if she’d been high.

“Find the murder weapon?” Barry asked, stepping into the entryway and looking around. The way he phrased the question made it sound like he assumed Mellicent Ventura was the perpetrator, but he didn’t ‌correct himself. It was a natural conclusion, one Ramirez also hadn’t been shy about expressing.

Barry was hit by an overpowering smell. An air freshener. And it had been used liberally, like it was covering something. The house was dated, with a honey oak banister, as well as mauve carpet that was stained in multiple places.

Other than the oppressive smell, the place was clean. He’d expected it to be a mess like the front porch, but it appeared Mellicent and Chad had hosted a small party out front and never cleaned up.

Probably because they left it for the maid. She’d been the subject of several of Mellicent’s posts.

“We’ve found plenty of knives, but no firearms.” Ramirez nodded at a crime scene tech who walked by with multiple evidence bags containing kitchen knives. Ventura’s body had a severe but nonlethal cut on the neck, and there were other cuts as well. None were the proximate cause of his death.

“I would’ve expected the house to be in better condition, especially for such a high-powered defense attorney and a wannabe influencer.” Rumor had it Ventura was one of the more expensive attorneys in town.

Ramirez didn’t respond because she was checking a notification on her phone.

Where’s the money going if he wasn’t spending it here? Barry wondered.

Barry tested the air, trying to determine if there was tobacco smoke underneath the air freshener. It wasn’t until his third attempt he discerned marijuana.

He stepped into the front room and found a few chairs and couches. He bent to examine the carpet, looking at a dark stain in the middle.

Ramirez came up from behind. “Yodel thinks it’s beer or soda. Looks fresh, otherwise it would’ve attracted more dirt.” She was talking about Kasey Yodel, a crime scene technician. Though sharp, Yodel was absent-minded and sometimes a bit of a double edged sword. “She took samples and will run tests, but I don’t expect anything to come of it.”

“You looked at Mellicent’s Instagram profile?” Barry straightened and surveyed the rest of the room.

“Not yet.”

“It’s all about fashion and homemaking. The way she portrays this place online is very different. How well did Gregory Pope know Chad Ventura?”

“Well enough. Pope will keep a close eye on our investigation, if only because his enemies will also be watching.”

“Did Pope ever have a trial with Ventura?”

“They faced off before he became the DA. I suspect he’ll task Audrey Spencer with keeping tabs on the investigation, similar to before.”

The way Ramirez spoke made it obvious she wasn’t pleased, but Barry liked Spencer even if she sometimes put her nose into places it didn’t belong.

“Should we invite Spencer to participate in every major step like before?”

“We don’t have another choice, not unless we want her going around us.”

Barry hated having somebody from the District Attorney’s Office keeping an eye on them. It made him feel like they had a babysitter. But Spencer wasn’t as bad as some, especially now that he’d developed a working relationship with her.

“There’s some good things about Spencer,” he said, remembering a time he’d been invited into the final negotiation with a criminal defendant. “She’s a two-way street, and I never got the sense she was out for glory or trying to cut us out.”

Ramirez nodded, but it was clear she disagreed. She undoubtedly thought Spencer’s involvement was a problem and didn’t see an upside.

“You’ll want to see this,” a voice said from the entryway.

Barry turned to see a young crime scene technician in her twenties. She had an angular face, reddish-blond hair, and was pointing up the stairs. Kasey Yodel. Ramirez and Barry followed her up.

When they walked past Bree’s room, he saw a corner with stuffed animals. Each one was pink. He paused before following them down the hallway and into a laundry room.

Yodel climbed a stepstool and pointed at a bag of pills inside a cupboard above the washer. It was wedged between a box of dryer sheets and a bottle of detergent. She glanced at Ramirez, who gave a knowing nod, her lips a thin line. “Would you say this is within the scope of the warrant?”

“Probably, but leave it there for now. Deputy DA Spencer is on her way. Have her sign off before we move them.”

Ramirez had mentioned earlier that she also thought Mellicent’s erratic behavior could be explained by drugs.

But where are the physical indicators? Barry wondered. Mellicent’s speech hadn’t been affected, nor her gait or other motor movements. From the outside looking in, it appeared as though she’d been acting under her own power. It was only her odd actions that made him suspect drug use. Maybe the effects had been wearing off, but her judgment was lagging behind.

He was about to ask if he could get up on the stepstool when he heard shouting down at the front door.