"Given the blood evidence, I'd say yes. He was killed somewhere else." Scott pointed to the vic's pants. "And we found small flecks of some kind on his pant legs and hands. We've sent samples to trace, but it'll take time to process. You'll have to check back with me in a day or two. The lab's backed up."
"Speaking of his hands, anything on them or under his nails?" Raven asked.
"We scraped under his nails, no apparent DNA evidence. But we did find GSR on his hands. Looks like the guy tried to defend himself. With an empty holster, you'll be looking for a gun, too."
"We've got a check going for his permit to carry. Once we get that, we'll start the search for his missing weapon," Tony replied. "Anything on the wound? Time of death?" He glanced at the ME.
"From the angle of the cut, left to right, you'll be looking for a right-handed person. Not much help there. The slice was clean, no serrated edge to the blade. An incised wound transecting the left and right common carotid artery as well as both jugular veins, causing a fatal hemorrhage." The ME pointed a gloved hand to Blair's throat. "And as for time of death, the chill in the church distorted the time line, but my estimate would put TOD at approximately two hours prior to when the body was discovered and called in to nine-one-one. The absence of rigor at the church gave us that. I'll let you know if I change my estimate after the autopsy."
"I'll let you know what we find," Scott replied. "Oh, and as for the trace evidence on his clothes and hands, I'll get the analysis bumped up. Put a rush on it."
"You giving us special treatment?" Tony teased, his dark eyes crimped with humor, putting Raven more at ease.
"Not for you, you ugly SOB. This one's for Mackenzie. I mean, it's not like I've never heard the word 'rush' before."
Tony grinned. "Well, thanks for the enlightenment. Call me when you have a report. I'll pick it up." Her partner stepped away from the gurney, tugging at his surgical gown.
Raven followed, yanking at her latex gloves. Catching a look from her partner, she asked, "What? Spit it out."
"I think I'm getting an allergy toward coincidences, Raven. And right now, I got hives in every nook and cranny of my body."
"That's an image I didn't need," she replied. "You talking about the paintball thing?" After he nodded, she heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I know. All my training tells me I should like him for this, but my gut says this is all wrong."
"Are you sure it's your gut?" He stopped and turned toward her. "Maybe your libido is doing all the talking." When she glared at him and opened her mouth to speak, he interrupted her. "Look, Mac, you're a good cop. I trust you with my life, but the coincidences are adding up. We gotta look hard at this guy. Can you do that?"
Without hesitation, she answered, "Yes, I can. I've built my life on the law, Tony. It was a gift from my father, the only thing that grounded me after his death. Central Station is my family, for crying out loud." Fixing her gaze on him, she added, "But I gotta trust my instincts on this and speak my mind to my partner. Can you accept that?"
He searched her eyes for a long moment, then his expression softened. "Yeah, I can do that. I just had to check. Come on. The chief is waiting. And we gotta make nice for the media. Glad I wore my best clip-on tie."
"You mean you've got more than one?" Raven followed Tony, but her mind dwelled on her reaction to Christian as a man. How could she explain something she didn't understand herself? And her partner had been right on another count. She had to keep her mind focused on the objective. If Delacorte was the killer, she wouldn't have the luxury to ponder her feelings. Tony might press for his arrest, and she'd have no choice but to do her job.
As Christian entered the Dunhill mansion through the kitchen, he found it spotless, without the normal activity. Fiona dined at this hour and usually invited him to join her. But they hadn't made such arrangements today with his late drive into town. The lights were dimmed. Peering around the stainless pots and pans hanging over the large butcher-block table, he spied the gas stove glistening in the pale light, cold as the room in which he stood.
A white envelope lay atop the butcher-block table, his name penned with Fiona's elegant script. Without opening the note, he knew what would be inside—the emptiness of the manor closed in on him, telling him all he needed to know.
He picked up the stationery and walked toward the night light, placing the page on the counter. As he suspected, Fiona had left for Paris, a sudden meeting with associates. He knew from experience that whenever she used the word "associates," she meant the side of the business she'd always kept hidden—to protect him. When he was younger, he'd hated the fact that she guarded her secrets. Now he understood her intentions, and loved her all the more for it.
Absentmindedly, he wandered through the darkened house toward her master suite upstairs. He flipped the light switch. Treading by her elaborately carved four-poster bed into the vast dressing area encircled by mirrors, he noticed her luggage gone. His heart sank.
She'd taken all of it. Fiona planned to be gone a long time.
"Damn it, Fie!" he cursed under his breath.
His voice sounded foreign even to his own ear. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his cell phone and pressed the direct dial he knew well. Maybe if he told her what he'd found out, she'd come home to help him make sense of it. But as Fiona's phone rang, a faint noise echoed in the master bedroom. His shoulder slumped. The sound came from atop her dresser.
Fiona had left her cell phone, severing another link between them. Set near the phone, another note had been placed on her bureau, meant for his eyes alone.
My Darling—
It pains me to leave you this way. I trust you completely, but the police are another matter. My phone would be a beacon for them to locate me. I hope you understand.
Be assured, this is not permanent. I need time to clear my head and figure out what to do. Until then, I have key Dunhill personnel assigned to take care of my business affairs, legitimate and otherwise.
I will find you when it is safe. Know that I love you with all my heart, but my freedom and my life are at stake. My greatest wish is to see you happily married with children. I will not let my past sins tear apart my hopes for you, dearest.
All my love—
F
"What are you hiding?" he whispered.
She was protecting him from her own past. His heart wouldn't allow him to believe anything else. She probably didn't know the police were directing their investigation his way. For now, he'd keep that tidbit from her. She had enough on her mind if she was desperate enough to flee the country without him. Christian ripped the note in half, slipping it into his pocket to be burned downstairs. Fiona's note wouldn't become evidence against her.
Hitting another speed dial, he rang the hangar for the Dunhill jet. On the third ring, a man answered. "Dunhill hangar. Cooper here," the voice burdened with the boredom of night shift.
"Hey Coop. This is Christian. Just checking to see if Fiona got off okay."
"Yeah, before my shift." The man's voice was touched with concern. "Anything wrong?"
"No, everything's okay. Just checking on her flight plan." His effort at nonchalance made the call sound strained.
"Let me get it for you. Hold on a sec." The silence dragged on, an eternity. If he knew where she was, he might be able to—
"Well, this is strange." Papers rustled in the background. Christian resisted the urge to ask what the man meant by strange. He already knew.
Cooper finally spoke. "The only flight plan is to Lanchester, a small private airstrip outside London. Looks like they touched down to refuel, then took off again, about an hour ago. No plan listed after that. Do you want me to make contact with the jet?"