Each time he said detective there was a hint of humor and also pride in his tone. She had risen through the ranks quickly, but few questioned her work ethic or skills. “How are Alicia and the boys?”

“Doing fine. And Avery?” Saunders had arrested Avery four years ago for being drunk in public and called Jordan, told her he would not file charges as long as Avery entered drug rehabilitation. He was one of many who had helped save her sister’s life.

“She’s well. Working in a café and selling her art. Clean two years.”

He nodded. “Well, the world does turn, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” A spotlight turned on in the house, catching her attention. “Better get to work.”

“It’s a bad one.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

She entered the brightly lit room. The walls had been whitewashed so long ago they looked gray. There was an old couch that had several burn patches on it, and she imagined someone sitting there smoking and dropping a crack pipe. Beyond the main room was a kitchen filled with garbage and covered in decades of grease. To her right were two doors that appeared to lead to what had been bedrooms.

She followed the yellow crime scene markers toward the first bedroom, where her gaze went directly to the body wrapped in thick plastic like an Egyptian mummy. This victim had blond hair, but her face and belly were bloated with decomposition gases, distorting her features and figure. Her hands were bound, and there was a gag in her mouth. Under the large outer wrap was a plastic bag covering her head. A drawstring was tied in a neat bow.

Lights from a digital camera flashed as Andy Lucas moved around the body, shooting pictures. “She’s been dead about two or three days,” he said, continuing to shoot.

“And she resembles the first victim.”

“Yes, she does.”

Jordan moved closer to the body, squatted, and studied the bloated features under the plastic and the tape bound tight around her body. “Two for two,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” Lucas said. “Not good.”

“What about shoe impressions?” she asked.

“A few. They look similar, but I’ll have to put the images under the microscope.”

She looked out the bedroom window toward a small garage on the property. “You’ll check the garage?”

“On the list. We’re going to be here for a couple of days,” he said.

She examined the bedroom window locks. They were fastened. “Fingerprints?”

“Sure, but there have been plenty of people in and out of this house. Could be anyone.”

“Any hits from the prints you pulled at the first scene?” she asked.

“Ran ’em all through AFIS. A couple of hits, but both guys have been in jail the last year. My guess is they used the house to crash.”