“Not so far,” Noah said. “Martha was a little older, self-employed. Samantha was downsized from a manufacturing job and found two days after she died, by her parents. Martha was dead at least a week, but no one reported her missing. We didn’t find an address book, but whoever hung her probably took it. Her desk was too damn clean.”
“The lab’s going over her computer, checking emails, contacts,” Jack added. “She was a computer consultant, so we should at least find a client list on her PC.”
“Motive? Any suspects?”
“Martha’s mother knows something,” Noah said. “We’ll pay her another visit today.”
“And we still haven’t heard from Mrs. Kobrecki, the building manager,” Jack said.
“Grandmother of the panty pervert,” Abbott said.
“He’s got a jacket,” Noah said. “Three complaints from former building residents, all improper advances. Nothing came of them. It was always he said, she said.”
“Go get the ‘she said’ from the women who lodged the complaints. See if anything pops. And find out if the grandson would have any contact with the first victim.” Abbott hesitated. “So for the million-dollar question. Do we think there are any other victims?”
“No,” Noah said. “We’ve gone through the reports on all the suicides in the Twin Cities going back two years. No scenes resemble the two we’re dealing with.”
Abbott looked relieved. “That’s something, at least. Have you heard from the ME?”
“Not yet,” Jack said, “but we’re expecting to any moment. Ian normally starts autopsies after the morgue’s morning review. He knows this one’s a high priority.”
“Well, hurry it up. I don’t want the press getting wind of this until we know what’s what. We just got rid of all those damn reporters from the magazine.”
“I saw reporters last night,” Jack said. “They’ve been shadowing us for three weeks.”
“They’re shadowing everyone in the department.” Abbott pushed away from Jack’s desk. “Don’t do anything exciting and maybe they’ll go away.”
The phone rang and Jack picked up. “Ian’s got something,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Monday, February 22, 7:30 a.m.
Liza Barkley frowned at her cell. Lindsay had never come home. She hadn’t called and she wasn’t picking up. If her sister was going to be late, she always called.
Liza bit at her lip, wondering what to do. She didn’t know any of Lindsay’s friends anymore and had never called the cleaning service where she worked.
But if she didn’t leave the apartment now, she’d miss her bus. Maybe Lin met a friend for breakfast. Liza hoped so. Lindsay worked so hard, her social life had become more endangered than the blue whale, the subject of Liza’s second-period science test. She slipped her cell into her pocket. Call me, Lin. Let me know you’re okay.
Monday, February 22, 8:15 a.m.
He folded his newspaper. Martha’s suicide was way back in the Metro section, but it was there. Soon Martha’s murder would be headlines, maybe as early as tomorrow. That would depend on how skilled the ME was, he supposed. And then, he’d be front-page news, every day. Coverage would explode when they found Christy Lewis hanging from her bedroom ceiling. SERIAL KILLER STALKS WOMEN, the headline would read.
He’d have to keep clippings. He smiled. Frame and hang them in my basement.
That the dynamic duo had caught Brisbane’s case would only help. They were media darlings, after all. The press would hang on their every word, put every missed clue under the microscope. Then the headlines would change. POLICE CLUELESS.
He wondered how long it would take someone to find Christy Lewis. She’d be missed faster than Martha. Although she was divorced and her parents were deceased, she had a job and daily contact with people in the real world. Unlike Martha, who had lived in Shadowland.
Christy should be discovered by tomorrow when she failed to show up for work a second day. He didn’t have time to rest. He had to start preparing for his fifth of six.
Monday, February 22, 8:32 a.m.
“You work fast, Ian,” Noah commented. “I didn’t expect a ruling until later.”
“I don’t have anything official yet,” Ian Gilles said. “Where’s Jack?”
“Right here.” Jack came through the door, perturbed. “I got delayed outside by a reporter. Wanted to know why we had two CSU vans at a suicide last night.”
“What did you tell him?” Noah asked.
Jack shrugged. “ ‘No comment.’ What else could I say? So, what do you have, Ian?”
Ian tilted Brisbane’s head so that her throat was exposed. “I haven’t started the autopsy yet, but I thought you should see this. Right in the middle of the ligature marks is a needle puncture. The rope was placed precisely so the puncture would be hidden.”
“Injected with what?” Noah asked.
“Don’t know yet. Urine tox didn’t show anything. I’m expecting results from the blood test this afternoon. So far, no other obvious injuries, the X-rays show no broken bones, and I found no evidence of any sexual activity.”
“Did you check the suicide Dixon processed last week?” Noah asked.
“Janice did that exam. She’s at the national ME’s convention, but I read her report.”
“What do MEs do at a convention?” Jack asked. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“Probably not,” Ian said without a trace of humor. “Janice noted that establishing time of death was difficult as the deceased’s window was open.”
“Same as Martha,” Jack said, nodding toward the body on the table.
“Right. Samantha’s eyelids were glued open with super glue, same as this victim.”
“Didn’t that send up any alarms?” Jack asked, and Ian shrugged.
“We see people do weird things. All the other signs of suicidal hanging were there.”
“What about the puncture wound?” Noah asked. “Does Samantha have one?”
“I think so. Janice took a photo of Samantha’s ligature wounds. I blew it up. You lose resolution, but I’m pretty sure I saw a puncture wound. I’ll need to re-examine the body to be sure. Unfortunately we released the body to the funeral home a week ago.”
Jack grimaced. “Exhumation?”
Noah nodded, resigned. “How long to get an exam on Samantha Altman?”
“I’ll start as soon as the body arrives. I had the blood samples from her autopsy pulled from storage this morning and they’re already submitted for the same blood tests I ordered for Martha. That’s all I can do until I get the body back.”
Noah put on his hat. “We’re going to interview the Altman family today. We’ll grease the skids for the exhumation order. You’ll call us when Martha’s autopsy is finished?”
“Absolutely.” Ian pushed the gurney into the examination room.
“Next stop Altman family?” Jack said.
“I’ll drive.” They’d gotten to Noah’s car when his cell rang. “Webster.”
“It’s Abbott.” Who sounded displeased. “Brisbane’s suicide hit the papers and I just got a call from a reporter who said he would’ve called it a homicide on page one, but his editor wouldn’t allow it without corroboration. Apparently he got corroboration because he’s saying his next headline will be ‘More Than a Suicide.’ Which of you corroborated?”
“Neither. Jack was approached, but said ‘no comment.’ Who was this guy?”
“Name was Kurt Buckland. How close are you to having an official homicide ruling?”
“Ian’s doing the autopsy this morning, but he found signs that Brisbane was drugged. We’re going to interview the Altman family while Ian files for exhumation.”
“Good. I’ll give a statement as soon as Ian rules it a homicide. That’ll take some of the wind out of the reporter’s headline. Be back at four. Tell Micki to be here.”