Mackenzie found it a little unsettling to revisit the townhouses. While standing in the beautiful weather as they approached the neighbors' house, the knowledge that there was a bed in the next townhouse over that was coated in blood seemed surreal. Mackenzie suppressed a shudder and looked away from the Kurtzes' townhouse.
As she and Harrison made their way up the stairs to the neighbors' front door, Mackenzie's phone dinged, letting her know that she had received a text message. She pulled out the phone and saw that the text was from Ellington. She rolled her eyes as she read it.
How's the rookie working out for you? Miss me yet?
She nearly responded but didn't want to encourage him. She also didn't want to seem aloof or distracted in front of Harrison. She knew it was a conceited thing to think, but she was pretty sure he was looking to her as an example of sorts. Given that, she tucked her phone back into her pocket and walked up to the front door. She allowed Harrison to knock and he even did that with great caution and care.
Several seconds later, a flustered-looking woman answered the door. She looked to be in her mid-forties. She was dressed in a loose-fitting tank top and a pair of shorts that may as well have been nothing more than panties. She looked like she was probably a regular at the beach, and had obviously been to a plastic surgeon for her nose and possibly her breasts.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Are you Demi Stiller?"
"I am. Why?"
Mackenzie flashed her badge with an expert swiftness that she was getting much better at. "We're agents White and Harrison with the FBI. We were hoping to speak with you about your neighbors."
"That's fine, I guess," Demi said. "But we already spoke to the police."
"I know," Mackenzie said. "I was hoping to go a bit deeper. As I understand it, there was some frustration over the dog next door when they spoke to you."
"Yeah, there was," Demi said, ushering them in and closing the door behind them. "Of course, I had no idea that they had been killed when I made that call."
"Of course," Mackenzie said. "We're not here about that, anyway. We were hoping you might be able to give us some insights into their lives. Did you know them at all?"
Demi had led them to the kitchen, where Mackenzie and Harrison took a seat at the bar. The place was laid out just like the Kurtz residence. Mackenzie saw Harrison looking skeptically toward the stairs off of the adjoined living room.
"We weren't friends, if that's what you're asking," Demi said. "We'd say hi if we saw one another, you know? We grilled out on the back patio with them a few times, but that's about it."
"How long were they your neighbors?" Harrison asked.
"A little more than four years, I guess."
"And would you consider them good neighbors?" Mackenzie followed up.
Demi gave a little shrug. "For the most part. They had some noisy get-togethers here and there during football season but it wasn't too bad. I honestly almost didn't even call in the complaint about the stupid dog. The only reason I did is because no one answered the door over there when I knocked."
"I don't suppose you know if they ever had any regular guests, do you?"
"I don't think so," Demi said. "The cops asked the same sort of thing. My husband and I thought it over and I don't ever remember seeing any cars parked over there regularly unless it was their own."
"Well, do you know if they were involved in anything that might get us some people to talk to? Any sort of clubs or weird interests?"
"Not that I know of," Demi said. As she spoke, she was looking at the wall, as if trying to see through it and into the Kurtzes' townhouse. She looked a little sad, either for the loss of the Kurtzes or simply to have been dragged into the middle of this.
"You're certain?" Mackenzie pushed.
"Pretty certain, yeah. I think the husband played racquetball. I saw him going in a few times, just coming back from the gym. As for Julie, I don't know. I know she liked to draw but that's only because she showed me some of her stuff one time. But other than that…no. They pretty much stayed to themselves."
"Is there anything else about them-anything at all-that stands out to you?"
"Well," Demi said, still looking at the wall, "I know it's sort of lewd, but it was quite evident to my husband and me that the Kurtzes had quite an active sex life. The walls here are apparently thin-or the Kurtzes were very loud. I can't even tell you how many times we heard them. Sometimes it wasn't even just like muffled noises; they would be going at it, you know?"
"Anything violent?" Mackenzie asked.
"No, it never sounded like it," Demi said, now looking a little embarrassed. "They were just very enthusiastic. It was something we always wanted to complain to them about but never did. It's sort of embarrassing to bring it up, you know?"
"Sure," Mackenzie said. "You've mentioned your husband a few times. Where is he?"
"At work. He works a nine to five. I stay here and run a part-time editorial service, a work from home deal."
"Would you please ask him the same things I've asked you just to make sure I get all the possible information?" Mackenzie asked.
"Yes, of course."
"Thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Stiller. I may call you a little later if any other questions arise."
"That's fine," Demi said as she led them back toward the front door.
When they were outside and Demi Stiller had closed the door, Harrison looked back to the townhouse that Josh and Julie Kurtz had once called home. "So all we took away from that was the knowledge that they had a great sex life?" he asked.
"Seems like it," she said. "But that tells us that they had a strong marriage, perhaps. Add that to the statements from the family about their picture-perfect marriage and it makes it more challenging to find a reason for their murders. Or, on the other hand, it could be easier now. If they had a good marriage and stayed out of trouble, finding someone with something against them could prove to be easier. Now…take a look at your notes. Where would you choose to look next?"
Harrison seemed a little surprised that she had asked the question but he dutifully looked down at the notebook he kept his notes and files in. "We need to check out the first crime scene-the Sterling residence. The parents of the husband live six miles from the house, so it may be worth checking in with them."
"Sounds good to me," she said. "You got the addresses?"
She tossed him the car keys and headed for the passenger door. She took a moment to admire the look of surprise and pride on his face at the simple gesture as he caught the keys.
"Then lead the way," she said.
