Chapter 114
IN THE LIGHT of the makeup mirror, the killer sat transfixed by soft blue eyes that were about to become gray. The first thing was to smear her hair until all the blond had been dyed away, then brush it back smooth, a hundred times, until it had lost its luster and shine. "You forced me into this," she said to the changing face. "Forced me to come out one more time. I should have expected as much. You love games, don't you, Nick?" With a cotton swab, she applied the base, a clear, sticky balm with a glue like smell. She dabbed it over her temples, down the curve of her chin, in the soft space between her upper lip and her nose. Then, with a tweezer, she matted on the hair. Tufts of reddish brown. The face was almost complete. But the eyes… anyone could see they were still hers. She slipped out a pair of tinted contacts from the case, moistening them, stretching her lids to insert each one. She blinked, well satisfied with the result. The familiarity was gone. The change was complete. Her eyes now reflected a steely, lifeless gray. Nicholas's color. She was him.
Chapter 115
CLAIRE'S CALL WOKE ME out of a deep sleep. "Come down here," her voice commanded. I blinked groggily at the clock. It was ten after five. "Come down where?" I moaned. "I'm at the damn office. In the damn lab. The guard at the front counter will let you in. Come right now." I heard the urgency in her voice, and it took only seconds for me to come to my senses. "You're at the lab?" "Since two-thirty, sleepyhead. It's about Nicholas Jenks. I think I found something, and Lindsay, it is a mind blower At that hour, it didn't take me more than ten minutes to get to the morgue. I parked in the circular area outside the coroner's entrance reserved for official vehicles. I rushed in, my hair uncombed, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. The guard buzzed me in and let me through. He was expecting me. Claire met me at the entrance to the lab. "Okay," I said, "my expectations are high." She didn't answer. Only pressed me up against the door of the lab, without a word of greeting or explanation. "We're back at the Hyatt," she started in. "Murder number one. David Brandt is about to open the door. "Pretend you're the groom," she said, placing her hand on my shoulder and gently easing me into place, "and I'll be the killer. I surprise you as you open the door, and stab- right handed, not that it makes any difference now." She thrust her fist into the space under my left breast. "So you fall, and that's where we find you, later, at the scene." I nodded, letting her know that I was following along so far. "So what do we find around you?" she asked, wide eyed. I made a mental picture of the scene. "Champagne bottle, tuxedo jacket." "True, but that's not where I'm headed." "Blood… a lot of blood." "Closer. Remember, he died of a cardiac, electromechanical collapse. We simply assumed he was scared to death." I stood up, gazed down at the floor. Then suddenly I saw it as if I were there with the body. "Urine." "Right!" exclaimed Claire. "We find a small residue of urine. On his shoes, on the floor. About six cubic centimeters' worth, that I was able to save. It seemed logical that it belonged to the groom- voiding is a natural response to sudden fear, or death. But I was thinking last night, there were traces of urine in Cleveland, too. And here, back at the Hyatt, I never even had it tested. Why would I? I always assumed it was from David Brandt. "But if you were here, crumpled on the floor, and I was the killer standing above you, and the pee was here," she said, pointing to the floor around me, "who the hell's urine would it be?" Our eyes locked in one of those shining moments of epiphany. "The killer's," I said. Claire smiled at her bright student. "The annals of forensic medicine are rich with examples of murderers 'getting off when they kill, so peeing isn't so far-fetched. Your nerves would be on end. And good old compulsive me, obsessive down to the last detail, refrigerates it in a vial, never knowing what for. And the thing that makes this all come together is, urine can be tested." "Tested? For what?" "For sex, Lindsay. Urine can reveal sex." "Jesus, Claire." I was stunned. She took me into the lab to a counter with two microscopes, some chemicals in bottles, and a device I recognized from college chemistry classes as a centrifuge. "There aren't any flashing gender signs in urine, but there are things to look for. First, I took a sample and spun it down in the centrifuge with this KOH stain, which is something we can use to isolate impurities in blood cultures." She motioned for me to look in the first scope. "See… these tiny, filament like branches with little clusters of cells like grapes. Candida albi cans I looked at her blankly. "Yeast cells, honey. This urine's laced with high deposits of yeast. Boys don't get them." 1 started to smile, but before I could even reply, she dragged me on. "Then I put the other sample under the scope and brought it up three thousand mag. Check this out." I lowered myself over the scope and squinted in. "You see those dark, crescent-shaped cells swimming around?" Claire asked. "Uh-huh." "Red blood cells. Lots of them." 1 lifted my head from the scope and looked at her. "They wouldn't show up in a man's urine. Not to anywhere near this degree. Not unless they've got a bleeding kidney, which to my knowledge, none of our principals show any signs of." "Or"-- I shook my head slowly" unless the killer was menstruating."
Chapter 116
I STARED AT CLAIRE as the information settled in my mind. All along, Nicholas Jenks had been telling the truth. He hadn't been in the room when David and Melanie Brandt were killed that night. Nor in Napa. Probably not even near the Hall of Fame in Cleveland. I had hated Jenks so much I couldn't see past it. None of us had been able to get past the fact that we wanted him to be guilty. All the evidence- the hair, the jacket, the champagne -had been an incredible deception. Jenks was a master of the surprise ending, but someone had set the master up. I put my arms around Claire and hugged her. "You're the best." "You're damn right I am. I don't know what it proves," she answered, patting my back, "but the person standing over that poor boy at the murder scene was a woman. And I'm just as sure that she stabbed David Brandt to death with her right hand." My mind was spinning. Jenks was loose, hundreds of cops on the chase- and he was innocent. "So?" Claire looked at me and smiled. "It's the second-best news I've heard lately," I said. "Second best?" I took her hand. I told Claire what Medved had shared with me. We hugged again. We even did a little victory dance. Then both of us got back to work.
Chapter 117
UPSTAIRS AT MY DESK, I radioed Jacobi. Poor guy, he was still sitting outside Joanna Wade's home at the corner of Filbert and Hyde. "You all right, Warren?" "Nothing that a shower and a couple of hours of sleep wouldn't improve." "Tell me what's going on." "What's going on?" Jacobi recited, as if he were resentfully going over his log. "Four-fifteen yesterday afternoon, target comes out, struts down the block to Gold's Gym. Six-ten, target reemerges, proceeds down block to Pasqua Coffee, comes out with plastic bag. I suspect it's Almond Roast. Goes into the Contempo Casuals boutique, comes out empty. I gotta figure the new fall stuff hasn't arrived yet, Boxer. She makes her way home. Lights go on on the third floor. Is it chicken I smell? I don't know- I'm so fucking hungry I might be dreaming. Lights go out about ten-twenty-five. Since then, she's been doing what I'd like to be doing. Why you got me out here like a rookie, Lindsay?" "Because Nicholas Jenks is going to try to find his ex-wife. He believes she's setting him up. I think he knows that Joanna is the murderer." "You trying to cheer me up, Boxer? Bring meaning into my life?" "Maybe. And how's this… I think she is, too. I want to know immediately if you spot Jenks." Chris Raleigh came in about eight, tossing a surprised look at my bleary eyes and disheveled appearance. "You should try a brush in the morning." "Claire called me at five-ten. I was in the morgue at five thirty." He looked at me funny. "What the hell for?" "It's a little hard to explain. I want you to meet some friends of mine." "Friends? At eight in the morning?" "Uh-huh. My girlfriends." He looked completely confused. "What am I not following here?" "Chris." I seized his arm. "I think we broke the case."