The huge bodyguard took a couple of big steps backward, lowered his shoulder, and charged. The door frame splintered as the force of his body ripped out the hinges and bolts, scattering pieces of wood all over the floor. Jerome stepped inside, kicking the debris to one side.
Hank’s apartment was small and modestly furnished. The doorway opened into the living area, which also included a small kitchenette. To the right was a short hallway that led through to a cramped bedroom and a bathroom. The apartment had been recently decorated with a new coat of magnolia paint, except for the hallway, which was still exposed drywall. Overall, the apartment was meticulously arranged and scrubbed clean, with nothing out of place. Nothing except for the dead body that was slumped up against the wall.
“No one’s here; place is deserted,” said Jerome, his hand still resting on his firearm as he returned from checking the other rooms.
Leopold knelt by the body. The dead man was wearing casual clothes, had short brown hair and was decorated with numerous ear piercings and tattoos. Leopold noticed tiny red marks on the inside of his elbow, probably from drug use. The dead man’s left wrist had been slashed, leaving a gash that ran half the length of his forearm. Thick, dark blood had pooled around his arms and legs, staining the carpet where he sat. He held a serrated knife in his right hand, the blade flecked with dried blood.
Mary knelt down next to Leopold and fished the man’s wallet from inside his back pocket, tilting the body slightly to allow her access.
“This is Hank,” said the sergeant, examining the driver’s licence and getting back up on her feet.
Leopold leaned in closer and examined the wound. Hank’s injuries appeared to have been caused by the serrated blade he was holding, judging by the tears in the flesh surrounding the deep gash on his arm. There were no other signs of injury on the body, although a full autopsy would be required to know for sure.
“Whoever did this took their time,” said the consultant, squinting closer at the deep cut. “The wound is very convincing.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mary, getting to her feet.
“Hank committing suicide is too great a coincidence, considering everything that’s happened,” said the consultant, frowning.
“Sure, I can buy that. But we’ll need more than circumstantial evidence to prove murder.”
“And there’s the rub. Whoever is leaving the trail of bodies is making them look just enough like suicides to give a jury enough reasonable doubt to throw out a murder charge.”
“There must be some evidence we can use.”.
“The blood pooling around Hank’s body is a little darker than I would have expected,” said Leopold, pointing to the stains on the carpet. “This happens when the heart isn’t pumping enough oxygen into the blood, and is usually caused when something constricts the oxygen supply.”
“Someone strangled him?” asked Jerome, from across the room.
“Not likely,” replied Leopold, “otherwise we’d see bruising around the neck. However, I do think his airways were constricted prior to death. Mostly likely something inserted into the wind pipe, which would be much harder to detect during an autopsy.”
“Why not just let him choke?” asked Mary.
“The point is to make it look like a suicide. People don’t usually dispatch themselves by sticking foreign objects into their windpipes, and if Hank had died prior to the wrists being cut we’d be able to tell. Judging by the lack of color around his face and lips, I’m certain it’s the blood loss that killed him.”
“So the killer stopped Hank breathing just long enough for him to pass out?” asked the police sergeant.
“Yes. Cutting off his oxygen for long enough beforehand would have made it far easier to arrange Hank in this position. If he’d struggled, the killer might not have been able to be so convincing.”
“Not convincing enough for you. But I’d imagine it’s convincing enough for a jury,” said Mary. “Just one question: How did the killer get out? The door was locked from the inside when we arrived.”
“Check the windows,” said Leopold.
Jerome unlatched the living room window, which opened just enough to fit his forearm through.
“The windows don’t open all the way,” he remarked. “No chance anyone could have fit their whole body through, even if they did ignore the fifty-foot drop.”
Leopold took a few minutes to examine the rest of the apartment. The tiny kitchen was littered with unopened mail that had been left on the countertop, and there was a strong smell of decomposing food coming from underneath the sink. He pulled open one of the cupboard doors and recoiled as the smell from the open garbage can hit his nose and he quickly shut the door again. He turned to leave, but noticed a letter lying open on top of the pile of junk mail. He picked it up and studied it carefully.
“Found anything?” asked Mary.
“Just a bank statement,” said Leopold. “Nothing unusual. We can use the account reference to check for any irregularities. Should save us getting a warrant, at least.”
Mary walked over and examined the piece of paper in the consultant’s hand.
“You can’t just hack in to someone’s private account.”
“Actually, I can,” said Leopold, punching Hank’s details into his cell phone. “I have a contact who can look into this sort of thing. I’ll send everything over. Shouldn’t take long.”
He hit the send button, ignoring the sergeant’s protestations, and turned his attention back to Hank’s body.
“We need to keep looking,” said Mary. “There must be something here that can explain what happened that doesn’t involve us breaking about fifty federal laws.”
“We can start with the laptop in the bedroom,” said Jerome. “There’s probably something on the hard drive we can use.”
The bodyguard led the way into the bedroom and pointed out the laptop, shoved into a corner of the bed and partially obscured by the pillows. The bedding and furniture was old, but the room itself had been recently redecorated, like the rest of the apartment. Leopold picked up the laptop and turned it on, taking a seat on the bed. The others peered in over his shoulder.
“This is definitely Christina’s laptop,” said Leopold, “judging by the number of college papers on here. Looks like she’s left her email open.”
He scrolled through the emails and noticed that among the unread messages, one sender kept jumping out.
“Cupid,” said the consultant, jabbing the screen with his index finger.
“Who?” said Mary.
“Christina has received at least a dozen emails from someone calling himself ‘Cupid.’ Looks like an anonymous sender.”
He opened up the latest message for them all to see. The message read:
I know what you did and I’m going to tell. You can’t hide from me any more. You’re going to get what’s coming to you.
Chapter 18
Senator Logan sat at the desk in his bedroom, staring intently at the bank of slim computer monitors in front of him. Stark couldn’t quite make out what the text read from where he was standing in the doorway, but it looked like a list of banking transactions.
“You asked to see me sir?” said the colonel, knocking softly on the open door.
“Yes, I need an update on Blake,” said Logan, turning off the monitors.
“They found Hank, sir. He’s dead.”
The senator turned his desk chair to face his chief security officer, a look of deep concern on his face. “This is very disturbing news,” he said. “Do they know what happened?”
“My team’s surveillance equipment picked up most of their conversation. Blake is saying Hank was murdered. They’ve also found a lead on Christina’s computer; it appears that someone was sending her threatening emails.”
“Threatening what?”
“We don’t know, sir. But we understand they’re going to try and track down the computer the messages were sent from.”
“Good,” said the senator. “Keep an eye on them. If they find anything, let me know immediately. I can’t afford any more delays.”