"The police will get all the cooperation deserved, Detective." His voice low, he embellished his message. "I'll make sure of it."
Raven heard his underlying meaning clearly. A line had been drawn in the sand of mutual cooperation. Christian Delacorte had no intention of cooperating. She saw it in those captivating eyes. He'd conduct his own investigation, sharing only meaningless information under the guise of collaboration. He'd race ahead, outpacing her and Tony. And with the resources of Dunhill behind him, it would be an uphill battle to fight him.
Before she admitted defeat, her partner relieved the tension in the cramped room. "But don't you want your coffee? I brewed it myself." Tony held it out to Christian. "The city's finest."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Green eyes glared at Tony. "Some other time." Turning his attention back to her, he added, "Eight sharp, tomorrow. Coffee will be on me."
After Delacorte left, Tony closed the door, lowering his voice. "That's one cool hombre. If he's our guy, it's gonna be tough to nail him. But I admire your grit, girl."
"I don't know, Tony. I don't like him for this. He's not our guy. But my gut tells me he knows something. It's in his eyes."
"Yeah, maybe. And off the record, you may not like him for the murder, but you like him fine otherwise." He grinned.
"What the hell are you talking about? He's a suspect in a murder investigation. I'd have to be pretty hard up to—"
Seeing his insufferable enjoyment, Raven stopped her flimsy justification and thumped him on the shoulder with a finger.
"Next you'll accuse me of cruising the mug books."
"Hey, not a bad idea. For my sister-in-law, that'd be a step up." He chuckled. "Protest all you want, Mackenzie, but a partner knows such things. You just got this soft feminine thing going on, in between all the chest butting and bullying you tried on him. Personally, I found it charming. Would've worked on me, if I was single and into women with handcuffs."
Walking out the door at her heels, he poked fun at himself—a full-time job. "Now I'm just an old married guy into women with handcuffs. There's a big difference."
Damn it! Her partner was a perceptive son of a gun. An endearing yet lethal quality when directed her way.
"Yeah, well, enough of that. Come on. We've got a medical examiner waiting."
Something had indeed just happened between her and Delacorte. And she hadn't been prepared for it. Next time, she would be.
Christian's mind reeled as he rode down the elevator. It'd taken all his discipline to keep his reaction to a minimum. Who the hell had killed Blair, leaving a clear message to him?
Seek the truth about what?
Fiona had kept something from him. He felt it as sure as his heart beat in his chest. But he knew the woman. It wouldn't be easy to persuade his surrogate mother to reveal her secret.
And the point Detective Mackenzie had made about Blair's expensive taste hit home, too. He wondered about it himself, having special insight into the man's earnings as his boss. Walking out the front door of the police station, he welcomed the chill. The cold kept him on edge and sharp.
Heading for the parking garage, he made a decision. He would confront Fiona, throwing himself on her mercy. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he felt certain she had no idea of the personal message directed at him, pinned to Blair's corpse.
Fiona had asked for his help in serving as the Dunhill liaison with the police, to be her eyes and ears in the investigation. He owed Fiona so much more than his loyalty. Perhaps it would make a difference if she knew he was nearly accused of the crime himself. That dark-haired detective with the fierce eyes looked like she'd rather lock him up and throw away the key.
One thing was certain. He'd conduct his own investigation. And he wasn't about to share anything with the damned police.
The naked body of Mickey Blair lay on a gurney pulled up to a sink, a sheet covering the lower extremity of the torso. No matter how many times Raven had observed an autopsy, she never got used to it. Medicinal odors mixed with the smell of death—a tang that triggered her worst memories. Long ago, she'd forced herself to get over the feeling that each victim's privacy had been invaded. Hell, in Blair's case, being sliced across the throat was the ultimate invasion.
Suited in surgical gowns, gloves, and masks with shields attached, Chief Medical Examiner Lucy Chapman and CSI Scott Farrell huddled over the corpse. A lab tech reviewed paperwork on a clipboard and labeled test tubes.
With a surgical gown draped loosely over her street clothes, Raven accompanied Tony into the room, slipping on latex gloves. Tony's voice echoed in the chamber. "We got a meeting with the chief in a half hour. Just wanted to see what you got so far. I know you've barely started."
"Actually, we found something interesting. It's not much, but it might give you a lead." Dr. Chapman spoke in monotone, with the composure of a CPA poring over a tedious tax return.
Raven admired her professionalism. Without any apparent emotion, the woman stood over Mickey with his gaping throat and shocked expression fixed at the time of his death. But under this light, Raven found it hard to dismiss the man's terror.
"When we removed his clothing, we found that pellet," the doctor explained. She pointed to a small plastic capsule bagged on a nearby counter. Raven bent to get a closer look at the evidence.
The medical examiner continued, "You'll need to confirm my suspicions, but one of my techs was familiar with that type of pellet. He says he's seen it used for paintball. Are you familiar with the game?"
Raven's stomach lurched. She knew what Tony would be thinking. She'd been trained to remain objective during an investigation, yet she found herself blinded to Delacorte's possible involvement. Blame it on her cop gut instinct—or had Christian tainted that, too? Damn it! With her eyes focused on the body, she fought to keep the emotion from her face.
"Yeah, just saw it played as a matter of fact." Her tone steady, she stepped back to the table, catching the eye of her partner. "But why wasn't the man plastered with paint? Wouldn't it have been on his clothes?"
"Good question, Detective. You're right, but not if the pellet had been filled with rubbing alcohol. It seems paintball pellets can be purchased separately. Filled by the buyer." The CSI man offered his opinion. "With rubbing alcohol, the sting of the pellet would be multiplied as it pummeled the body. It would explain the bruising."
Pointing to the man's temple and neck, Scott added, "He's got dark abrasions here from direct hits. See the breaks in the skin. His chest has only faint markings of impact, maybe lessened by his clothing. Still, it would have stung like hell, to be blasted with something like that. One of the pellets dropped into his shirt. We were lucky to find it."
"So we're looking for a sick bastard with a twisted game of paintball." Tony glanced at Raven with a grimace that spoke volumes. She knew Christian would be back at the top of her partner's suspect list. "Anything else?" he asked.
"Yeah. We've had a couple of other cases under a similar MO. Two homeless guys. Maybe a practice run using people that wouldn't be missed? The MO is too unique not to be connected. It's a theory." Scott offered his opinion with a clinical shrug. "And as you remember, his tie and coat were missing. Didn't find his tie stuck in a pocket, so those items are still gone. And buttons were torn from his shirt. You might get lucky and find them at the murder scene, if you find it."
"You still think he was killed elsewhere?" Tony confirmed.