The tech, Dana Tipton, rose up, and spotting Adler and Quinn, she backed up several steps so they could see the body.
Erika’s body lay propped against the dumpster. Her thick blond hair swooped around her neck and draped over her chest, but she was posed as Jennifer had been. Her clothes were intact, but her legs were spread and each hand rested on the inner thigh. Though Jennifer hadn’t been sexually assaulted, he couldn’t yet rule it out in this case. Some attackers made their victims redress, or they did it themselves postmortem. Again, the medical examiner would have to make the call.
Her manicured hands were scraped, torn, and bruised. Her yoga clothes were soaked in sweat and urine, and her white V-neck pullover was coated in grime, dirt, and blood. Her left slip-on shoe was missing.
Painted on her chest in red marker was a heart that resembled the one found in Jennifer’s shower.
Adler squatted, and using the tip of a pen, pushed back the top fold of Erika’s pullover. One deep knife cut slashed across her jugular.
“Wound is consistent with Jennifer Ralston’s,” Quinn said.
“But there’s no blood around her. Her clothes are soaked, but no blood. And the urine smell and the trauma to her hands suggest she was held somewhere before she was killed. If it’s the same guy, he’s changed tactics.”
“Why hold her for several days, kill her, and bring her here?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know.” Adler studied the victim’s pale-blue lips. “And unless Kaitlin healed magically and escaped the hospital, she couldn’t have done this.”
“No, she couldn’t,” Quinn conceded.
“You sound disappointed,” Adler said.
“John, I don’t trust her.”
Erika’s engagement ring was still on her finger. “Our anonymous caller didn’t take her rings,” Adler said.
“Maybe he was spooked,” Quinn said.
“Very possible. But down here, a ring like that doesn’t last long. When did the 911 call come in?” Adler asked.
“At 9:02 p.m. A uniform was on scene by 9:07 p.m.”
“Did the officer see anyone loitering around?”
“No.” She studied the large diamond catching the forensic technician’s light. “You think the killer called it in?”
“Whoever killed her wasn’t motivated by her diamonds.”
Her wrists were red and dotted with a sticky substance, suggesting she had been restrained with tape of some kind. The same material dotted her pale and drawn lips. “Where the hell has she been the last few days?” he said, more to himself.
“She wasn’t killed here,” Dana said. “The lack of blood, as well as the lividity on her backside, proves that.” Dana tilted the body forward and lifted the shirt to reveal the black-and-blue markings. When the heart stopped pumping, the blood settled at the lowest point. “In her case, it was her entire back and buttocks, suggesting after she died she was laid on her back. As you can see she’s been propped up here.”
Adler stared around the dark alley. It was a half block off Eighteenth Street, wedged between two buildings, and neither wall facing the alley had windows or a camera. They were less than five blocks from Jennifer’s house and less than a block from Kaitlin’s apartment. It occurred to him it would have been easy enough for the killer to pose her body and leave in a matter of minutes.
“How long do you think she’s been dead?” Adler asked.
“Rough guess?” Dana asked. “Twenty-four hours give or take. Rigor mortis has come and gone.”
“Did cold weather conditions prolong it?” Adler asked.
“I don’t think so. I’m assuming the body was kept in a warm place,” Dana said.
“That puts time of death around two or three p.m. yesterday,” Adler said.
“She bled out quickly,” Dana added. “The knife wound was on target.”
“She’s murdered, he lays her out for twenty-plus hours, and then brings her here. Why the delay?”
“The million-dollar question,” Quinn said.
He rose and stepped back. “Dana, is that heart painted in blood?”
“It’s marker,” she said.
“Thanks, Dana,” he said. “Let me know if you find anything else.”
“It’s going to take us a few hours to process this scene.”
“All right. Keep me posted.”
As he and Quinn walked to the end of the alley, he thought about his conversation with Kaitlin. “Jennifer’s and Erika’s deaths are tied to Gina. Now I need to prove it.”
Adler and Quinn spent most of the night talking to business owners near the alley, hoping someone had seen something. One bartender thought he’d spotted a truck vanish into the alley but had no details to give.
Through the course of the night, Adler placed three calls and left messages on Brad Crowley’s cell before the return call came after sunrise. Adler and Quinn were going through a drive-through and he’d just made twin orders of an egg biscuit, hash browns, and coffee when his phone rang.
He answered, “Mr. Crowley. Thank you for calling me back.” He nodded to the cashier, accepted his credit card, and pulled ahead into a parking spot.
“Have you found my wife?” Crowley sounded annoyed, almost put out. In the background, the downbeat of rock music pulsed.
Adler stared ahead. “I’d like to meet you in person.”
“Can’t you answer my question?” Crowley demanded.
“Not over the phone.”
“Why not? Tell me!”
Crowley sounded more the bully than a man worried about his wife. Quinn heard Crowley’s outburst, and she bit her lip to keep from saying something.
Adler reached for his coffee. “I’ll meet you in person.”
Crowley said in a softer tone, “I’m sorry to sound annoyed. I’ve not slept much in the last couple of weeks.”
“Where can we meet?” Adler said.
“I’ve been staying at my hotel since I saw you last.”
“We’ll meet you there,” Adler said.
“That’s not the place to meet. Can’t you just tell me?”
“No.”
Finally Crowley said, “My attorney’s office is the best place.” He rattled off the address. “I can be there in a half hour.”
So they were playing hardball. Fine. “See you then.” He hung up. “Crowley wants to meet at his attorney’s office, who just happens to be Derek Blackstone.”
“Really?” Quinn said as he handed her an egg-and-bacon biscuit. “This should be fun.”
As he snatched a hash brown from his bag, she took a large bite of her biscuit. It was their first meal in twelve hours. The food was good and satisfying, to a point, but they ate every bite. After tossing their trash, he and Quinn covered the drive to the lawyer’s office in fifteen minutes.
Blackstone’s office was located in a hundred-year-old Colonial Revival building on the Boulevard. It wasn’t glitzy, but every detail was meticulous, from the grounds and trimmed boxwoods to the painted trim around the arched windows and the brick herringbone driveway.
Out of the car, he matched Quinn’s quick, determined strides as she moved toward the front entrance. She pulled off her glasses, taking a moment to clean the lens with the hem of her shirt. “Can I be the bearer of bad news? Normally, I don’t enjoy this kind of thing, but I don’t like Mr. Crowley.”
“He’s all yours.”
She tucked the glasses in her coat pocket. “You’re too good to me.”
They walked inside and showed their badges to a young receptionist with dark hair that swept over her shoulders. She didn’t look surprised by their badges as she picked up the phone and announced them. “I can show you to the conference room.”
“Thank you,” Adler said.
They traveled down a short hallway and into a conference room with a large window that faced the front parking lot. There was no sign of Crowley or his attorney.
The receptionist offered coffee. They both declined. Adler opted to sit. Quinn paced. They waited almost five minutes before the door opened to Crowley. His hair was neatly combed, and he was wearing khakis, a dark V-neck sweater, and polished loafers.
Blackstone stood behind Crowley. He wore a charcoal-gray suit, white shirt, and blue tie. A gold Rolex on Blackstone’s wrist caught the sunlight leaking in through the shades.
“Mr. Blackstone, good to see you again,” Adler said.