Raymond Walters’ foyer
Chapter 8
THE INSIDE OF RAYMOND WALTERS’ house was a testament to money.
Money, By Barrett Strong
The entrance way was painted a soft taupe and beige travertine marble tiles covered the floor. Twin hand painted Italian credenzas, topped with gold statuary, flanked the entrance way walls. And a Tiffany Mission style chandelier swung overhead. To Taylor’s right was a sun filled solarium and to his left, was one of the most luxurious living rooms he’d seen in a long time.
“Where was Mrs. Walters shot?”
“Upstairs in the master bedroom.”
“Figures.”
Taking the steps two at time Taylor led the way to the upstairs private quarters.
“To the left,” directed to rookie. “Mrs. Walters was found in there he said, pointing to a door at the end of a long carpeted hallway.
Taylor opened the door and was met by the stale metallic smell of blood. “I guessing she bled out before she was found?”
“Yup. It was a real mess.”
“Were you and your partner one of the ones responding?”
“We got here within five minutes of being called.”
“How many times was Mrs. Walters shot?”
“Six times. Your client emptied the gun.”
“Allegedly, emptied the gun.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“From the blood splatter, I’m assuming she was shot while in bed?”
“Yup.”
“When you guys got here, was she dressed? And alone?”
“The husband was the only one present when we arrived. And Mrs. Walters was wearing a light blue nightgown. We could tell that the husband had placed the gown on her because there were no bullet holes in it. And she was lying face up but had been shot in the back. Husband admitted to dressing the body. Said he didn’t want people seeing her naked.”
“Umph. Mind if I check out the bathroom?”
“Help yourself.”
Taylor found more travertine in the bathroom. Not to his taste. Made the room seem cold, he thought.
Using an ink pen he pulled from a plastic pouch, he eased open the medicine cabinet. It was filled with the usual stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary, except he noted that Mrs. Walters had a couple of prescriptions for tranquilizers. And one of the bottles was empty.
Walking back into the bedroom the thought hit him, “If I were Raymond Walters and I suspected my wife of cheating, I’d want proof. Where would I hide the camera? He asked himself. None of the obvious places for sure. No, I’d be a bit smarter than the average guy. Looking around, he thought, what area offered the best view of the bed – curtain rod or light switch. Yeah. That’s where I put it, too. No matter what was going on, I’d always have a view.
“What you looking at?’ asked the rookie.
“Nothing, replied Taylor. Just wondering what the view looks like from the window.”
He’d come back later when the noisy neighbors were asleep and when he didn’t have the rookie dogging his heels.
It might not be in the firm’s best interest to reveal any secret video recordings of the murder to the prosecution.
Besides, if he left right now, he’d make it back to Dorkin in time to meet Carolyn for lunch.
Dancing With The Fat Woman 