her.
We walked to the front of the house in the muggy summer weather and paused while she rummaged through her purse. She pulled out a house key . . . back from the days when she also lived under that same roof, before their parents died. I let her walk in first, but immediately regretted my courtesy.
The crime scene had been cleared, but not cleaned.
A white outline seemed painted on the carpet, just a few feet from where we stood. I bent down to touch the white color and it smudged like chalk. It was chalk.
Laura’s face paled as she realized this spot was where her sister lay dead. Philosophically, she understood that the house would be forever stigmatized by such a gruesome history. But being face to face with the tragedy clearly rattled her.
She made the sign of the cross and prayed. “I believe in God the Father, Almighty.”
I stepped back to give her the illusion of privacy, but actually, I was scanning the room for clues. The outline was shaped like a human, but different. Where the victim’s arms should have been were wide, pointed contours, as if Kate wore kimono sleeves.
“Maker of heaven and earth,” her sister continued.
Near her head was a large reddish-brownish discoloration. A bloodstain. Numerous, smaller spatters had ricocheted over the surrounding floor and walls.
The room was dark because the picture window remained boarded up. Broken glass lay everywhere, and a steel lawn chair flung to one side seemed out of place in the room. I even wondered if it might have been the instrument used to break in. In that case, the killer would have dispensed with much element of surprise.
The next line of the prayer that I heard jarred me from such an interesting hypothesis. “He descended into hell.”
He sure did, I thought. And he put Kate through it, too.
I’d seen bloodstains before, in the aftermath of other murders. Even crushed brain matter. But one thing you seldom see in real life covering crime is an actual chalk body outline. These days they exist only on TV dramas for visual effect.
Homicide investigators don’t use them anymore because they can contaminate the crime scene with hair, footprints, and evenDNA from law enforcement rather than a suspect. Photographs and videotape better document the position of the body.
Chalk outlines are done by inexperienced police officers, often the first on the scene. They think they’re being helpful and even feel important as they perform the artistic act. But they play dumb when a ranking investigator arrives and storms about, wanting to know who was playing detective. The investigators even have a nickname for them when no one owns up beyond a shrug.
“Huh, must have been the chalk fairy,” I mumbled.
All this was explained to me by my cop beau Nick Garnett when he pointed out a “chalk fairy” to me once in a crime scene photo, telling me that’s how the officers would razz each other when they’d come across an anonymous outline at the crime scene.
I wondered who got chewed out for drawing this one. Then thought back to Officer Stanley, the cop who played keep away with me and the crime scene tape. I considered looking him up and joshing him about the chalk fairy artwork, just to weigh his reaction.
Gazing at the wide arms, I realized the shape even resembled the wings of a fairy.
Laura faltered through the rest of the Apostles’ Creed. Rushing down the hall the minute she reached “Amen.” I heard a gagging sound, a toilet flush, then a door shut. While my old roommate was puking up her breakfast, I pulled out my cell phone and took a picture of the chalk body outline.
I felt sneaky doing it, but I also doubted Laura would let a Channel 3 photographer through the door. I told myself I wouldn’t air the picture; I just wanted to have it handy. For research.
I took a second shot as backup.
Then I walked over to the bathroom door, and tapped gently. “Can I get you anything, Laura?”
No answer.
“I’ll just wait out
We walked to the front of the house in the muggy summer weather and paused while she rummaged through her purse. She pulled out a house key . . . back from the days when she also lived under that same roof, before their parents died. I let her walk in first, but immediately regretted my courtesy.
The crime scene had been cleared, but not cleaned.
A white outline seemed painted on the carpet, just a few feet from where we stood. I bent down to touch the white color and it smudged like chalk. It was chalk.
Laura’s face paled as she realized this spot was where her sister lay dead. Philosophically, she understood that the house would be forever stigmatized by such a gruesome history. But being face to face with the tragedy clearly rattled her.
She made the sign of the cross and prayed. “I believe in God the Father, Almighty.”
I stepped back to give her the illusion of privacy, but actually, I was scanning the room for clues. The outline was shaped like a human, but different. Where the victim’s arms should have been were wide, pointed contours, as if Kate wore kimono sleeves.
“Maker of heaven and earth,” her sister continued.
Near her head was a large reddish-brownish discoloration. A bloodstain. Numerous, smaller spatters had ricocheted over the surrounding floor and walls.
The room was dark because the picture window remained boarded up. Broken glass lay everywhere, and a steel lawn chair flung to one side seemed out of place in the room. I even wondered if it might have been the instrument used to break in. In that case, the killer would have dispensed with much element of surprise.
The next line of the prayer that I heard jarred me from such an interesting hypothesis. “He descended into hell.”
He sure did, I thought. And he put Kate through it, too.
I’d seen bloodstains before, in the aftermath of other murders. Even crushed brain matter. But one thing you seldom see in real life covering crime is an actual chalk body outline. These days they exist only on TV dramas for visual effect.
Homicide investigators don’t use them anymore because they can contaminate the crime scene with hair, footprints, and evenDNA from law enforcement rather than a suspect. Photographs and videotape better document the position of the body.
Chalk outlines are done by inexperienced police officers, often the first on the scene. They think they’re being helpful and even feel important as they perform the artistic act. But they play dumb when a ranking investigator arrives and storms about, wanting to know who was playing detective. The investigators even have a nickname for them when no one owns up beyond a shrug.
“Huh, must have been the chalk fairy,” I mumbled.
All this was explained to me by my cop beau Nick Garnett when he pointed out a “chalk fairy” to me once in a crime scene photo, telling me that’s how the officers would razz each other when they’d come across an anonymous outline at the crime scene.
I wondered who got chewed out for drawing this one. Then thought back to Officer Stanley, the cop who played keep away with me and the crime scene tape. I considered looking him up and joshing him about the chalk fairy artwork, just to weigh his reaction.
Gazing at the wide arms, I realized the shape even resembled the wings of a fairy.
Laura faltered through the rest of the Apostles’ Creed. Rushing down the hall the minute she reached “Amen.” I heard a gagging sound, a toilet flush, then a door shut. While my old roommate was puking up her breakfast, I pulled out my cell phone and took a picture of the chalk body outline.
I felt sneaky doing it, but I also doubted Laura would let a Channel 3 photographer through the door. I told myself I wouldn’t air the picture; I just wanted to have it handy. For research.
I took a second shot as backup.
Then I walked over to the bathroom door, and tapped gently. “Can I get you anything, Laura?”
No answer.
“I’ll just wait out
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