Her Final Confession

Chapter Twenty-Six

PRESENT DAY

Denton, Pennsylvania

Denton City Park was a green space between the college campus and Denton’s Main Street where residents walked their dogs, jogged, and held community events. Margie and Joel Wilkins’ single-story ranch-style home was one block away from the park, separated from the sidewalk by a white picket fence. Inside the fence, a large maple tree shaded the front porch. A wooden swing hung from one of its branches. On the porch, colorful potted flowers bracketed white wicker furniture. Josie and Noah stood just outside the gate, speaking with Mettner.

“They’re newlyweds,” he explained. “They were supposed to be in Philadelphia this morning. Apparently, they had planned to go on a cruise with a group of friends and Joel’s sister. When they didn’t show to board the ship, his sister called both their cell phones. Both went straight to voicemail, so she got freaked out. Called the department for a welfare check.”

Josie could tell by the pallor of Mettner’s face that he had been the one to do the check. “Both deceased?” she asked.

Mettner nodded and wiped sweat from his brow, even though it was a crisp fall day. “Yeah. The wife’s in the living room. The husband is in the back of the house, in the master bedroom.”

“You were the only one inside?” Noah asked.

Mettner nodded. “Just me, yeah. Then Hummel came by and helped me set up the perimeter.” He gestured over his shoulder to where Hummel stood at the Wilkins’ front door with his clipboard. “I didn’t disturb anything. I checked them both for pulses even though—” He broke off and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“It’s okay,” Josie told him. “It’s not something you get used to.”

Mettner shook his head like he was trying to shake off his distress. “I never saw a female victim. Not like that, you know? Her eyes… I just…”

Noah put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. Call the EMTs and the medical examiner, would you?”

“Sure thing.” With that, Mettner walked off to his patrol car.

Hummel was the unofficial head of their evidence response team, and his vehicle was equipped with everything they’d need to secure and process a scene. He’d left it unlocked so that Josie and Noah could don Tyvek suits and gloves before making their way to the front porch.

“Three homicides in one week,” Hummel commented as he signed them into the crime scene log.

The fact hadn’t escaped Josie’s notice. Her stomach did a somersault as she and Noah entered the house. The interior was just as homey as the outside. The front door opened right into the living room. Shiny hardwood floors creaked beneath their feet. The room was bright and welcoming, with cream walls and two overstuffed blue couches circling a low, glass-topped coffee table. A colorful faux floral arrangement reached from its vase atop the table. Beneath the table a lush periwinkle area carpet cushioned Margie Wilkins’s naked body. The young woman was face-up, mouth yawning open, eyes bulging from her head. The last terrifying moments of her life were frozen on her face. Josie could see why Mettner had gotten so flustered. She was young—probably early to mid-twenties, Josie guessed. They’d find out soon enough when they finished processing the scene and talked to family members.

With a sigh, Josie knelt beside the woman, careful not to disturb anything before her ERT could photograph the scene. “She was strangled.” She pointed to the finger-shaped purple and pink bruising on Margie Wilkins’s delicate neck. “Look, you can see where the killer wrapped his hands around her neck. And here—” She gestured to her throat. “Those are thumb prints.”

Noah had his notebook out, sketching out the scene and writing things down as Josie spoke. “Bruising on her inner thighs as well. It’s likely she was sexually assaulted.” She stood and took a moment of silence for Margie Wilkins. No one should have to die like this, she thought. To Noah, she said, “Get her photographed right away and cover her up, please.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Josie took a slow pan of the room. For the violence that had been visited on Margie, the room itself was curiously devoid of detritus. “There wasn’t a struggle,” Josie said.

“You think the husband killed her?” Noah asked. “Domestic dispute? Murder-suicide?”

“I don’t know. Let’s take a look at his body.”

They made their way down a cheerily decorated hall dotted with various framed photos of the couple—half appeared to be vacation photos from different exotic locations where they’d gone camping, rock climbing, and white water rafting, and the other half were obviously from their wedding. Interspersed among the photos were small, painted wooden signs that said things like, This is our happily ever after and All because two people fell in love. Josie stopped to study one photo of the two of them on their wedding day, standing at the edge of a lake at sunset, gazing lovingly at one another. In life, Margie had been pretty, but most of her attractiveness seemed to come from an inner glow of happiness.

Josie tore herself away and followed Noah into a bedroom at the end of the hallway. It was considerably darker, the room-darkening miniblinds shut tight against the sunlight. A large queen-sized bed dominated the room, its teal and green floral-print comforter pushed to one side of the bed. Two open suitcases filled with clothes lay on the floor near an open closet door. They’d been in the process of packing for their cruise. Or maybe they’d packed most of their things and left their suitcases open to throw in the last of their things in the morning.

“We need to know the last time anyone heard from them,” Josie said.

Noah scribbled on his notepad.

“Here he is,” she said, moving toward one side of the bed. On the floor between the bed and the wall lay Joel Wilkins. “And this was not a murder-suicide.”