Because You Loved Me by M. William Phelps Page A

the blood—from one end of the room to the other—was spattered. The pattern indicated some sort of struggle between Jeanne and her killer (or killers). There, though, among the blood spatter patterns across the floor and cabinets were several footprints, Jeanne’s among them. On the refrigerator was what looked to be a large bloody palm print.
    Heading toward the living room, Sprankle saw the remains of the coffee table, which had been broken in half, and then looked over toward the back door: the glass, quite significantly, had been pushed out, apparently from the inside. Jeanne’s killer had obviously walked into the house without a problem; yet, for some reason, perhaps pushed his or her way out, or struggled with Jeanne, knocking the glass out during what looked to be a fight for life and death.
    As officers had reported earlier, inside the kitchen sink was the handle of a knife. In the backyard were two more knives, which a cop roaming through the scene had found and pointed out to Linehan before he left.
    Kneeling down, looking over Jeanne’s body, DiGeronimo’s preliminary thesis was that there were dozens of stab wounds to her neck and throat, even on her head.
    It appeared, however, that nothing was missing from the house. Burglary being quickly ruled out, Sprankle and his fellow investigators roaming about the scene were left to wonder if Jeanne knew her attacker.

C HAPTER 21
     
    Parker Smith was inside his house, directly next door to Jeanne’s—“Still trying to figure out what was going on,” he said—when a cop knocked on his door.
    “Would you be willing to take a ride downtown and give us a statement?”
    “No problem. Any information I can give you guys, I want to help out.”
    (“I had no idea where Nicole and Billy were then,” remembered Parker. “I saw the cops take them out of Billy’s car and I had no idea where they went after. There were so many cops and plainclothes detectives walking around, it was hard to keep track of everything.”)
    At the station house, Parker told detectives exactly what he saw earlier that day—Nicole and Billy running around the backyard playing tag.
    “OK,” said one of the detectives.
    Parker could tell they were interested in something else, however.
    “Their clothes?” asked another detective. “Do you recall what they were wearing?”
    Parker thought about it.
    “Especially Billy,” the detective continued. “Would you have any idea what he had on?”
    “White sneakers, jeans and a white T-shirt,” Parker said without hesitation.
    (“I knew then,” he recalled, “what was going on—or at least I knew that Drew didn’t have anything to do with it.”)
    Without being asked, Parker offered the entire layout of the neighborhood as he remembered it throughout the day: where cars were parked, make, model and color included; when Nicole and Billy were home, when they left; who was home in the neighborhood during the day and who wasn’t.
    “We’re curious,” said one detective, “why you recall this all in such great detail?”
    “Well,” said Parker, “I think my wife is screwing around on me, so I’ve been paying attention to everything.”
    “Yeah, but…how can you remember all this?”
    “That’s why,” said Parker. He felt like they were badgering him. It made him uncomfortable. “Our separation came out of the blue to me, so I figure there’s somebody else involved, you know.”
    After Parker finished giving his statement, he was allowed to leave. He sat in the parking lot on the curb. His wife was on her way to the station house to give a statement. He figured he’d have a minute to smoke a cigarette and clear his mind before she arrived.
    What a damn night.
    While sitting in the parking lot, Parker saw a dark-colored sedan pull up in front of the NPD’s entrance. Then a plainclothes detective wearing jeans and a white T-shirt stepped out. The only reason Parker knew the guy was a detective was because he had his badge