by Leslie Glass
The second job Woo had given her was to do the background checks on the nannies who'd found the bodies of their two employers. This caused Eloise another twinge of anxiety. She left the reels . spinning in her office and headed to the computer where Charlie spent his time staring at a screen. Her opinion of him had undergone something of a sea change since he'd come through for her on the Peret case, and she actually smiled at him.
"What's up?" He seemed surprised by both the smile and the visit.
"You know that woman the boss brought in here yesterday? Alison Perkins?"
"How could anyone forget that knockout?" he said.
"She just turned up dead," Gelo replied sharply. She hated it when men referred to women as dogs or knockouts.
Charlie's pale face sobered quickly. "No shit? When?"
"Just now, a little while ago," she amended.
"Wow. I didn't hear that." He seemed as shocked as she was. "Where is she?"
"In her home."
"I meant the boss," Charlie said.
"She was on her way to the scene when she called in. It's like yesterday—the nanny found her."
Charlie thought about it for a moment. "Looks like a little window of opportunity there," he said slowly.
"What do you mean?"
"In the morning the two husbands are gone; the nannies are out. You see the pattern. They're vulnerable then."
"Yeah, she wants us to check out the nannies. Anderson Agency," Eloise told him.
He nodded. "Okay, that's not a problem."
"But won't there be a task force working on this?"
"So?" Hagedorn raked a hand through his thinning hair and punched some keys on his keyboard.
"We'd be doubling up on a key part of the investigation." As a newcomer in the precinct and a boss for the first time, Eloise needed some clarification. The lieutenant hadn't instructed her to coordinate with the task force, and they were supposed to work together on cases like this. Every interview
had to be written up and handed in to the officer in charge. Lieutenant Woo might be the officer in charge of them at Midtown. North, but was she in charge of the task force putting together the file? Eloise had always been a team player and didn't like the idea of working out of the loop.
"Don't make it a problem," Charlie advised her.
"But how does this work?" Where Eloise came from, they didn't do things like this. There was one file in one place and everybody contributed to it.
He shrugged. "She helps them out when they ask her to. We help her out. Everybody's happy."
Eloise frowned. "But couldn't it bite us later?"
"Well, sure, anything can bite back later, but I've worked all the big cases with her. They pull in people from other units to do stuff all the time. It may not be kosher, but the boss has a hundred percent solution record." He shrugged. "And she's very well connected."
Gelo wasn't ready to let it go so easily. She put a hand on her hip. "Do you guys work this way often?"
"Don't worry about it. They have hundreds of people working a case like this."
But all in one location, not all over the place, Gelo wanted to say. When people worked independently, things got passed over that shouldn't be, or not included at all. Other agencies around the country made these kinds of mistakes, not them. She didn't say anything for a moment, wondering again what was on the tapes being copied in her office. Well, Woo was turning them over, wasn't she? Charlie interrupted her internal debate.
"Here we go. Look at this."
Eloise was amazed by how quickly he'd jumped from one case to the other. They'd been out until late. She'd had to sack out on a cot in the female uniformed officers' room because there was no special place for ranking female officers. A lot of other things were vying for her attention, including the stripper they were interviewing at two p.m. for the Peret case. Charlie, however, had moved on. He was already working the East Side homicides.
"Anderson is the premier employment agency for domestic positions in the U.S.," he said. He clicked on PRINT, and the pages started spewing out. "Okay, what we have here are domestic positions for the very rich—cooks, laundresses, butlers, chauffeurs, nannies, bodyguards, nurse-companions, caretakers, baby nurses."
Eloise leaned over his shoulder to see the screen.
"Mmm, you smell good," he said.
"Fuck off," she shot back, but not as angrily as she might have last week. She looked at the application page. "Wow." Salaries ranged from 32,000 to 120,000 dollars a year for bodyguards and cooks. "Call them and find out what you can. I have a tape to review."
Thirty-three
Lnn studied the disturbing scene in the bedroom where Alison was still swaddled in her quilt. Two men completely covered in white, right down to their shoes, were measuring and going over the room as if the body weren't there.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked Lieutenant Woo Sanchez.
"You said earlier that the room didn't look like this when you left to take the girls to play school. Tell me how it looked then."
Lynn sniffed back her tears. "It's always a mess in here in the morning. Andrew's underwear and socks are on the floor on his side of the bed." She pointed to where that was. "He never picks up in the morning. Alison dropped her clothes on the floor, too—whatever she was wearing. I think she just threw the decorative pillows off the bed. They never landed on the bench."
The bench at the bottom of the bed had nothing on it now.
"And there's almost always an empty wineglass on the bedside table. She prefers white wine," Lynn added.
"What else?" The Chinese detective followed her gaze as it traveled around the room.
"That's about it in here, except for her magazines. She read them in bed. I don't see them now."
Woo consulted her notes. "Earlier you said that when the children came up to say good-bye in the morning, she was often in bed."
Lynn made a face. "They have sex in the morning."
"How do you know?"
"The spots are still wet when I make the bed at noon," she said simply.
"They had an active sex life. Okay. What else?"
Lynn looked past the bed toward the bathroom. "There's always water on the floor in the bathroom. Maybe they showered together. I don't know." She closed her eyes. "Two wet towels on the floor, her jewelry on the vanity. He's meticulous about his toiletries. She's messy with hers. They have two sinks. She leaves her rings on the side of the sink, and never wears them to sleep. She doesn't like them to get oily from body lotion or soap."
"Do you know all her jewelry?" the Chinese detective asked.
"Only . what she's worn. There may be some pieces I haven't seen. She keeps the box locked."
"Do you know where it is?"
"Yes, it's on a shelf in her closet."
"What are your duties? Do you do the cleaning?" The detective moved away from the bedroom door, down the hall to the front of the house.
"I do light housekeeping." Lynn followed her into the sitting-room side of the master suite that took up the whole third floor.
"What would that consist of?"
"I pick up, and make things look neat. I have to put the towels and the kids' clothes in the washing machine and dryer, but I don't iron or do the sheets. A cleaning lady comes in twice a week to do the heavy work."
"What days does she come in?"
"Monday and Thursday."
"That would be yesterday."
"Yes."
"What about this room?" April asked.
Lynn noticed that the coffee table in front of the love seat was piled with Alison's fashion magazines and recent issues of People. Two armchairs with a reading light between them. Plasma "TV on the wall near the fake wall with the powder room behind it.
"Looks the same, except her magazines are il here."
"They weren't in here this morning?"
Lynn shook her head.
"Was this room cleaned yesterday as usual?"
"Yes."
"What about the bathroom?"
She nodded. "Top to bottom, everything's cleaned. No exceptions. That's the rule."
"Who uses the bathroom?"
"Nobody."
"Are you sure?" the detective asked.
"People have their habits. I use my own. The girl use theirs. Andrew and Alison each have their own toilets. They don't use this one. It's really small," she added.
"Just look at it for me."
Lynn shrugged and punched the wall so that it popped open.
"Anything different about this?"
"Well, the sink's wet . . . and somebody's used the hand towel."
"Anything else? Look carefully."
"No."
"Thank you." April said, shutting the door.
They moved into the dressing room, where all the clothes were in careful order except for Andrew's and Alison's clothes from the night before, which looked as if they'd been hurriedly dumped in a heap. Lynn commented on that, then pointed out the jewelry box. In the bathroom a diamond watch was on the vanity right where she'd said it would be, but no rings.
"Anything missing here?" the detective asked.
A lump rose in Lynn's throat. "Her rings. She had three—a big diamond engagement ring, and two diamond bands that she wore on either side of it. Maybe she forgot to take them off last night," she said uneasily.
"Maybe."
They came back into the hall, where a number of people had gathered.
"We're ready for you now," someone said, and Lynn knew that it was Andrew's tum to look at the body.
"Lynn, could you wait downstairs? I'll be back with you later." The detective gave her a reassuring smile. "Thanks."
Lynn didn't want to see Andrew again, so she ducked through the door to the narrow back stairs and ran down to hide in her room two floors down.
Thirty-four
April reached Woody at Midtown .North at eleven fifteen. "Where are you?" he asked.
"Alison Perkins is dead. Didn't anybody tell you?"
"Yeah, Sergeant Gelo just told me a little while ago. How can I help, boss?" he asked.
"Did you take photos of the people present in the crowd yesterday at the Wilson house?"
"Yes, ma'am, I did."
"Have you had them developed yet?"
"Yup, I've got them here. Are we looking for anybody in particular?" he asked.
"Not yet. You have notes from everyone you talked to yesterday?"
"Yes, you want me to come over?"
"Please, and bring your camera. I want you to take more pictures at the Perkins house. Let's see if there are any overlaps on the people hanging around today. Also, make copies of your report and bring it."
"Address?" he asked.
She gave him the address and dialed the medical examiner's office. It took a long time to get Dr.Gloss on the line. She refused to talk to anybody else.
"I guess I have to call you April Sanchez now. How's the bride doing?" he said when he finally answered the call.
"Great until yesterday," April said. "How about you?"
"Same." He sighed. "What's going on up there? I was working on the Wilson woman's brain and somebody comes in and tells me her friend is dead."
"It's a sad thing. Another young mother. About the same age as the Wilson woman. Also killed in her home—different COD here, but there are some similarities in the MO. We have to nail this one quickly."
"Well, naturally. Is that why no one's here?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's the reason," April said, even though she would have avoided the autopsy anyway. She was the opposite of her mother, who liked nothing more than watching surgery all day long. "What do you have to tell me about it?" She didn't want to fuss, but she was in kind of a hurry.
"Mrs. Wilson was a generally healthy, well-nourished woman . . ." he said slowly. "But it's taking time. There are a lot of things to consider here. I'm not nearly finished with everything yet. It's going to take a week or ten days for a full report."
"How about a few generalities, like your gross impression of the case—the COD, the weapon or weapons we should be looking for?"
"There are a few things that stand out. . . ." he said slowly. Then, after his initial reluctance, he went into great length about bones and ligaments— healed traverse fractures on Maddy's left radioulnar, something about the long external lateral ligaments of the right knee, and the something-something tendon of the popliteus muscle as well as calcareous material that was apparently forming on synovial fringes.
"What are they?" April interrupted finally. It was always difficult to contain a pathologist once he got going.
"I gather she was a skier," he said obliquely.
"Yes, she was a skier," April confirmed. It had been in all the news stories.
"Right. She had healed fractures in her left arm. Tom ligaments in both knees, as well as the beginnings of osteoarthritis in her knees and elbows. She would have been a candidate for knee replacements sometime down the line." He went on to comment on Maddy's teeth, which had been capped; her eyes, which had the benefit of fairly recent plastic surgery; and her nasal passages, which showed signs of disintegration, probably from frequent cocaine use.
"She must have been getting fairly regular nosebleeds," he finished.
"You're doing toxicology tests to determine alcohol and possible drug levels." It wasn't a question.
"Of course," he replied.
"Would any of the above bear any relation to her cause of death?" That wasn't really a question, either.
"No, not the cause of death. The presence of cocaine could have heightened her excitability, raised her blood pressure, done a lot of things that might have helped—or hindered—her defense against her attacker."
"What about COD?"
"She sustained multiple stab wounds to the chest, neck, eye. Deep gashes in her palms and the under-surface of her fingers indicate that she tried to grab a knife, and it was pulled away from her. She also has cuts on her right foot and leg, indicating she also attempted to kick a knife out of the attacker's hand."
"You said a knife. Can you tell what kind of knife was used, or if there was more than one?"
"April," he said sternly. "You know how difficult incised wounds are to analyze. A lot of things come into play—whether the cutting is done parallel to the lines of cleavage or across the lines of cleavage."
She was an experienced detective, but she did not know what cleavage he meant. "It looked like some of the cuts were made postmortem."
He snickered. "See, that's the mistake a lot of people make. I guess you don't know much about incised wounds."
"No, not like this, where there's no blood spatter. I've read some articles, but I'm not an expert," April said.
"Exactly right. I think you're referring to gaping wounds as opposed to wounds where the edges remain closed. That's what I was just telling you— whethe , the edge is jagged or smooth, open or closed, depends on where on the body the cutting is done, as well as the instrument that's used. It's not a pre- or postmortem issue at all. You'll have to leave the question of postmortem stabbing to me. It's not that easy to ascertain. You need to go inside for that. And all cuts do not produce the same degree of bleeding. I'd say two knives, probably a boning-type knife with a slender blade and then maybe a thicker one. By the way, the body was exposed to water for no more than twenty minutes."
April exhaled. "The girl who found her said the shower was on. She was the one who turned it off just before calling 911. Can you confirm the time?"
"We'll do some tests, of course. Prepare to get into the shower for us," he joked.
"Ha-ha."
"But I'd say no more than twenty minutes," he said more seriously.
"That would pretty much let our three primary suspects off the hook," April told him.
"Then, you'd better start looking for someone else, because when I tell you skin has been underwater for twenty minutes or less, it's not going to mean thirty-eight. But don't pin me down on th
is right now. We'll test it out."
"Okay. What else can you tell me?"
"Well, I haven't seen the crime scene yet, have I? At this point I can just make a few guesses. Does that shower have a bench in it? Does it have steam or dry heat?"
"I believe steam," April confirmed.
"Okay, a slash on the triceps of the victim's right upper arm indicates she might have been lying down, possibly steaming at the time of the attack. The front of her right arm resting on her forehead may have covered her eyes. She was in repose."
"It's possible. If she didn't see the attack coming, steam would explain a lot of things." April made a note to test how long it took to make steam, and how dense it got. Every minute counted. Also, the sound made by the steam coming out of the pipe could have dulled her hearing. Sometimes it was a loud hiss.
"It looks to me like the killer may have entered the shower with the intention of stabbing her in the chest, and had not expected a fight."
"What makes you think that?"
"The killer didn't know anything about anatomy and wasn't very powerful. There were a lot of hesitation strikes," he said after a pause.
"Tell me more." That would let Remy off the hook. From butchering lessons, she knew anatomy very well. And as a trainer, Derek probably did, too. And Wayne was a chef.
"For now let's assume the first blow was deflected by the sudden movement of her arm. Maybe she heard something and started to get up. The kind of wounds she had suggests that she started fighting back right away, and the killer didn't know how to end the game. Just like not being able to make the point in tennis, he just struck again and again, without getting anywhere. Six blows hit bone or cartilage and didn't penetrate deep enough to do mortal injury. Furthermore the weapons did not twist inside the wounds, indicating the killer couldn't find soft tissue to penetrate and wasn't strong enough to muscle through cartilage and bone, especially with the victim in pretty good physical condition and fighting back."
