Too Late to Say Goodbye: A True Story of Murder and Betrayal Read Free Page B

Corbin took from the dining room table and handed to her. Its battery was dead and it didn’t work. By now Dillon had come out of his room, too. With the boys trailing her, Kelly ran to her house and called 911 herself.
    All she could repeat to the radio operator was that there was a dead woman in the house across the street—her friend, Jennifer Corbin. The dispatcher at the Gwinnett County Police Department’s Communications Center told the Comeaus that patrol officers had already been dispatched and would be there momentarily. Officers Travis Wright and Michelle Johns were the first to arrive. An engine with EMTs and the paramedics’ rig from Gwinnett County Fire Company #14 followed close behind them.
    Kelly Comeau told Michelle Johns and Travis Wright where the master bedroom was. They could hear a dog barking frantically inside. The patrol officers walked cautiously through the Corbins’ open garage door with their weapons drawn, calling into the house before they entered. No one answered.
    Zippo, the Corbins’ dog, ran out, and Johns asked Kelly to lock him up in the backyard. The patrol officers were fully aware that this situation was one of the most dangerous any police officer can encounter. Although the 911 operator had done her best to calm down Kelly Comeau so she could determine what had happened and who might be in the house—possibly waiting there with a loaded gun—she wasn’t able to elicit many facts. There was no description of a suspect; no one knew his—or her—sex, race, size, or what clothes the shooter had worn.
    Neither of the Comeaus knew who might be in the house across the street. Jenn’s SUV was parked outside, but Bart’s pickup truck and his yellow Mustang convertible were gone.
    Only now did Kelly realize that she might have been in danger herself when she entered the Corbins’ house. She had been so concerned for Jenn and then so shaken by finding her body, she hadn’t even thought of it. But if Jenn’s killer was still inside, the first officers responding could be targets, too.
    What had happened was too much to take in without facing each detail, each little shock, every ragged facet of tragedy one by one.
    There was a strong likelihood that Jenn’s killer had disappeared into the night, hours before. Even so, Wright and Johns, their hearts beating erratically, continued their exploration of the two-story brick house. No police officer is ever blasé about walking into a strange building where he might be caught in the sights of a gun. The patrol officers extended both arms and pointed their handguns toward the shadows. They made a quick sweep of the rooms and the hallway to reassure themselves that no one was hiding there.
    There was no sound at all beyond their own breathing.
    When they were satisfied that the house was empty, they waved to the EMS team to follow them into the house. The patrolmen and medics entered the master bedroom, and found it just as Kelly Comeau had reported. The woman who lay across the king-sized bed had what appeared to be a single gunshot wound near her right ear. The butt of a handgun rested three or four inches from the palm of her right hand, although her fingertips were less than an inch away from it.
    Oddly, the barrel of the revolver was hidden beneath the rose-patterned comforter. There was a pale blue and white flannel coverlet with a snowman pattern at the foot of the bed, and a cordless phone next to it.
    The medics checked the woman for any sign of life, and found none at all.
    Patrol Sergeant E. T. Edkin joined his officers, and he saw immediately that there was nothing more anyone could do for the blond woman. Edkin was a veteran officer, a weight lifter with massive biceps. He had worked in the Homicide Unit for years, and had been a frequent partner to Detective Marcus Head, who was now on his way from home after being called out by the 911 operator. In December 2004, Edkin had temporarily left Homicide after being promoted to