Jimmy shook his head. ‘Doesn’t look like it. Her purse was out in plain view with a wad of cash in it, and we’ve got no jimmy marks anywhere. She either let him in, or the door was open and he let himself in.’
‘Or maybe he had a key, or knew where she kept a key,’ Gino added, making a note to check on repairmen, lawn service, anybody who might have had access.
Jimmy nodded. ‘Could be. By the way, the TV was on when we got here, but I turned it off after we dusted.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘Jerry Springer was on, and there was something obscene about listening to him while we were working this scene. Anyhow, I just turned her over to Anant, if you want to take a look before he moves her. I think he’s waiting for you.’
‘Thanks, Jimmy. Be in touch.’
He tried for a smile, but it never quite made it to his lips.
As they walked through the kitchen, Magozzi noticed a plate of homemade cookies sitting on the counter, carefully wrapped in plastic, violated by a dusty layer of black fingerprint powder.
Dr Anantanand Rambachan was standing quietly, almost prayerfully, over Rose Kleber’s crumpled body. She was slumped facedown on the floor in a large circle of rusty brown, close to a blood-splattered telephone. Even Anant seemed utterly bewildered by what he saw, which made Magozzi’s heart sink, because if there was a person alive who could make sense of the nonsensical, it was Dr Rambachan. If he was having trouble with this, there wasn’t any hope for the rest of them.
He looked up and gave them a sad, gentle nod. ‘Detectives Magozzi and Rolseth. I am delighted to see you both again despite the circumstances.’
‘You’re always saying that, Doc,’ Gino said kindly. ‘I think we all need to go out for a beer sometime, break the cycle, you know?’
‘Indeed, Detective Rolseth, I do know.’
‘Good to see you too, Dr Rambachan,’ Magozzi said.
He reciprocated with a broad, white smile that did wonders to improve everyone’s mood. ‘Detective, you have obviously been practicing your Hindi, because I am hearing marked improvement in your accent since last we met.’
‘Yeah, well, those night classes really help.’
Dr Rambachan cocked a brow at him, then smiled again. ‘I think you are joking. Very good.’
And then he was all business, slipping on a pair of latex gloves and crouching next to the body. ‘I’m going to turn this dear lady over now, and I must warn you, it might be difficult to look at. She has been dead for some time, and I’m sure you know that blood pools where gravity takes it…’ – he searched their faces, and added – ‘and uncirculated blood eventually turns black.’
They knew it, and Anant knew they knew it, but even with the warning, Gino recoiled when he saw Rose Kleber’s splotchy, blackened face.
They watched and waited for about a thousand years while Dr Rambachan did the on-site, punctuating the silence with an occasional observation, but there was nothing particularly strange about any of it, except for the fact that someone had gunned down an elderly woman in cold blood, in her own home, while she was watching TV.
Gino, who’d never quite achieved Anant’s or even Magozzi’s level of comfort with corpses, started to fidget. ‘Where’s the cat?’ he finally asked. ‘Jimmy said he got a lot of cat hair. That must mean there’s a cat somewhere.’
Dr Rambachan looked up. ‘I have not seen a cat.’
‘Wonder if the family took it home? What if they forgot?’
Magozzi gave him a wry glance. ‘Gee Gino, I don’t know. It’ll probably starve to death. Better go look for it.’
‘That’s just what I was thinking…’
‘This is curious,’ Dr Rambachan mumbled, stopping Gino in his tracks just as he was about to make his escape.
The doctor pushed back onto his heels and pointed to the inside of Rose Kleber’s arm. ‘Take a look, gentlemen.’
Gino and Magozzi both got closer than either of them wanted to, squinting as they tried to make out the details of a marking that was nearly obliterated by discoloration.
‘It would appear that this lady was also in a concentration camp, just as Mr Morey Gilbert was.’
‘Damn,’ Gino said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.’
‘Detectives?’ One of the crime-scene techs stepped in from the kitchen. ‘Might be just a coincidence, but I thought you’d want to know.’ He held up a small address book with a faded floral cover. ‘She’s got Morey Gilbert’s phone number in here.’
12
Jack Gilbert was sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of the nursery parking lot, a cooler full of beer at his feet. Some customers actually took him up on his offer of free Bud, but most gave the man in the pink sunglasses and neon yellow shorts a wide berth.
Marty stormed over for the third time in the past two hours, but now he was dragging a heavy-duty garden hose behind him, brandishing the power-wash attachment like a gun. ‘Come on, Jack. Get up. Time to relocate.’
‘Don’t aim that thing, ’less you mean to use it,’ Jack drawled with a lopsided grin.
‘Don’t tempt me. Jesus, what the hell is the matter with you? You’re scaring the customers.’
Jack peered up at him from behind pink lenses. ‘I’m not scaring anybody. In fact, I’m probably boosting sales by ten percent. I’m telling you, you get somebody buzzed and they buy twice as much. See that fat guy over there, the one with the sweat stains down his back? He came to buy a few basil plants, but after a couple brewskies, I convinced the son of a bitch to buy a whole flat so he could make pesto. Best part is, I don’t think he knows what pesto is.’
‘Just what are you doing here, Jack?’
‘Well, gee, Marty, I don’t know. I always thought relatives were supposed to get together and support each other when they were grieving, but now that I think of it, that was pretty dumb since it sure as hell didn’t work that way the last time somebody in this family got murdered.’
Martin felt as if he’d taken a hammer to the gut. Every sober moment of every single day he saw his wife bleeding to death in his arms; but seeing it and talking about it were two different things.
Jack eyed his expression with bleary interest. ‘Christ, Marty, what do you think? That if we never mention Hannah was murdered she’ll be less dead?’
‘Shut up, Jack.’
‘Oh-h, I get it.’ Jack was gesturing with his can, sloshing beer all over the place. ‘Hannah’s another one of those things this family never talks about, because if you don’t talk about it, it never happened, right? Well fuck that. Fuck all of you, because Hannah happened. Hannah was here, and it’s too goddamned bad you all want to forget about her, because she was the only Gilbert worth a shit.’ He pushed his silly pink sunglasses down his nose and glared defiantly up at Marty. ‘And you’re not the only one who misses her.’
And that was the one thing about Jack you had to remember, Marty thought. He was loud, obnoxious, in-your-face, and possibly the most irritating human being on the planet – but he loved unconditionally, even though few ever loved him back – and Hannah he had loved most of all.
Marty let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Where’s Becky?’
‘Becky, my wife? You mean the one no one in this family has ever met? Well, I think she’s getting Botox injections in her armpits today. Keeps you from sweating, did you know that?’
‘You know what I mean. Why isn’t she here with you?’
‘You mean like, loving wife supporting grieving husband, that sort of thing? Well, first of all we’re not talking, which precludes her being supportive in any way; and second of all, Lily would probably shoot her if she ever set foot on the property; and third of all, frankly, Becky just doesn’t give a shit.’
‘Oh. Sorry, Jack. I didn’t know it wasn’t working out.’
‘Hell, don’t be sorry, Marty. I got exactly what I wanted from this marriage. So did Becky, for that matter. You should see her new boobs.’ He popped open a new beer and drained half the can.