Free A Study in Sin by August Wainwright Page A

him.”
    Lambert’s face didn’t move. He looked like a statue as he stared down at the phone in his hand.
    “McKeague is dead. He was murdered sometime early this morning.”
     

Chapter 7

The Spark Before the Fire
    “Ha!” Remy erupted, “Perfect. Serial murders. I love it.” She paced around the apartment, excited at the news, while the detective and I watched dumbfounded.
    “There is something seriously wrong with you,” Lambert said, slowly shaking his head.
    “Come on, what are we waiting for? To the scene of the crime gentlemen.”
    Now I was the one shaking my head. “Seriously? Who says that?” I wondered aloud.
     
    Lambert drove us across town towards West Glebe, south of Crystal City. Lambert and I sat silent the entire ride as Remy squirmed in excitement and blabbered on about early Irish immigrants and the gangs they formed in nineteenth century New York. He told her four times to buckle her seatbelt; she never did.
    After the longest twenty minute car ride ever, we eventually found ourselves pulling up in front of a house as unassuming as a freshly baked loaf of bread. The house was all white, with white shutters and white flower bushes out front. It sat back from the street behind a small white picket fence. A footpath led to the front door, the only part that wasn’t white, which just so happened to be a bright shade of lipstick red. It stood welcoming us to the slaughter we were to find inside. Detective Arruda met us out front.
    “See you brought the whole crew,” he grumbled.
    “Detective Arruda,” Remy said, “You know, for once, I’m actually glad to see you.”
    “That makes one of us.”
    “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to make a quick phone call,” she said. Arruda offered an audible harrumph in response.
    I stood near the front gate and waited, as Remy spoke with someone on her phone and the two detectives huddled together discussing what had happened. A few moments later, Remy joined them and motioned for me to follow.
    “Well we’ve heard Lambert’s theory of the case,” she said, smiling at him, “Turns out he missed a few details. Why don’t you tell us your view of it, Arruda? Maybe I can play mediator between the two of you and rule on who’s better situated to win that bet of yours.”
    Arruda started leading us towards the front door as he told his side of the story.
    “I thought McKeague was our guy,” he started, with a hint of disappointment in his voice. If Arruda really was just hanging around for the pension, he at least took some pride in besting his young partner. “We know they were together at three thirty on Tuesday because they missed their flight. Twelve hours later, we find the body over in Capitol Hill. So where is McKeague during that time? I’ve spent the last forty eight hours trying to figure that out. The search of the hospitals didn’t help. On a hunch, I did some property research to see if either Cormack or McKeague owned a house in the area. That’s when I found this place. McKeague bought it a few months ago.” Arruda seemed years younger as he talked. I had the feeling Lambert hadn’t been completely truthful about his partner.
    “I drove over hoping to find the man at home, but not expecting much. I walked up to the front door, gave it a rap, rang the bell. Nobody comes. So I lean over this rail here and checked in that front window and saw the pool of blood on the living room floor.”
    We gathered on the front porch and waited for Arruda to catch his breath from the twenty five foot walk. He continued.
    “I reached for the handle and it was unlocked. The first thing I saw upon entering was the blood. Blood everywhere,” he said as we walked through the front door.
    I took two steps and almost retched. The place was like the set of a horror movie. The white on white motif from outside had been brought to the interior as well. White carpet, white walls, white furniture, white in every direction. Or at least