Murder by Magic Read online

  “Let it go for now. They’re gonna start calling you names behind your back sooner or later, but don’t give them any ammunition. That guy’s an asshole. Just let it go.”

  She shook off his hand and straightened, turning away from the EMT. Letting it go didn't seem right. They were supposed to know better than to potentially contaminate a crime scene, but there was a dead body waiting for her, and that was all that mattered.

  “Let’s get this under control.” She turned back to Derek. “Who called this in, anyway?”

  “The private security guy on duty. He was doing his rounds outside, said he heard an alarm from inside the house, from what he thought was Jason Lansing’s office. He let himself in through the back door, which was locked…” Derek flipped a page in his notebook, and then flipped it back. “Yeah. He said he had the code for the back door. Then he found Lansing in the office, dead. Sullivan was the closest patrol, and took the call.”

  “Got it.” They started up the broad stairs to the front door, standing open to the night. It seemed like every light was on, spilling out onto the slate porch. “I suppose he walked through everything, tried to give CPR…”

  “Sullivan? He knows better…”

  She shook her head. “No. The private security guard.”

  “Oh, yeah, well, he checked to see if Lansing was alive. Didn’t bother with CPR.” Derek waited for Jessica to step past him into the foyer. The CSI team, dressed in white suits and shoe covers, were moving through the downstairs rooms like industrious ghosts, murmuring among themselves in their own language, punctuated by little pops and flashes of light, as they took photos. Evidence flags littered the parquet floor of the entrance, marking what looked like bloody footprints that traced a deep maroon path toward them. Derek motioned toward a hallway that ran toward the back.

  “His office is down there.”

  The hall led toward the back of the house, the floor transitioning elegantly from dark wood parquet to carpet, as it ran past a large stairway. The heavy oak door to Lansing’s office stood open, and even from here she could see blood darkening the pale blue carpet. A tall man with white hair seemed to materialize out of nowhere, joining them at the foot of the stairs.

  Jessica knew him; Dr. Randolph Greene, the medical examiner. He was an older guy who’d been around long enough to have seen it all. It was reassuring to see him, and she felt herself take a deep breath to calm her nerves. Dr. Greene was willing to offer his opinions at the scene, which was rare. As a patrol officer, watching from the sidelines, sometimes she’d thought it bordered on unprofessional, but right now, as a detective, she was grateful for any help, or insight he could give.

  “Detective Sharpe. I understand this is your first time as lead detective? I’m glad that you are being given the chance to do the job I know you can do.” It was a little more jovial of a greeting than she’d expected, but she managed to give him a tense smile. Truth was, she had been so caught up in just getting to the scene, and starting the job, that she hadn’t even thought about the possibility that her rank could be pulled, and that she would be replaced by someone with more experience.

  “Dr. Greene, thank you for that. It’s nice to see you.” She cringed; this wasn't a social event. It was never nice to see the medical examiner. Then she froze. The words—so simple: ask what he had so far, what he’d found—for the life of her, she couldn’t put them into a sentence. Dr. Greene held her gaze for a beat; then, with equanimity, took the lead.

  “Walk along the right side. The guard ran there…” Dr. Greene pointed to the smeared and bloody footprints, each with an evidence marker beside it, leading to the front door. They looked like little white boats traveling down a river of red. “We’ve photographed these, but they're still wet.”

  They skirted the little flags, walking in single file, pressed against the wall.

  “The security guard walked through the blood, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. He did what everyone does, goes in and checks to see if the guy’s alive, or not.” Ahead of her, she saw Dr. Greene's shoulders hunch in a shrug. “Human nature, I guess. No one wants to just leave someone who’s injured without making sure. Can’t blame the guy. He called 911 from his cell, then went out the front door to wait.”

  “Totally understandable.”

  She heard footsteps, and turned to look behind her. It was Derek, and she couldn’t help but notice that he was walking just as cautiously as she was, careful to avoid the flags, as well as the photographs on the wall.

  Together, following Dr. Greene, they made their way down the hallway, stopping at the threshold to the office. From here, she could see only the upper part of Mayor Lansing's body. He was on his back, one arm flung across his chest, lying in front of a big wooden desk. Blood pooled under him, soaking into the carpet, spreading in a wide irregular circle under his chest. He was wearing a white shirt - or it had been white at one point. Now it was dark crimson, the only part left untouched was the cuff of the sleeve that rested on his chest.

  Something had blurred the edge of pooled blood, feathering it over the carpet in delicate strokes. She thought it was probably where the guard approached, maybe cautiously at first; then a flurry of confused marks pointed toward the door, eventually resolving themselves into the distinct footprints of someone running. She glanced down; clearly outlined in red against pale blue was a very large, very detailed shoe print.

  “Did someone get the guard’s shoes? We need to rule this out as his.”

  Derek nodded. “Yeah, already in the works. From a preliminary check, the print matches the guard’s right foot. Man’s got fucking huge feet. The pattern on the sole looks like it matches as well.”

  She looked up at Derek. His expression was carefully neutral, his voice almost monotone. She wondered if he was asking himself if she was ready for this case, then brushed that thought aside. She'd known Derek since the Academy; and while she was younger than him by a couple of years, despite the fact she was only twenty-seven, she knew he had confidence in her ability. Besides, they’d never been competitive, so she had no reason to think that had changed now.

  “Got his name? Where is he?”

  “His name’s Miles Crandall. He’s in a squad car outside. He’s…” Derek scratched his head, giving her a bemused expression. “He seems genuinely frazzled, and really confused. My gut tells me that he’s not involved. If he is, he’s a really great actor.”

  Jessica nodded. “We’ll keep him around for questioning…and Derek? I want to interview him myself. Have someone take him down to the station, okay? Make him comfortable, but don’t let him leave.”

  “Got it.” Derek looked over his shoulder, pointing to a uniform that had come along, bringing up the end of the line. “Hear that?” The man nodded, and turned back, following their path out the front door.

  “Come this way. This area has already been vacuumed by CSI.”

  She followed Dr. Greene, stepping where he did, overly conscious of her hands, the edge of her jacket brushing against the desk. She imagined every breath she exhaled somehow contaminated the scene, that a stray hair from her head would be used to get the case thrown out of court.

  The rest of Lansing’s body came into view, his chest and torso, and she heard Derek blow out a breath. With effort, she pushed back the nagging sense she was out of her depth here. Or at least she tried to push those feelings down. She also pushed down the sheer horror and revulsion that flooded through her, at the sight of what had once been Mayor Jason Lansing. She didn’t think she’d ever get over the initial shock of seeing the victims. Most of the time she didn’t want to, didn’t want to give up the part of her that was human, the part of her that got queasy, and sweaty-palmed. And the part that felt sorrow for the death. Ross, her boss, had told her she’d get used to it— ‘hardened’ was the word he’d used. She didn’t want to get hardened. And she sure as hell didn’t want to turn out to be like Ross.

  “Jesus.”

  There was nothing she
could add to that. Dr. Greene walked around the body, giving it a wide berth, pointing down with one long gloved finger.

  “The victim, Jason Lansing, was stabbed multiple times in the chest and abdomen. You can see here…” He leaned forward, pointing to various spots on, and around the body. Lansing’s shirt was shredded, and beneath that, Jessica could see skin, mottled white and blue, blood already drying on the body.

  “Multiple cuts, many slicing deep enough to hit major organs. No weapon found here, but I understand there’s a rather large collection of knives in the kitchen.”

  With luck, one would be missing, and she’d have a possible weapon. But something told her that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  “Cause of death?”

  Dr. Greene looked at her from beneath bushy brows, long white hairs scattered among the black. “Exsanguination. He bled out. Without an autopsy, I can only suppose the aorta was severed, resulting in massive blood loss. There are no cuts above the clavicle. His throat wasn't cut.”

  “So we're looking for someone with strength then, someone with enough power to drive something through his chest.” She tried to imagine angles of entry, and trajectories, and all the things that they’d taught her at the Academy, but something kept tugging at the edge of her thoughts, pulling those images away from her. Something else was going on here, something that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Something that was going to be impossible to put into words, and that no one was going to understand, not even Derek.

  “Likely, but not necessarily. At the right angle, with the right blade, it could be done without a lot of strength.”

  “Even if they were standing? Someone would have gotten pretty close, in that case.”

  “I will know more after the autopsy.” Dr. Greene shrugged. “Sorry. With all the blood and him lying down, there’s not much I can tell you.”

  “I understand. Do you have any idea what kind of blade was used?”

  Dr. Greene shook his head. “Not until I get him cleaned up. But…” He squatted down, looking up at Jessica. “No one’s flipped him yet so I haven’t examined the back of his body.”

  “Then let’s turn him over.” She wanted to get a look, to see if there were wounds on his back as well. She looked over to Derek who nodded and slipped on a pair of latex gloves. Together, they carefully rolled the Mayor onto his side, trying hard to avoid the pool of blood.

  “Holy shit.” Derek shot her a side-long glance, struggling to hold the body in place. “You see that?”

  She did, and it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

  It appeared that some of the stab wounds went completely through Lansing’s chest, shredding the back of the garment.

  “Through-and-through?”

  Dr. Greene made a noise halfway between a grunt and a growl.

  “You may be right about that use of force. I’m pretty certain I’ll find a severed aorta during the post.”

  They gently lowered Lansing back to the floor. Derek stood up, and Jessica watched in horror, as he started to put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. She shook her head; he frowned, and shook his head back at her. She pointed to his bloody gloves.

  “Oh, shit. Thanks.” He snapped off the gloves, turning them inside out as he did.

  Dr. Greene was grinning at Derek. “That would’ve upset your dry cleaner, huh?” His grin widened, eyes crinkling at the corners.

  Jessica had no choice, but to laugh. It felt odd, laughing with a dead man lying on the floor at her feet, but on another level, it felt good. Some of the tension that had her muscles tied in knots, finally dissipated. Derek rolled his eyes, and Dr. Greene chuckled to himself.

  “And the rest of these wounds?” Jessica could see stab wounds on Lansing’s arms, a shallow one on his face; one that looked like it went through the back of his hand. Strangely, there was almost no blood on his dark slacks, besides a few drops scattered on the legs. The contrast between the ravaged torso, and the almost relaxed posture of his lower body, was startling. And unsettling.

  “Can’t really say until I get him back to my office if they’re pre, or postmortem. There are no hesitation marks on the cuts that I can see, but there’s too much blood for any real conclusion.”

  Derek was scribbling notes in his battered notebook. Dr. Greene glanced at Derek, then gave Jessica a bemused look. Feeling slightly foolish, she patted her pockets, thankfully finding a pen and a little notebook, missing its cover. She had an excellent memory, could recall pretty much everything everyone had said from the moment she’d arrived, everything she’d seen. Whatever that ability was, it had gotten her top grades since high school. But it was expected that she takes notes, so she did. Dr. Greene cleared his throat, and she asked the next in her series of questions.

  “Time of death?”

  “Liver temp puts death at just after one a.m.”

  “Anything else jump out at you?”

  Dr. Greene frowned at her. “Besides there being no sign of a struggle?”

  Jessica nodded. “Besides that. With the body.”

  Knowing Dr. Greene, and seeing the tension in his body, she knew he was aching to pace. He wandered around during autopsies, sometimes holding some piece of the body in his hand, ruminating. But here, he was limited in so many ways. Finally, he met her gaze.

  “There’s nothing else I can really tell you until we get him back to my office. I’ll run a toxicology screen, of course, check for anything that might have incapacitated him.”

  “Thanks.”

  Someone behind her, probably CSI, called Dr. Greene's name, and he nodded to them, then fixed Jessica with a piercing glance. “I'll see you at the autopsy.” He gave the body a wide berth, and left the room. She made an obligatory note, then watched Derek flip to a new page, and continue scribbling.

  Rather than interrupt, she looked around the room. It was tastefully decorated, masculine without being overdone. She knew from the newspaper that the Lansing’s enjoyed entertaining, and that the Mayor had frequently brought the latest and greatest into his office to pose for photos with him. The walls held an array of photos, all in matching frames. Finally, the scratching of Derek’s pen stopped.

  “Did the guard see anyone leaving? Anyone come in? Anything?”

  Derek flipped back a few pages. “He said he'd talked to Lansing a little after eleven p.m., and then started his tour around the property. Then...” Derek frowned at his notebook. “He said he thinks he fell asleep.”

  That was a new one. And as far as alibis went, it was very lame. “Fell asleep? Some security company, that is.”

  “Yeah, well, he wasn't too keen on admitting it, but there was a gap of about twenty minutes, from somewhere after eleven-thirty, to just before the alarm sounded, that the guard couldn't account for. When he, 'came to' as he put it, he was in the back garden, sitting under a tree. There are security cameras. They’re getting the tapes to the techs, so we can verify that.”

  “Great. The killer could have run right past him.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that. The perp could have also walked right out the front door, and down the street. If we’re lucky, maybe the cameras caught that, too.”

  There were noises in the hall, and Jessica glanced up to see Dr. Greene in the doorway. “They’re ready to take the body to the morgue.”

  Jessica stepped out of the office, and glanced at the two guys who came in with a gurney, the black body bag riding on top. She watched them go through the careful ritual of unzipping the bag, opening it, then lifting Lansing onto the gurney. They tucked his arms and legs into the bag before zipping it closed. Then they reversed the journey, pushing the gurney down the hall. One of the wheels squeaked, and the shrill sound made her wince.

  Her headache was throbbing steadily now, like a little man with an icepick in her left temple, driving it into her brain, over and over. It was turning into a full-blown migraine, and she swore under her breath. Maybe there was ibuprofen in her car. But right now, her ca
r seemed to be miles away. Absently, she rubbed her forehead, trying to get her thoughts organized, to make some sense out of what she knew so far.

  “Okay. CSI is almost done. Dr. Greene has the body. The guard is at the station. What am I missing…what’s next? Blood…tox…motive…weapon…”

  “You say something?”

  She jerked her head up. Derek was coming back down the hall, a bemused look on his face.

  “No, just thinking out loud. We need a weapon. Let’s check the kitchen.”

  The kitchen was just as tastefully decorated as the rest of the home, with granite counters, cherry cabinets, and a large restaurant-style range.

  “Someone likes to cook.” Derek stood, hands on hips, surveying the room.

  “It looks too clean, but maybe Mrs. Lansing’s just a clean freak.”

  “So what does your kitchen look like? Not this clean.”

  She shook her head. “There’s probably sugar spilled on the counter, coffee grounds still in the coffee pot. A dish towel on the counter. You know, like someone lives there. This place looks almost sterile.”

  “It’s probably because they have a housekeeper.” He nudged her in the ribs. “Might want to think about that, now that you’re making the big bucks.”

  She moved away, gave him a scowl, but tempered it with a smile that she didn’t feel. “Knock it off. Let’s find the knives, see if one is missing.”

  Of course, the knives were all there, neatly arranged in their rack.

  “Shit. Struck out with those.” She didn’t want to start a random search until they knew what they were looking for.

  “Yeah. It would have been too easy.”

  “Speaking of the wife, where’s she?” The window above the sink looked out over the backyard. Right now, between the outside lights, and the CSI team’s portables, it was lit up like Christmas. She watched, as a white-suited man moved beneath a large oak tree, stopping occasionally to pick up something from the ground, or snap a photo. He worked methodically at his task. It was a kind of comforting scene, the man repeating the same gestures, walking, stopping, placing a flag, then snapping a photo. The flash went off and for an instant she saw in her mind’s eye what that photo would look like; the small indent in the ground, a footprint maybe. The guards…