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force.
    Detective Wayne Crotty, a plainclothes homicide veteran with a Novocain grin, had a notepad and pen in hand. He was interviewing Anderson’s elderly neighbor when Anderson moved past them.
    “Where you going?” Crotty said to Anderson, able to grab him by the shoulder.
    “This is his house.” The elderly neighbor quickly offered.
    “My wife and daughter?” Anderson asked, almost disembodied.
    Crotty passed a look to Gene Peterson, another detective nearby with a numbed demeanor who had only half the mileage Crotty possessed. The look between them told Anderson all he needed to know.
    Anderson started for the front door.
    “Sir, you can’t go in there right now.” Crotty said, scooting to get in front of Anderson, putting his arm up to stop him. “Please, you’ll contaminate the crime scene.“
    Anderson started to push past him when a uniformed officer standing guard at the front door moved up in a defensive posture and Peterson sidestepped over from his crime site coordination duties with some orange-vested detectives to help Crotty secure Anderson.
    “Sir, work with us, please. You can’t do them any good right now.” Crotty entreated.
    Anderson stopped resisting as the front door was suddenly opened from the inside by a gloved tech. The tech was holding the door back for another man wearing protective glasses over a surgical mask who was a forensic investigator from the Medical Examiner’s Office as he emerged from the interior of the house in a “bunny suit,” which also consisted of vinyl gloves, a hair net, disposable paper jumpsuit and shoe-coverings. The M.E. investigator signed his initials on a security sign-in sheet held out by the uniformed officer to log his exit from the premises.
    Spotlights were on in the house. Anderson, face haunted, could see through now to the family room where Karen’s naked body was visible on the floor, blood splattered everywhere.
    A reflection off the now dormant display of the big screen TV allowed Anderson a further glimpse of the pool deck beyond where a bunny-suited tech placed a floodlight by the edge of the water and where it appeared Tristan’s lifeless body was laying by the pool.
    Another pair of techs, also in bunny suits, methodically took photographs in each space.
    Flash!
    Flash!
    Flash!
    Every photograph was emblazoned like a snapshot on Anderson’s soul.
    Yet another group of evidence techs were donning their protective gear in preparation to go inside the house. They already knew the answer as to whether or not the Medical Examiner was going to give them the go ahead to begin to collect evidence. Search warrants had already been issued and were fairly automatic in these matters after a homicide scene was rendered secure. There would be no “crime scene exception.” The Supreme Court had already ruled that once the threat to life and limb had passed at a location, a warrantless search of a crime scene is unconstitutional. Get a warrant. Anyway, apparent victims turn into suspects all the time so save yourself the headache of a judge throwing out the evidence later.
    “You’re up on this one, Wayne?” The pallid M.E. investigator asked, referring to the possibility Crotty was assigned as Lead Investigator for this case.
    “Looks like it.” Crotty answered for both himself and Peterson. They had been hopeful about going off duty at 11 p.m. but that wasn’t going to happen now.
    “I’m officially pronouncing both victims dead at scene as of 10:37 p.m. Central Standard Time.” The M.E. investigator continued emotionless to Crotty who scribbled down the determination on his notepad while keeping a watchful eye on Anderson. It was always tricky dealing with distraught family members.
    The area outside the front door had become the forward command post of sorts, a deemed safe area where investigators could prepare and trade information without worrying about destroying potential evidence. Once the initial responding police officers and