Chapter 3 - Blood on the Parquet
Before I took my father to the hospital for proper X-rays, I demanded that the watch commander photograph every single injury. When Dad lifted his gray wool sweater, the room went dead silent. Across his lower left ribcage was a thick, purple-black hematoma shaped like a cylinder. The metal barrel of the bat had bruised deep into the muscle tissue, and there were matching defensive contusions running down his left forearm. He had raised his arm to shield his face when she swung at him.
The sergeant on duty, a veteran named Kowalski who replaced the rattled Officer Davis, immediately took digital photographs and confiscated Vanessa’s purse for processing. Eric tried to step in, muttering excuses, but I cut him off with a single glance that made him step back into the shadows. Once Dad was cleared with two cracked ribs, pain medication, and a signed medical affidavit from the county emergency room doctor, I secured him in a nearby hotel under my department credentials.
By six in the morning, the sun was barely cutting through a layer of dense gray fog as I pulled up to my father’s residence. The property was a historic four-bedroom brick craftsman set on three acres of prime commercial-adjacent land on the edge of town. My grandfather had built it with his own hands, and my father had tended the garden for nearly fifty years. But over the last six months, ever since Eric and Vanessa had convinced Dad to let them move in ""to help around the house,"" the property had transformed. Luxury leased sports cars sat in the crushed gravel driveway, and custom designer furniture crowded the once-cozy rooms.
I didn't enter alone. Knowing local procedure inside and out, I had called in an official request for a crime scene processing unit, accompanied by two Marion County sheriff deputies who were far more professional than the night-shift patrol. Vanessa was still being held at the station on suspicion of false reporting, but Eric had somehow secured a ride back to the house to gather belongings.
When I pushed through the front door, the heavy metallic stench of iron and chemical disinfectant hit my nose. Eric was in the front hallway, desperately scrubbing the hardwood floor with a rag soaked in bleach. The aluminum baseball bat lay on the kitchen counter, casually placed beside an open box of protein bars.
""What are you doing, Eric?"" I asked, leaning against the doorframe, my service weapon visible beneath my unbuttoned coat.
Eric jumped violently, knocking over a yellow bottle of industrial cleaner that spilled across the floorboards. ""Maya! God, you scared me. I’m just... I was cleaning up the mess from earlier. It was an accident. Vanessa just reacted out of fear, I swear to you! Dad came at her screaming about his checks, and she thought he was having an episode.""
""Is that why you're bleaching the wood before investigators can swab it?"" I asked, walking forward until I stood over him. ""Look at me, Eric. Look at your sister.""
He hesitated, his hands trembling violently beneath the rubber cleaning gloves. Finally, he looked up. His eyes were red, hollowed out by months of anxiety and submission to a sociopath. ""Maya, please don't ruin our lives. Vanessa didn't mean it. We just need Dad to take his medication and rest. He’s been getting so paranoid lately, accusing us of things...""
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""Accusing you of what?"" I asked, pulling a clear evidence bag from my pocket and picking up the baseball bat by its rubberized handle. ""Like signing over his power of attorney? Or maybe forged checks drawn from his grandfather's trust fund?""
Eric’s breath hitched. He tried to speak, but the words withered in his throat. I wasn't guessing; I had spent the entire drive from the hospital running financial background checks through our internal databases. Vanessa wasn't just a gym trainer. Two years ago, she had operated under a different maiden name in an adjacent state, where an elderly client had mysteriously willed her his entire vintage vehicle collection before dying of sudden cardiac arrest. The case had been settled out of court due to lack of hard physical evidence. But she wasn't dealing with a grieving, helpless family this time. She was dealing with me.
