“Bullet wound to the back of the head. Paramedics left with him about ten minutes ago. He was found over there.” He pointed to a puddle of blood just short of the doorway to the kitchen. “They said his condition is grave.”

“The shooter took out Farrell first,” Malone observed. “Sinclair was running away when he was hit.”

“That’s how I see it, too,” Sam said. To the officer who’d briefed them, she added, “Thanks, Peterson. Good work.” She crouched down to take a closer look at Farrell’s chest wound. “Looks like a direct hit to the heart.”

Lindsey nodded in agreement. “He bled out fast.”

“Might’ve confronted the shooter,” Malone said.

“It was close range,” Lindsey concurred.

Sam stood up and went over to talk to the pizza guy. “Mr. Healy, I’m Detective Lieutenant Holland, my partner, Detective Captain Malone. Can you tell us what happened?”

Healy’s eyes, flat with shock, were rimmed with red. “I already told them.”

“Do me a favor, and run through it one more time,” Sam said.

“I brought the pie they ordered.” Healy gestured to the red thermal bag sitting at his feet. “A large sausage and onion. Their usual.”

“So they were frequent flyers?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, at least once, maybe twice a week. Anyway, I got here and the front door was wide open, which was weird this time of year. I rang the bell a couple of times, but no one answered. I stuck my head in and saw a foot on the floor.” He zeroed in on Tucker’s body. “I started to run away, but then I thought he might need help so I came in. That’s when I saw the other guy, on the floor over there.” Shaking his head, he took a couple of deep breaths. “I kinda freaked and went outside to call 911.”

“When you arrived, did you see anyone leaving or running on the street?”

“No. I didn’t think anything was weird until I noticed the door open.”

Sam took down his contact info and released him.

“What’s next, Lieutenant?” Malone asked as they watched Lindsey follow Tucker’s body out of the house.

“A bit rusty, are you, sir?” she said, smiling at his scowl. “Now we knock on doors to see if we can narrow down when the shots were fired and whether anyone saw someone fleeing the scene.”

“What’re you thinking?”

Sam studied the two bloody areas on the wood floor. “Not sure yet. We’ve got an uncle and nephew, both of them gay, one still in the closet, shot in the span of a few days. If I hadn’t had Diandra in interrogation when this went down, I’d be getting a warrant for her arrest.”

“Who else is there?”

“Preston and Austin Sinclair, father and brother of Devon, brother and nephew of Julian.”

“Any chance this is unrelated to Julian?”