“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.”
“Will do. What about a shrink? We need to start a profile.”
“Carleton Pierce will be here at four. I’ve put Sutherland and Kane on standby.”
Noah dropped his cell in his pocket. “Let’s move. We have a deadline.”
Monday, February 22, 9:35 a.m.
Eve carefully placed the receiver in the cradle on her desk in the graduate office. “Fuck you, asshole,” she muttered.
A chuckle had her swiveling her chair. Callie sat behind her, laughing. “I knew you couldn’t hold it in. What was that all about, then?”
“I got a new leak in my roof, right over my bed. I moved my bed, but then it dripped into a bucket for the rest of the night. I didn’t sleep a wink.”
“You have to find a new place.” Callie brightened. “My building has a vacancy.”
“Your building costs twice as much as I can afford.”
“The concept is called a roommate.” Callie drew the word out. “My roommate and I split the rent and utilities and everybody is happy. You should get a roommate, too.”
“No.” After years of living with others, she wanted privacy. “My rent’s cheap.”
“Your rent is a gift. You’re just lucky that old woman liked you.”
Eve smiled sadly. “Mrs. Daulton liked everybody.”
“I know. And I know you miss her. How much longer till your lease runs out?”
“Six more months. And I’ll be damned if Myron Daulton gets his greedy little mitts on my house a second before that.”
“Um, Eve, it’s not your house. Legally, it’s his.”
“Greedy SOB, thinking he can run all his mother’s tenants out. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was up on the roof with an ice pick himself, making the damn leaks.”
“Now you’re sounding paranoid. So was the asshole on the phone the greedy SOB?”
“No, that was a roofer who does not fix roofs. He only talks to people buying new roofs. Who needs a brand-new roof, for God’s sake?”
“Sounds like you do. You shouldn’t be paying for repairs on somebody else’s house anyway. It’s not your responsibility. It might even be a lease violation.”
“Well, it’s moot, because I can’t get anyone to do it. I’m thinking that roofing would be a good skill to master. Lately I’ve done plumbing, some minor wiring…”
Callie’s eyes widened. “You’re not planning to fix your roof. You don’t like heights.”
“I like Myron less. I even called an old friend this morning to ask how I should do it.”
“What did he say?”
“I got his voicemail. He’ll call me back when he’s off shift.”
“You know him from the bar?”
“No, from back home. He’s a firefighter.”
“You touch your scar when you talk about Chicago,” Callie said quietly.
Eve yanked her hand from her cheek. “Which is why I don’t talk about it.”
“Don’t you miss them?” Callie asked. “Your family?”
Dana, Caroline, and Mia. The thought of them and their growing families, so far away, made Eve’s heart ache. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss them. “Yes. But I couldn’t stay.” To stay was to remember. To hide in the dark.
“At least Tom is here,” Callie said. “And me. But I ain’t helping with your roof.”
“Tom offered. He said he’d bring a half dozen friends when the season is over.”
Callie’s smile became wry. “Tom Hunter plus six college basketball players. On your roof. In the winter. You’re a foolish girl. If you’d wait till summer they’d work shirtless.”
“If I wait till summer, everything I own will be underwater and Myron Daulton will have won. I’ve got to go. I’ve got Abnormal in fifteen.” Eve reached to shut down her laptop, then stopped. Abruptly. “Oh my God,” she murmured staring at her email inbox.
“Eve, who is Martha Brisbane and why do you have her on Google Alert?”
Eve had put Martha on Google Alert a week ago, after she’d been missing from Shadowland for two days. Any mention of Martha on the Internet would be flagged.
And it had indeed. Her heart in her throat, Eve read the short article that had been published in today’s Mirror. Martha Brisbane, 42, was found dead in her apartment last night, the victim of an apparent suicide. She had hanged herself. The article went on, giving statistics of Twin Cities suicides, but Eve could only see one line.
Suicide. I should have seen this coming. I should have stopped it.
But Martha had spent eighteen hours a day in Shadowland for months before joining their study. Who knew what had driven her to do so? Still… Martha was dead.