The Body
Sam's POV
Officer Tom—a baby-faced officer trying too hard to look tough—nodded as I approached. His colleague, Officer Marlowe, with whom he guarded the door, didn't bother. Marlowe looked just as he’d always looked, his face strung tight like he was having to deal with the whole world’s constipation.
I gave Tom a curt nod as I walked past them. I ducked beneath the yellow tape and stepped into the room, my heels silent on the plush carpet.
The floor had been cordoned off by the uniforms, and I couldn't risk Captain James finding out I had a room just beside the victim’s. Knowing Captain James’s bad temper, that little information could threaten my job.
So I still had on my sheath gown and heels. And thank hell, the stranger forgot his jacket. I could cover my shoulders with it. Still, that didn't save me from Captain James's scrutinizing stare.
His face darkened the instant he saw me, the frown on his lips growing to capture even his eyes. “What the goddamn hell are you wearing?” he roared. His eyes swept me, condescending, as if I were the product of the nearby sewer. “I said we had a case, and not a goddamn party.”
“I had an emergency, and you said this was urgent,” I said, my voice deliberately tinged low to show remorse. Though I shouldn’t be, the last leave I took still extended to today. I wasn't supposed to be here. But of course, he doesn't care. Nor does anyone. As a detective, sometimes private life was a myth.
I noticed his eyes straying, and I hugged the jackets to my body to keep his eyes from my chest. For someone who claimed to hate how I was dressed, his eyes were lingering too much.
Since he just growled and said nothing, I crawled under his stare further into the room, aware his eyes were following me all the way. Well, I did ask for it, dressed this way.
The stale, cold air, tinged with that sharp metallic trace of blood, hit me hard as I neared the victim.
She was sprawled on the rug near the minibar. Mid-thirties. Custom designer wears—well-dressed, even in death. Undoubtedly high profile. Anyone that could get the captain to drag his big, chubby self to a crime scene was either old money or a politician. Even the captain’s relative’s death can’t get him this excited.
A pool of blood spread beneath the lady, soaking into the white shag carpet like red ink in snow.
I looked around as I moved towards Dr. Keene, the medical examiner. The room was elegant and sterile. Bed slightly rumpled. One wall was of windows, floor to ceiling, with sheer drapes fluttering in the morning breeze—open and wide. It had once given the victim a skyline view of the city. Now it bore witness to her death.
Dr. Keene crouched beside the body, gloved hands hovering on the corpse. “Morning, Cross,” she said without looking up. Thank hell she didn't. She could laugh at my dress, and that would remind Captain James of it, and I could get another rebuking stare or, worse, a scolding.
She looked down at the body like a scientist looks at a specimen in his lab. “No sign of forced entry through the door. No broken locks. No disturbances to security cameras on this floor.”
I crouched beside her, my eyes scanning—not just the body, but the room. This time, unlike before, I was critical and thorough. Nothing was ransacked. Designer purse and jewelry sat on the dresser. Her watch was still on her wrist. This wasn’t a robbery.
I studied the victim’s face—slack but not panicked. No defensive wounds on any inch of her. No huge struggle.
“Whoever did this,” I said, looking up at Captain James, while his eyes blinked on me, looking like a criminal caught in the crime—the crime of staring at me. “She knew them.”
Dr. Keene raised an eyebrow. “Him. The killer’s a male.” She said definitively. She gestured to the victim’s left wrist. “Look at the bruising pattern. Whoever did this has a wide grip and large hands. With fingers curled downward. This suggests control and confidence. No hesitation. That’s a male’s grip. And look here…” She pointed to the lady's neck—small abrasions, just beneath the jawline.
“She was grabbed, pulled forward slightly, and stabbed just beneath the sternum. Direct and fast. Likely a single upward thrust. Whoever did it was tall—and knew exactly where to aim. Then came the cut in the throat. Clean also, and fast. Definitely male. The killer slit her throat right after he’d stabbed her. He used a hunting knife for both strikes and he took it away."
I nodded in agreement, going over the details Dr. Keene pointed out to me. Sure feels like a male.
I let my gaze jump around for more clues. From experience, there were usually a ton of clues to spot in a crime scene if one was truly looking, so I looked.
Since there was no forced entry, and the security cameras didn't pick up anyone walking to the door other than the victim, as Dr. Keene said. Then that means the killer didn't use the door but something else.
I rose gently to my feet, taking in the window, not the floor-to-ceiling windows, which definitely couldn't be opened from the outside, but the other ones, regular windows on the wing of the room. “Ten stories up, I believe,” I said to Dr. Keene.
“Yeah. Ten stories.” She answered.
“But there’s no screen. And see that?” I pointed to a scuffed section of the sill and a faint streak on the outside panel. It was barely noticeable unless one was looking for it. Well, I was looking. I always liked to be thorough with my crime scene, and it always pays off.
Dr. Keene’s shoes tapped the floor behind me. Then still, her breath heavy on my nape as she followed my fingers.
“Someone jumped in,” I said. “From the next rooms or possibly from the room directly under and on top. The balcony connects them all.”
“Must be a revenge crime. Someone would have to be crazy and vengeful to attempt risking his life to scale such a balcony ten floors from the ground. One single misstep was sure death,” Dr. Keene said, her voice low and thoughtful.
“Doesn’t have to be revenge. Just an expert burglar, with a dash of daredevil spirit and another dash of craziness, and we have our killer. He would also have to be a little nimble too.” I replied.
Dr. Keene strolled to the balcony. She leaned over the railings, calculating the gap between the balcony and that of the next room. “This is one hell of an exit strategy,” she commented. She sounded not just terrified, but in awe of the killer.
She returned to the room, and she sighed heavily, a morbid look in her eyes. “I wouldn't want to offend such a killer. He is not just a risk taker. He is also very thorough. He is an expert.”
“I’d have to say he is.” I shrugged my shoulders in silent agreement. Though I don't like to admit it. This wasn't an average killer. This was a pro. A man that knows his stuff.
“So any ideas on how to get the killer?” Captain James demanded, his gaze jumped from me to Dr. Keene, and finally narrowed on me. “We have to find the bastard as quickly as possible. The chief of police has been on my ass the whole fucking morning. Turns out our little dead corpse is the governor’s daughter.”
Everyone dies; she wasn’t special. I wanted to remind him. But I realized my job depended on his anger levels, and I opted for another thing to say. “First, we’d start off by finding and interrogating the occupants of the nearest rooms to our right.” That included me, but thank hell Riley booked the room in her name. I exhaled softly at the thought of that, smiling at myself at the near escape. I wouldn't love for my name to pop up in the list when Captain James was checking it.
“I’d have someone on that right away.” He said, and he turned to Officer Marlowe and Tom. He said something to them, and they left their post to do as he asked. Then he returned to me.
“What else?” he demanded. He sounded like he wasn't once a detective himself.
“Since this seems like it can be politically motivated, then it is safe to say this was carefully planned and the killer had resources. And since she seemed to know the killer, then it must be a boyfriend, likely. It could be a casual friend too,” I said, holding the captain’s steady gaze. “Since he didn't follow her to the room the conventional way, the friend must be someone she couldn't be seen with. That could explain why she wasn't surprised when he used the windows to get in."
Captain James's brows narrowed in thought for a moment, then he spoke while tapping his phone hurriedly, hunting for something in it. “I think we have our prime suspect already.” He said. He looked up at me, and his phone clicked shut. “I just sent you the picture of the guy she came with as captured by the CCTV. I had already had him brought in for questioning. I just didn't think he was the killer, since the receptionist said he only escorted her into the lobby and left. But now it looks like the bastard had left her at the lobby, only to come back through the window and finish her off.”
“That’s a possible angle. A good lead,” I said, shaking my head rather grimly. “You got anything on him, Captain, like a name, where he works, and all that stuff?”
“I had the boys dig out all the can on it before you came. Turns out our guy got a rap sheet as long as my arm. He is a con artist, a pro, charged several times but never convicted. Knows how to beat the system. I don't think he can this time, though. He's bitten more than he can chew now.” Captain James said, taking another grim look at the dead lady.
“The law always has a way of catching up with criminals.” I said, as I reached for my phone from my pocket. “I should be heading to the station to interrogate him. If I get him to talk, then…”
I paused, staring down at the picture on my phone—the one Captain James had sent. A heavy coldness gripped my spine, and the phone vibrated in my hand, cold against my palm. Looking up into the camera just as the image was captured was the same tousled chestnut brown hair and the same lean, athletic body donning a crisp white shirt underneath the very jacket I have over my shoulder now—it was the sexy stranger I had laid.
My eyes drifted to the body on the blood, my heart racing, thrashing against my ears. The face was already very white and looked very cold. At least she was dead for eight to nine hours, which means the stranger couldn't be the killer because he was with me. I was his alibi. And if he tried to use that, then I was cooked.