“Victim identity verified as Anthony Strazza of this address.” She took out a gauge. “TOD, zero-one-hundred-twenty-six. COD to be determined by ME, but by visual exam of primary, most likely the skull fracture.”
“That would do it,” Roarke said from behind her. “No safe in the wife’s closet. I’d suggest the one in his is large enough to hold her jewelry and any he might have had. And I’ll take a look at the one upstairs.”
“Check the security feed first, would you? He likely cleared it out or compromised it, but we could get lucky. And the doors and alarms.”
“As an expert consultant, I’d have to say burglary wasn’t the point here, or not the primary one.”
“No, just a really big bonus to top off rape and murder.” She started to reach for her ’link. “Damn it. My ’link’s in that shiny thing.”
“No, it’s in your field kit, and the shiny thing’s now empty in the car.”
“Oh, yeah, here it is. Thanks. Look, I’m going to tell Peabody to bring McNab, as this place is loaded with electronics. You could head home, catch some sleep.”
When he just raised his eyebrows, she shrugged. “Or not.”
“Or not. I can tell you the … intruder bashed the components in the security room. As I was clearing I didn’t look beyond that, or the droids—a trio of house droids, also smashed.”
“He likes violence—animate or inanimate. Whatever you can get.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Alone, Eve looked down at the body, thought about just what one human could do to another.
And called it in.
2
With the crime scene and the body in situ on record, Eve rolled the victim.
“Multiple facial injuries. From fist and some sort of sap, I’d say. Nicks and shallow cuts on the throat. Similar to those inflicted on the second victim. No sign Strazza was gagged during the assault. Bound to the chair, restrained at the wrist. Zip-tie restraints still on wrists.”
She angled for a close zoom on the thin plastic.
“Fought those. We’ve got deep lacerations and contusions at the wrists, what appear to be splinters from the chair both in the flesh and stuck—by blood and bits of adhesive—to the zip ties. Some tape still attached to the pant legs, the sleeves of the jacket. Vic’s knuckles are bruised, so he might’ve gotten a couple shots in.”
She eased back a little, studied the shattered chair.
“Broke the chair, broke out of the chair, went for the assailant. That’s how it reads. Assailant grabs the big-ass vase, bashes him—temple wound—frontal assault there. Puts him down. Then bam, wham, finishes him where he lays.
“What does she do?” Eve wondered as she took samples of blood from several locations, labeled, sealed them. Still crouched, she studied the blood on the footboard.
“Second vic has a head wound. Gash at back of the head. Does she try to help, get knocked back? Hits her head, passes out. Maybe. Wakes up, in shock, concussed, disoriented. Brain just shuts down so she walks out, goes downstairs, goes outside—naked.”
Eve blew out a breath. At eight years of age, she’d been beaten and raped, and had walked in that dreamy fugue state away from the dead—covered in blood not all her own—out on the street.
“The mind shuts down,” she murmured, “so it doesn’t go crazy.”
She stood up, breathed in, shut her eyes—shut out those memories. She couldn’t allow them to color the now. Tried instead to see how it had been in the here, in the present.
Dinner party’s over, time for bed. Did they walk up together, chatting about who’d said what? That sort of postgame commentary. They walk into the bedroom, surrounded by that illusion of safety, by that quiet fatigue of having a social event over and done.
Was he waiting for them in here? Someone they knew? One of the party staff? Caterer, valet, server? Or someone who took advantage of the comings and goings, slipped in, strolled upstairs.
Cased the house first—knew enough about the house first. Had to.
Incapacitate the biggest threat—Strazza. One way or the other. Grab the woman, knife to the throat. Or knock him down and out. Take him out—smarter—smack the woman around a little. Maybe force her to bind the husband to the chair, zip the ties around the arms of the chair. Restrain her, too. On the bed, tie her to the posts.
Frowning, Eve picked up the white dress from the floor, studied the lacy underwear.
No, no, he didn’t rip or cut this off her. Made her strip, made her strip down. Made the husband watch. Wants that power, wants the husband to be helpless, enraged.
She looked over as Roarke came back. “Does he get the codes for the safes first—get that out of the way? I won’t hurt her/you. I just want what you’ve got. She didn’t have the codes.”
“You’re sure of that?”