Maddy opened the car door, got out, and started toward the row of police cars with Mitch right behind her. Walking up to Sergeant Larry Sullivan, she was about to ask why he was at their murder scene when Mitch stepped forward.

“Is it just me, or are you seriously directionally challenged?” Mitch got right in the other cop’s face. “Since this is our side of the tracks, you and your boyfriend can take your fat asses and get back to your own house. My partner and I will take it from here.”

Sullivan’s face flared red before he gave a head nod to the younger cop beside him. “We got a call that one of the vics was from Cordova. Our mistake. But hey”—he threw his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender—“you can have this one. Working with a Navy cop isn’t my idea of a good time. And by the way, hope you’re pitching again this year.” He turned and walked away before Mitch could think of a sarcastic comeback.

“Navy cop?” Maddy said out loud. “Thought this was a routine murder/suicide.”

A young beat cop she recognized from the weekly Friday night happy hour crowd stepped forward and pulled out a notebook. “It was, but one of the vics has military ID in her purse, so we had to notify NCIS.”

“Why the hell didn’t you wait until we got here?” Mitch asked, taking out his anger over Sullivan’s last remark on the patrolman. “You’ve probably just screwed up our case, kid.”

Maddy gave him a disapproving glare before she patted the officer on the shoulder. “Don’t mind him. He’s got low blood sugar.” She sent Mitch another hard look before turning her attention back to the young cop named Perez, according to his name tag. “So, do we know if they’re sending someone?”

Perez frowned at Mitch before smiling at her. “An officer is already on the way from Fort Worth, and he says he has jurisdiction.”

“My ass!” Mitch bellowed. He nudged Maddy in the direction of the house. “Guess I have to dole out another geography lesson.” He grabbed Maddy’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get in there before he shows up and contaminates our crime scene.”

They walked up the steps, stopping only to grab shoe covers and latex gloves from the boxes left by the CSI technicians, already on the scene. After donning both, Maddy pushed the door open and was immediately hit with the smell of burnt toast. Wrinkling her nose, she walked into the hallway and glanced to her left, spotting the two bodies on the living room floor. Two crime scene techs were busy photographing and working the scene.

When they walked into the room, the tech bending over the female victim stood. “The housekeeper called 911 about ten-thirty this morning. Looks like one shot to the middle of her forehead, probably from that .22 next to the deceased male.”

“Are we still talking murder/suicide here?” Mitch asked, bending down to examine the woman’s face.

“Hard to say. No defensive wounds on the hands, which tells me that First Lieutenant Linden probably knew her killer or was surprised. We’ll know more when Lowell gets here and takes a better look at the rest of her body. Right now, it could go either way.”

“First Lieutenant Linden?”

“According to the military ID we found in her purse.”

“A .22 isn’t normally the weapon of choice for a man this size,” Maddy commented, pointing to the gun next to the male victim.

The tech shrugged. “Maybe it’s hers.”

Maddy inched closer to get a better look. The deceased female looked to be in her early thirties with short dark hair that was now clumped with blood and plastered to her olive-colored cheeks. Her right eye was swollen and almost completely closed from a large bruise above it. She turned her attention to her left where the body of the man lay sprawled. A river of blood beside his head made the blue rug appear purple. The back half of his head was blown away, and although Maddy had seen more than her fair share of suicides, her stomach still rolled when a gun to the mouth was used. The Beretta lay beside him. When the CSI tech turned the victim over, Maddy gasped. Both Mitch and the technician glanced up at her.

“I know this man.”

“Who is he?” Mitch asked.

Maddy shrugged. “Not sure of his name—David something or other—but he’s some bigwig over at Warner Chemicals.” She leaned in, and despite the damage done when he’d eaten his gun, she was positive her ID was correct.

Mitch looked up at the young cop standing in the doorway. “Do we have a name yet?”

Perez checked his notes. “The house belongs to a David Foster. Although we can’t be one hundred percent sure until the medical examiner confirms, we’ve pulled the motor vehicle photo, and it looks like he’s our vic.”

Mitch turned back. “So, how do you know Mr. Foster?”

“If he’s who I think he is, my sister Deena went out with him a few times. She introduced us one night a couple of weeks ago when I stopped by her apartment.”

“So, why’d Mr. Foster kill a Naval officer and then turn the gun on himself?”

“That’s what they pay you and me the big bucks to find out,” Maddy said.