by Ronica Black
“I’ll never be able to sleep again if it was him.”
She turned him so he’d look at her. “Everest, from what I could see…he wasn’t killed here. There isn’t enough blood from the wound in his neck.”
Everest nodded slowly. “You think?”
“I’m pretty sure. But regardless, it’s not something for you to think about. You’re an innocent bystander. And you did the right thing by calling this in quickly.” She pulled out her cell phone and had him enter his name and address into her contacts. His hands trembled, and when he finished he looked embarrassed. “You did good, Everest. Real good. Now go see if someone will get you some coffee and a place to sit.”
She watched him walk away and then reentered the barn. She approached the body and knelt next to Finley. “No body hair,” she said, studying the shaved legs, arms, chest, and scrotum. Even his head was completely bald.
“Nope.”
“Was he this well-groomed or is this ritualistic?”
“I’m guessing this was our killer’s doing. Guy’s clean as a whistle. Forensics said they’ve found next to nothing. He appears to have been thoroughly washed, maybe even bleached. And check this out.” Finley held up the dead man’s fingers behind the chair. “They even pulled out his nails.”
“Jesus.”
“That was done post mortem,” a voice said next to them. Maria looked up and smiled at Dr. Haddock once again.
“I thought I heard the voice of God,” Finley said, giving her a wink.
Haddock pulled on some gloves and knelt with them. Her thick blond hair was still wound into a bun, and she had on her typical dress slacks, rubber boots, and tailored blouse. Her glasses rested on the tip of her nose, and Maria always had the urge to gently push them back for her.
“See the lack of bruising and trauma to the nail bed?” she asked as she encouraged them to look at the fingers which had turned a dark crimson from settling blood. “The nails were pulled well after death.” She stood. “So were the toenails. There’s no healing.” She lifted the dead man’s chin more and made a ticking noise with her tongue as she studied the forehead. “These marks, however, were not. They were cut into him while he was alive and some time before death. See the scabbing and the attempt at healing?”
Maria grimaced. They were very deep cuts. It had to have been extremely painful.
“But the perp went to a great deal of trouble to groom and clean the body afterward. This was done somewhere very private, where they had a lot of time. I’m thinking we won’t find much of anything on him.”
“Time of death, Doc?” Maria asked.
Haddock took a step back and removed her gloves. “I’d say forty-eight hours. And he’s been here exposed to the heat and damp for a day, possibly a little more.” She paused and scanned the body again as if it were softly speaking to her. “He also has some liver mortis along his back and shoulders, suggesting he was lying flat for a time after death. Probably while he was being cleaned.”
“What about cause of death?” Maria asked. “Was his throat slit while alive?”
“Could’ve been. There’s a great deal of trauma and more than a few attempts. We’ll have to clean him up a bit to get a better look.”
Maria noted the leaking nose, mouth, and gaping wound. He was decomposing quickly from the inside out.
“He was bled out and then bathed,” Finley said.
“To hide evidence,” Maria said. “They may have been amateurs in killing, but they were good at getting rid of forensic evidence.”
“I’ll oversee the medical examiner who does the autopsy. I want the best of the best on this,” Haddock said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this. Certainly not in Las Brisas.”
“There may be more,” Maria said as she studied the body. Someone was trying to make a statement. And they were deadly serious in the way they chose to make it. She had a feeling they weren’t done talking.
“This could possibly be a female perp,” Finley said, standing next to Haddock.
“I’d say more than one,” Haddock said.
Maria backed away and stood next to them. She wasn’t sure on more than one. A single pissed off female could’ve pulled this off with careful planning. But why? Abuse? Violence? Revenge? And why all the trouble? It was unusual for women to kill hands on. So why didn’t she poison him or shoot him?
Finley answered, as if he’d heard her.
“The killer wanted to make him suffer. And they wanted to shock whoever found him.”
“Yes,” Haddock said. “And shock us, she did.”
“If this is a woman, she is one twisted bitch,” he said.
“Twisted, yes. But intelligent, more so. She’s one smart, smart woman,” Maria said. She knew the time it took, the planning, the blood draining, the cleaning, the moving of the body. If the killer were a woman, she’d be hell to stop if she chose to continue.
“She is clever,” Haddock said. “During my walk through I found small tire marks. Indicative of a dolly or a hand truck. He wasn’t drug in, he was wheeled in and then placed in the chair.”
“Which is in the center of the barn, ready to shock whoever entered,” Maria said.
“Precisely.”
“And the killer wanted us to know right away who he was by leaving the wallet next to the chair.”
“Yes, where the hell did that come from when they left literally nothing else on the body?” Finley asked.
Maria reached for her phone and took photos. Finley did the same, only he made his way backward from the body, photographing the crime scene techs as they took casts of the tire marks.
When they finished, they gathered next to the Jeep under the gray sky. Maria wiped the VapoRub from her nose and tossed the hand towel to Finley who did the same. She always carried a kit with her to every scene. Water, VapoRub, towels, gloves, dry T-shirts, socks, and rubber boots like Haddock wore. She didn’t use them much in Las Brisas, but she was always glad to have them when she did. She tossed Finley a water and a fresh wet towel. He wiped his face and neck and cleaned his shades before slipping them on. She wiped herself down with her own towel, trying to rid her skin of the mud flecks.
“This is a goddamned nightmare of a case,” Finley said, kicking his boots against her tires.
“You said it.”
“Horny? Can you imagine the field day the press will have with this one?”
“So, we don’t tell them.”
“Yeah, like that won’t leak.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t. It’s critical to the case.”
He brushed off the legs to his pants and climbed in. He gripped the roll bar, ready to go. Maria asked the question that had been on her mind since she’d seen the word horny. “If the killer wanted to make him suffer, and he/she is attacking his libido, why were the genitals left alone?”
Finley sighed. “I was wondering the same.”
“That tells me this killer has self-control and deliberation. And that…is very, very scary.” It meant the killer would be more than careful and more difficult for them to catch. Intelligent, yes. Oh, yes, the killer was intelligent.
“Now we’ve got to go find this psycho who thinks he’s a little too horny,” Finley said with a scowl. “From what I know about him, that won’t be so easy.”
“He a dog?”
“A big one.”
“Great.”
She packed up her kit and placed it in the back. She took several swigs of warm water and caught sight of another plainclothes running toward them. It was Martin Biggs, another detective in their unit. She wasn’t surprised to see him. No doubt the sarge would pull out all the stops on this case.
“Diaz,” he said, catching his breath as he stopped at the Jeep. He bent with his hands on his knees. “Glad I caught you.”
“What’s up?” Finley asked.
“I’ve got a big lead for you.”
“Oh?” Maria perked up and Finley removed his shades.
“This Medley
guy,” he breathed. “Big damn deal. Very, very wealthy. Big time playboy. Liked his women a lot. High class, high pedigree, prostitutes, it didn’t matter as long as they were hot and willing.”
“Sounds like we’ll be busy,” Maria said.
But he held up a hand. “There’s one you should know about. One he tried to get for years, but she always turned him down. I guess it caused a feud between them, and at one point she even threatened to kill him.”
He straightened as he caught his breath. “Her name is Ashland. Avery Ashland.”
“Holy shit,” Finley said. “The Avery Ashland? Of Ashland Resorts?”
“That’s the one.”
Finley slid on his shades and looked to Maria.
“Get in the Jeep, Diaz. This case just went from shit show to shit fest.”
She climbed in and started the engine. “What’s going on? Who is Avery Ashland?”
He laughed. “Very soon, you’ll wish you never, ever wanted to know.”
Chapter Four
Avery Ashland. Maria thumbed through the information on her phone. Owner of Ashland Resorts Incorporated. Had inherited the popular resort chain from her late father, Paul Ashland, and remained mostly a silent partner in the business with the exception of Euphoria, which had been her own brain child, which she owned and ran freely on the outskirts of Las Brisas. Euphoria was well known to be an elaborate, expensive, private resort where Avery Ashland threw lavish parties and hosted numerous private get-togethers. Maria had heard of Euphoria and of the swanky rumors, but she’d never ventured out to take a look. It was way out of her price range so she’d never given it a second thought. Now, she couldn’t be more curious, and Finley hadn’t done a very good job of explaining anything to her.
“So it’s big?” she asked, glancing over at him as he drove.
He nodded and took a long draw off the straw of his gas station soda. “Enormous. The resort itself is large, yes, but she owns acres and acres of land around it.”
“Wow.”
“I’m telling you, you’ve never seen anything like it.”
“And people actually travel here to stay?”
“Uh-huh. It’s private and exclusive. Meant for the richest of rich and for those with a certain taste for…eroticism.”
She laughed at how ridiculous he sounded.
“I’m serious.”
“As in sex?” She looked out the window, suddenly understanding just what Finley had meant when he’d said the case had turned into a shit fest. Sex was already a huge variable in their murder, they didn’t need more to add fuel to the raging fire the press would no doubt build if they caught wind.
“Yep. Private sex parties. At least so I’ve heard.”
“So you’ve heard. Like when? While shooting the shit with the guys?” She rolled her eyes and tried to play it like she found the whole thing ludicrous. She’d only heard of such things in movies and television shows. She’d never had to investigate a sex party or deal with one in real life. So who’s to say he was right?
She looked down at her hands. With all the debauchery she’d seen in her days on the force—prostitution, drugs, trafficking, and numerous other things she’d rather forget about, she found herself surprised at how little she knew about legal private sex parties and swingers’ clubs. It made her feel more than a little prudish.
“We turn up here.” Finley pointed to a large gleaming sign set in stone on the side of the road. It read Euphoria. It shimmered in the sun and she swallowed at the expense and high quality of the sign alone.
He turned and drove down a long winding paved road. Soon the desert turned to gravel, deep purple in color which matched the surrounding mountains. Narrow paved trails led through the gravel, and as he drove, they led back to lush fields of grass and trees.
“It’s like an oasis.”
She stared at the cool looking green grass and all the shade the trees provided. A quick glance at the thermostat awed her even more. It was a hundred and eleven degrees outside, yet by the look of this tropical paradise, it seemed as though they were on the shore of some beautiful island. She pointed as they came upon a group of swimming pools off to the left, sparkling blue with waterfalls and wide white sun beds under wooden cabanas. Oh, how she wanted to dive right in and swim and relax in the cold water.
“There’s the resort,” Finley said as he pointed.
He stopped her Jeep Cherokee and they both stared. The main resort tower was massive and at least two dozen stories high. It stood stark white with red Spanish tiled roofing and highlights around the windows. Lush looking vines climbed the stuccoed walls while heavy looking palms, elaborate statues, and crystal blue fountains brought the whole package together, leaving Maria excited and completely overwhelmed.
“Damn, this is definitely not Kansas anymore, Toto,” she said to Finley.
“Gee, hon, we should’ve brought the Bentley,” he said as they pulled up at the entrance on a cobblestone path. He grinned and climbed out as a man in a white uniform held the door for him.
“Good, afternoon, sir. Can I get your bags?”
Maria climbed out her side and inhaled the fresh, clean smelling air. Misters lined the awning, cooling the entrance. Another gentleman nodded politely to her, wanting to park her vehicle. “Be careful with her,” Maria said. “She’s priceless.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maria grinned at Finley. “What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”
“I told you,” he whispered, tucking her arm under his. “See why I insisted we shower and change?”
“Mm-hm.” They walked into the large entrance through tall, heavy looking wooden doors and into the considerably cooler resort. Maria stopped and blinked and everything came at her in warm colors. From the burnt red of the Spanish tile flooring, to the wooden ceiling with truss beams, to the rich hues of the accent furniture to the red patterned rugs. All of it contrasted with cool, smooth white walls and a huge stone fireplace surrounded by deep brown leather couches.
“Close your mouth, you’ll attract flies,” Finley whispered with a nudge.
“I can’t help it. This is so beautiful. Look at the colors on the artwork. And look at those indoor trees. Man, I wish I lived here.”
In the far corner, an antique grandfather clock chimed the quarter hour.
Finley tugged on her.
“Now be confident,” he said. “And remember, smile.”
She tore her eyes away from the décor. “What do you care?”
“Trust me on this.”
They crossed to a shiny tiled counter.
“Hi.” He smiled unabashedly at the young female resort worker. “We’re here to see Ms. Ashland.”
The woman laughed as if they were joking and then stopped. “You’re serious?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Then what makes you think you can see her?”
“We’re old friends.” He leaned causally on the counter. “Did I forget to mention that?”
The woman stared at him for a long, hard moment.
“Names?”
“Oh, we want to surprise her.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sir, Ms. Ashland doesn’t see random visitors. You have to make an appointment.”
“And I do that where? With you?”
“No. And if you really knew her, you’d know that.”
“I see.” He slipped his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out his badge. He set it on the counter. “How ’bout now? Can I make that appointment? How about for, say, right now?”
She slid the badge toward her and picked it up. “Just one moment.” She turned with the badge and crossed to a telephone on a beautiful antique wood desk, lit by a green bank lamp. She spoke for several minutes and seemed to be flustered. When she hung up she didn’t bother to force a smile.
Instead she returned the badge and dug behind the counter for a key on a gold palm tree key
chain. She slid it to Maria.
“Take the elevator to the top floor. You’ll have to use the key to gain access to the penthouse.”
“Thank you,” Maria said.
“Just you,” she said. “Your husband can wait here.”
Finley read her name tag. “Look, Kelly, I’m not her husband. I’m her partner.”
“Whatever you want to call it, you can wait here. She’ll only see the woman.”
Finley turned and elbowed her. She caught sight of several cameras.
“We’re homicide detectives and I’m going with her,” Finley said.
Kelly rolled her eyes and held up her hands toward the camera. The phone rang from the desk behind her. She answered but did not speak. She hung up and returned.
“Fine, go ahead. But I’ll need to see your badge first, ma’am.”
Maria dug in the pocket of her short dress jacket and handed it over. This time the woman wrote down the information before returning it. “You can go ahead,” she said.
Finley held out his elbow. “Shall we, dear?”
She took his arm and they crossed the long walkway to the elevator where they nodded at the man who opened it for them. They stepped inside without him and Finley inserted the key and turned it, allowing the penthouse button to be pressed.
“Why does she only want to see me?”
“Just play along,” he said. “Remember, be confident and smile.”
They continued in silence and she glanced down at her pencil skirt and dark hose. Her blouse was lavender and her short jacket matched her skirt. Finley had insisted she wear her hair down so it rested in waves along her shoulders. Now she was beginning to wonder why.
The door opened and they stepped into a hallway, this time covered in ivory tile. Finley led the way, whistling at the expensive art on the walls. They stopped before a set of large dark double doors. A security pad of some sort flanked the doors. Maria’s heart began to beat fast like it did when she first shot her gun in the field. Adrenaline surged through her, but she had no idea why.