No reply.
Letterman nodded to the officer beside him. “Break it down.”
Inside, the detective pointed two officers in the direction of the rear hall, another to the bedroom that opened off the main room. He took the kitchen, himself.
“Back here,” an officer called.
The corpse lay sprawled over an easel, skewered to the canvas by a spearfishing spear. Letterman directed everyone out, speed-dialed CSU. “Take five, guys, while forensics does their thing.”
As they walked down the hall, raised voices emanated from the main room. “You can’t come in here, sir—what happened to the door?—sir, please step outside.”
Letterman flashed his badge. “Please exit the crime scene, Mister...”
“Oneus. Paul Oneus. My brother lives here.”
“Perhaps. But right now we have a murder victim in the...painting room.”
“Studio, Ham,” one of the officers said.
“Right. Ah, here come the lab boys, Rosencranz and Guildenstern. Rosey, shoot me a pic of the vic, see if Mr. Oneus can ID him.”
“Yeah,” Oneus said a moment later, looking at the screen of Rosencranz’s iPhone. “My baby brother, Dennis Mark.”
“OK,” Letterman said. “Let’s step into the vestibule. Maybe you can answer a few questions for me. Sooner we start, sooner we can catch your brother’s killer. When did you last talk to Dennis?”
Instinctively, Letterman suspected Oneus. But he had no idea how rotten he would turn out in the end.
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