Death Song by Michael McGarrity Page B

in height, who wears a size eight shoe and knew his victim?” he asked in a smug, mildly skeptical tone. “Can we put any stock in it?”
    The state cop’s attitude rankled Ramona. “I’ve worked with Sergeant Istee in the past,” she said before Mielke could reply, “and I wouldn’t bet against him. His analysis that these homicides are personal is right on, and I’m convinced that Denise Riley’s killer either redressed her or rearranged her clothing after she was dead. That makes both murders personal.”
    The state cop threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just asking,” he said, but his eyes weren’t smiling.
    “Sergeant Istee has given us a start on a profile for our perp,” Mielke said. “We need to use it when we’re out there asking questions.”
    “The perp may also have more than a passing knowledge of computer technology,” Ramona added. “According to Detective Matt Chacon, whoever scoured the hard drives on the two computers removed from the Riley residence is not your typical personal computer user. Also, both the desktop and laptop had been wiped clean of prints.”
    “Let’s add that to what we know and move on to assignments,” Mielke said. “Sheriff Salgado and Sheriff Hewitt out of Lincoln County have decided to consolidate the two murder cases into one shared investigation. Myself and Sergeant Istee will serve as case supervisors, and we will both, I repeat both, have equal authority.”
    Mielke looked directly at every officer in the room. “Are there any questions about that? Good. Our starting point is an in-depth look at our victims. The question I want answered is why these persons were murdered. We’ll use the FBI crime classification protocols for violent crimes.”
    Mielke went over the protocols item by item, handed out assignments, and fielded some questions.
    “Before we mount up, there’s one more thing,” he said. “In a few days, we’ll be burying Deputy Tim Riley and his wife, Denise. Most of us in this room knew Tim, worked with him, liked him, and liked his wife. They were family to us.”
    He paused and scanned every face in the room. “I don’t expect a miracle between now and the funeral, but I want to see steady progress on this investigation every single day. We are going to grind it out until we catch this killer.”
    After most of the officers had filed out of the conference room, Ramona approached Mielke and asked to take a look at the evidence inventory. He took her to his office, which was adjacent to the suite that housed the sheriff and his chief deputy, and had her sit while he thumbed through the stacks of paper on his desk.
    Mielke was middle-aged but looked older than his years. Tall with slightly stooped shoulders, he had a slim build, a narrow chest, and a gaunt face that gave him an emaciated look. Although his eyes were clear and his hands steady, Mielke was known to be a binge drinker, who’d been on some legendary benders at the Fraternal Order of Police bar on Airport Road.
    Ramona hoped the major would stay sober until the case was closed, but if he blew it, at least she knew she could count on Clayton Istee to hang tough.
    He fished out a file and handed it across the desk to Ramona. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
    “Zip drives, floppy disks, compact disks, and any software programs found at the Riley residence,” Ramona replied as she flipped through the inventory forms.
    “We didn’t find any of that stuff,” Mielke said.
    “I’d like to go out and take another look,” Ramona said.
    “Suit yourself, but if you find anything bring it here and log it in with our evidence custodian. In fact, have Matt Chacon drop off those computers to us so we can keep the chain of evidence intact.”
    “Ten-four,” Ramona replied.
    Mielke looked at his watch. “I need to get down to Albuquerque for the autopsies. The chief medical investigator and his senior pathologist are personally doing both Riley and his