“Corelli.” Parker touched her arm. “Corelli, are you sure you’re feeling well today?”
She opened her eyes. Old cigarette smoke, the coppery tang of blood, the stink of putrefaction She blinked. She was in her murder scene with Parker looking sympathetic. She wasn’t in the middle of… She scrubbed her face. “Sorry, I was thinking about the…twin towers.”
Parker turned toward the windows where they should have been. “You were there?” Her voice was gentle.
“Damn it, Parker, swooning over the view is wasting our time. You may have forgotten but we have a murder to solve.”
Parker opened her mouth but immediately closed it. “Sorry.”
Struggling to subdue the pain of the memories, Corelli welcomed the anger Parker conveyed in that single word. “Let’s get to work.” Jeez, two flashbacks in fifteen minutes. I need to relax and focus on the murder, on the victim.
They stepped around the edge of the blood-soaked carpet to the front of the desk and faced the woman slumped in the chair. Her eyes were open, her body was bloated and distorted, and dried blood covered her face and her hair. The flies were having a good day. Hernandez was right; no question she was dead.
Blood had spurted around the room, speckling the ceiling and walls and coating her clothing and everything nearby including the overflowing ashtray, the glass, the wallet, and the pad on her desk. The reddish-brown of the dried blood contrasted sharply with the plush white rug and the stark white walls and ceiling. Flies were buzzing and maggots had started to do their job. The good news was that the room was freezing and decomposition wasn’t as bad as might be expected in the August heat. The bad news was it still smelled like they were knee deep in an overflowing port-o-potty surrounded by rotting flesh. Drops of sweat glistened on Parker’s brow and the pen in her hand was shaking. Corelli hoped Parker would leave, if necessary.
She turned her attention to Winter and the bits of brain visible despite the blood. “Do you see anything that could cause that head wound?”
Parker scanned the room. “I don’t see anything heavy enough to be a weapon. The handset for the desk phone is missing but a handset is pretty light. I doubt it could have killed her. Maybe the killer made a call and took it so we can’t get prints or DNA.”
“Make a note to check the phone records.”
Treading with care to avoid the blood, Corelli moved to the woman’s right side, closer to the body, but still not touching anything. Parker followed.
“Looks like multiple blows.”
Parker studied the woman again and considered Corelli’s theory. “It doesn’t look like she struggled. Why do you say multiple blows?”
“You tell me.”
Parker chewed her lip. “She got hit on the right side of her head, but almost all the blood spatter is on the right. There wouldn’t be so much blood if that blow or blows had killed her. The bruise on her forehead resembles the shape of the telephone handset, so that would have been before she died too.” She stood on her toes. “She was hit on the top of the head, toward the left, pretty nasty. You can see her brain and not much spatter on the left.”
“Right. It’s likely that blow killed her. The autopsy should confirm that and tell us whether there are any defensive wounds.”
Corelli moved around the chair to the left side of the desk. “Did you notice that her chair is on a platform?”
“Yes. She was short, or at least she looks short in that picture on the credenza.”
Corelli followed Parker’s gaze to the picture in an elaborate gold filigree frame. Winter with a younger, taller woman. “That platform put her above everybody. It says, ‘I’m powerful.’”
Parker wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Yet the white and pink chintz furniture gives the office a girly feel.”
“What else, Parker? What does the room tell you about her?”
Parker narrowed her eyes. “She flaunts her money. She’s wearing an expensive designer dress and jewelry that appears to be real gold and diamonds.”
“Well, Ms. Fancy Pants ADA comes in handy. I wouldn’t recognize designer clothes even if I saw the label.”
Parker glared at Corelli. “Well, if you wore something other than baggy jeans and a too large jacket like some would-be gangsta, maybe you’d do better.”
“Touché.”
Parker turned her attention to the desk. “Her open wallet on the desk makes you think robbery, but a robber wouldn’t leave all that jewelry. And if it was robbery I think she would have fought.”
“Good observation,” Corelli said.
Parker studied the victim but avoided touching her. “I don’t see any obvious defensive wounds. If you saw someone coming at you with something heavy raised up to hit you, wouldn’t your natural instinct be to turn away or at least put an arm up to stop them?”
Corelli nodded. “Good question. Could be she was stunned by the smack on the forehead. But we can deduce from the glass on her desk that she was drinking something, so it’s possible she was drugged and couldn’t react.”
“Even with the smell of, er, the blood and stuff, it stinks of cigarettes in here. And under all that blood, the ashtray is overflowing with butts. Ms. Winter clearly felt that the law against smoking in office buildings didn’t apply to her. And the way she situated her desk tells me she wanted people to look at her instead of the view.”
Corelli crossed her arms and faced Parker. “What’s your hypothesis?”
“No sign of a struggle makes me think she knew the killer and was comfortable with him or her being in her office at night. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t try to defend herself. Since she was hit repeatedly, it looks like the killer was angry and had an ax to grind.”
“My take as well. Either she didn’t hear the killer come in, or she trusted that he or she wouldn’t harm her. But it sure looks personal.”
Chapter Three
While Corelli supervised the photographer and talked to the Medical Examiner, Parker began the detailed sketch of the scene Corelli had commanded her to do, grumbling at the waste of time. But as she worked, she noted that drawing exactly what she saw forced her to closely examine what was in front of her. And she understood why Corelli was adamant about her doing the sketch rather than taking pictures. Ever observant, Corelli noticed Parker closing her notebook and signaled her to join the conversation with the ME. He estimated the time of death between nine p.m. Friday and three a.m. Saturday, promised to get to the autopsy later that day or tomorrow, and reminded Corelli that it would be days before the forensics reports were available. After he left with Winter’s body, they watched the Crime Scene Unit until Corelli felt comfortable leaving them to finish while she and Parker interviewed Winter’s employees.
Walking back to the conference room where they’d left Sandra Edwards, the senator’s voice reverberated in Parker’s head. “Bad enough to be a cop, but aligning yourself with the ultimate outsider, someone hated by other police, is just plain stupid.” She massaged her temples. The senator had criticized and denigrated her all her life. And his critical voice popped into her head in less than a nanosecond whenever she felt the least bit of doubt. Of course she knew the voice was his and the fears were hers, but still it made her anxious. Yes, she was afraid she’d made the wrong decision. But, she reminded herself, she wasn’t looking for votes. She wanted to be the best homicide detective she could be. And nothing is for nothing. She’d already learned from Corelli in the few hours they’d worked together. Facing the ostracism and handling the arrogant, somewhat crazy, condescending outsider was the price.
Parker shook her head and focused on the morning so far. At first she’d felt like running away. The stench turned her stomach. She thought she might throw up or even pass out. Lord knows she’d seen enough dead people, but more often than not, the body was outside, fresh, or embalmed. The violence and putrefaction seemed out of place in Winter’s luxurious office. She didn’t want to think about how bad it would have been if the room hadn’t been s
o cold. When Corelli stepped closer to examine the wound, Parker had held back, afraid she’d be sick. But Corelli’s questions helped her focus and detach. How would Corelli grade her so far? She risked a quick glance, but there was no sign.
Maybe she should give Corelli a grade. She’d really freaked when the automatic lights flashed on. Undercover could probably do that to a person who was playing a role, needing to be alert to every nuance. Then, she seemed to flashback to the collapse of the twin towers in the World Trade Center attack. She was probably there and many of the first responders suffered PTSD. Add Iraq and Afghanistan to the equation and the likelihood of PTSD increased exponentially. But whatever was wrong with Corelli, she wasn’t making it easy to work with her. The constant ridicule and condescension were offensive and the see-sawing between nasty and nice was unsettling. She was trying not to respond to Corelli’s attacks, hoping if she ignored them, Corelli would stop.
As they entered the conference room, Parker inhaled. Edwards’s flowery perfume was a welcome relief after the smells in Winter’s office.
Edwards raised her head and attempted to smile when she saw them. “Can I go home?”
“I know this is hard.” Corelli touched Edwards’s shoulder. “Just a little longer and I’ll have someone drive you home.”
For all she’s damaged, there’s still caring and gentleness in Corelli. Parker perched at the edge of her chair and placed her notebook on the table.
“What time do the employees usually arrive?” Corelli asked.
“On Mondays in the summer, all the officers including Ms. Winter, arrive around ten o’clock. The rest of the week Ms. Winter is in by eight and she expects them to be here when she needs them. Her husband, Gus, and Gertrude, his sister, get in about ten every day.”
“Are she and her husband partners?”
“No. It’s her business, but he and his sister work here.”
“What does he do?”
“His title is Executive Vice President. I’m not sure what he does.” There was no sarcasm but the comment got Parker’s attention.
“And his sister?”
“She’s assigned to the accounting department, but I hear she doesn’t do much.”
“How long have Mr. and Mrs. Winter been married?”
“His name is Gianopolus, not Winter. And their twins are fourteen now, so it’s about sixteen years.”
“How did they get along?”
Edwards looked away. “Like a married couple.”
“Could you explain what that means?”
Edwards looked uncomfortable. “Lots of bickering, some arguments.”
Corelli sensed Edwards was not being forthcoming but she’d come back to that later. “Who works on this floor besides you and Ms. Winter?”
“The senior officers.” Edwards ticked off a finger for each: Gus Gianopolus; Jenny Hornsby, Vice President of Human Resources; Karl Silver, Senior Vice President of Marketing and Sales; Lewis Brooks, Senior Vice President of Information Systems; Phil Rieger, Senior Vice President of Finance; Terry O’Reilly, Senior Vice President of Operations.”
She stared blankly at the seventh finger. “Someone is missing. Let me think. Gus, Phil, Jen, Karl, Terry, Lew, and, oh, Brett, Brett Cummings, the Senior Vice President of Investments has only been with us a few months.”
When Parker finished writing, Corelli continued. “Please step us through what happened this morning, Ms. Edwards.”
Tears filled Edwards’s eyes. She blew her nose and blotted the tears. “I arrived about seven fifteen. I turned on the lights, dropped my newspaper and bag on my desk, and put up a pot of coffee. While the coffee was brewing, I signed onto my computer and scanned Ms. Winter’s schedule for the day to determine whether anything needed preparation. I went to the ladies’ room and then to Ms. Winter’s office to see if she’d left anything for me Friday night.”
“Did you take any papers from her office? We found only a yellow pad on her desk.”
“Anything Ms. Winter works on is confidential, so she never leaves anything on her desk or mine. She has a safe in her office and only the two of us know the combination.”
“Did you check the safe this morning?”
“No. When I saw her arm on the chair, I thought she’d come in early to work and dozed off. I didn’t want to disturb her so I headed straight for the credenza to open the safe. The light flashed on. I had just sprayed perfume, and at first I didn’t smell the…I don’t know if I saw the blood first or smelled…smelled the stink, but all of a sudden it hit me. Then I saw her.” She started to cry.
“Did you touch anything?” Corelli asked.
Edwards shuddered. “Are you kidding? All that blood. It was horrible. I couldn’t help myself. I screamed and ran for the elevators. When I got to the reception area, I thought to call 911. I kept spraying myself with perfume trying to get rid of the smell, but it didn’t help. I don’t think I’ll ever get the smell out of my nose.”
“Did she keep anything personal in the safe?”
“Only things she was working on at the moment. Like now, she is…she was…working on an application for military school for her son, Gussie.”
Edwards clasped her hands and seemed to fight an internal battle. Corelli waited for her to go on, but it seemed she’d said all she was ready to say.
“Why were you in so early?”
Edwards pulled the blanket tighter around her. “Ms. Winter wants everything at her fingertips when she needs it. When I started working for her, she wanted me to wait until she’d left for the day to finish her work, no matter how late she stayed. I needed to be home with my kids at night, so we compromised. I come in early in the morning so everything from the previous night is ready when she gets in.”
“Was there anything unusual about this morning?”
“Only that the office was freezing. Usually Monday mornings are hot and stuffy.”
“Was anyone here when you arrived?”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“Who would have been the last person to leave Friday night?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t leave until a little before seven o’clock which is late for me but Ms. Winter made an unusual request for me to stay and finish something important for her. The assistants have to sign out at my desk, so I know they were all gone by six. Gus and Jenny left before I did, but I didn’t see the other officers. Many of them stay late.”
“What did you do after you left?”
“I caught the seven-forty bus to Harleysville, Pennsylvania, where my daughter lives. My son-in-law Gary picked me up at the station about ten thirty.”
“We’ll need to confirm the timing.”
“The schedule and the ticket stubs are at home.”
As Parker wrote down Edwards’s daughter’s name and telephone number, Edwards started crying again. “It wasn’t easy working for Ms. Winter because she put her own needs before everybody else’s, but she could be kind and generous if she felt she could depend on you.”
“Can you think of anyone who might want to harm her?”
“Well, there are a couple of–”
They turned simultaneously toward the shouting coming from the direction of the reception area.
Corelli and Parker jumped up and ran toward the fracas.
Chapter Four
Under different circumstances it might have been funny: two police officers restraining a flailing man, while a woman beat them with her pocketbook. Both the man and the woman were yelling. Several women sitting in the reception room watched with wide eyes and gaping mouths.
Corelli’s arm shot out to prevent Parker from jumping in. “Stop.” Corelli commanded. Like a choreographed dance troupe the four of them swiveled to face her and froze. “Pull yourselves together unless you want to be arrested.”
Edwards, out of breath from the dash, spoke from behind them. “Oh my, it’s Gus and Gertrude.”
The officers stepped back but were poised for action should the struggle
continue.
Purple-faced, Gus Gianopolus pointed his finger at Corelli. “How dare—”
“What?” Corelli moved closer. Her height forced him to look up to see her face. He stepped back, covering his retreat by smoothing his gray-streaked pompadour and tracing the thin line of hair emanating from his sideburn until it merged with the tuft on his chin.
Mr. Gianopolus was one of those impotent bullies who attempted to rule by tantrum. He’d rolled over so fast that Corelli almost expected him to unbutton his shirt and flash his belly. Instead he continued grooming himself, running a hand down his tie and brushing his well-tailored, immaculate suit.
Four or five inches shorter than her brother’s five-feet-six inches, Gertrude’s coloring was the same, but her olive skin was oily and her shoulder-length hair could have used an introduction to a comb. Whereas he was trim and fit, she was thick around the middle, carried her shoulders close to her ears, and showed no sign of exercise. Her shoes gave the impression that she had trudged through fields of clay to get to work. Her clothing—a skirt, close-fitting T-shirt, and boxy jacket in an unbecoming fuchsia—sported the name of some unfortunate designer, but it did nothing to enhance her appearance. All in all, it was clear she didn’t give a damn about how she looked.
Corelli broke the silence. “I’m Detective Corelli and this is Detective Parker. We’re conducting a police investigation. I would like all of you, including you, Ms. Gianopolus, to wait here until we’re ready to speak to you. Please come with me, Mr. Gianopolus. Detective Parker, escort Ms. Edwards back to the conference room and then join me and Mr. Gianopolus in his office.”
Gianopolus recovered his voice. “What’s going on here? What kind of investigation? This is my firm. I have a right to know what’s happening.”
“In a minute, sir,” Corelli said, walking away from the reception area. He followed but continued his harangue. When they neared his wife’s office, he saw and heard the activity of the forensic team and started in that direction.
A Matter of Blood Page 4