“If they’re sharp enough. But it looks like it took several cuts to remove it.”
That was more information than Will wanted to know, especially staring at the result of the killer’s handiwork.
Will looked around for the missing organ. “Did the killer take it with him?”
“Look in his mouth.”
Montgomery’s penis was shoved partly down his throat. His mouth wasn’t swollen, it was filled.
“See the arterial spray?” Gage pointed out the long lines of blood that had splattered across the desk, floor, and victim. “To get the spatter this far indicates that blood was pumping. He was alive during the amputation. This is the kind of spray we’d see from a partial decapitation or a stabbing where a major artery was pierced.”
“But he didn’t have his throat slit or his heart stabbed.”
“Right. I’d guess Judge Montgomery was in the act of sex or fellatio when someone snipped him. We’ll know for sure during the autopsy-a flaccid penis would be cut like rubber-multiple incisions until the scissors tore through the muscle. An erect penis would show different marks.”
Will could handle the most brutal of crime scenes with professionalism, but this one was particularly gruesome and unusual. He was glad his partner wasn’t here to see it. Not because she couldn’t handle the gore, but because she would be full of penis jokes for months.
“No guy is going to sit still while someone slices off his dick,” Will said. The judge was physically fit, tall. There was no visible means of restraint.
Gage walked carefully around the back of the chair and looked at the bookshelves. “Blair,” he ordered his assistant, who was still taking pictures, “grab my kit from the hall and get the black light and slow film out of the van. I’m going to Luminol this place. I think I know what happened.”
“And?” Will prompted. “What do you think happened?”
“Come here.”
Gage stood on the other side of the vic’s chair. “Do you see what’s different about the blood spatter on this side and the blood spatter on your side?”
“There’s no blood on this side. Like someone was standing here.”
“Exactly. And look at Montgomery’s shirt.”
It was open at the collar, which was virtually bloodless. “I see.” Will stood behind the chair. “Someone was restraining the judge by wrapping his arms around the neck while another someone did the dirty deed.”
“That’s why we have this pattern. But why would he get aroused? If your life is on the line, sex is the furthest thing from it.” Gage thought. “Maybe they restrained him, then pulled down his pants.”
“Or maybe he was in the act of oral sex when the killer came in.” Will frowned. “Then where’s the woman? The killer wouldn’t just let a potential witness go. She’s either dead or an accomplice.”
Gage didn’t say anything but glanced at the ceiling. “Let’s see how much blood is upstairs.”
“The daughter? That’s sick.”
“Stepdaughter.”
“It’s still sick.”
“Time of death?”
Gage inspected the body. “Less than seven hours, more than four.”
“Three-thirty to six-thirty. That’s a big window.”
“The coroner is on his way. He’ll narrow it down. We’re still in the twelve-hour window.” The sooner a body was discovered, the better the time-of-death estimate.
“Santos was sentenced last week,” Will said. Just saying this cop-killer’s name made him tense.
“I was thinking about that. Santos has enough people on his payroll to pull off something like this.”
“But why the theatrics? Wouldn’t a bullet in the back of the skull be more his style?”
“That’s beyond my expertise. I’ll collect the evidence, you figure out who did it. But,” Gage continued, glancing at Will, “Santos might be sending a message of some sort.”
“I’ll talk to some beat cops and see if there’s something personal in the delivery.” Will frowned. “But I still don’t see him going to this trouble.”
When Gage’s assistant came back, he instructed her to finish the photographs and start mapping out the crime scene. They had purchased a state-of-the-art forensics program last year when they had a onetime budget increase. It was amazing that the lab pinched pennies when ordering common supplies and couldn’t hand out more than nominal pay raises, but could purchase a multimillion-dollar computer system simply on the whim of state politicians.
“I’ll be back to work with the black light after we finish upstairs.”
Gage and Will left, both carefully looking for potential evidence on the floors. “Where are the drops of blood?” Gage asked. “Being that close, the killer would have been slick with it.”
“Maybe they had an extra layer of clothing and removed it.”
“That would take planning.”
“Premeditated murder makes for a much longer sentence,” Will said.
At the base of the stairs, on the bleached wood railing, a bloody handprint stood out.
Will and Gage proceeded upstairs to Emily Montgomery’s bedroom. They walked slowly, carefully observing. The marble stairs were carpeted with sea blue Berber, keeping with the ocean theme of the mansion. Where the carpet met the marble were several drops of dried blood. Two more drops were closer to the top. Another faint, dark red handprint was pressed into the carpet, left of center, this one smeared.
“There doesn’t seem to be a lot of blood,” Will said, “which holds with the idea that maybe the weapon and clothing were put in a bag or disposed of.”
On the radio, Gage asked his second assistant to methodically go through every room looking for blood, no matter how small, and to start processing the garbage.
Gage said, “Logically, there was more than one person involved. The accomplice could have left with the weapon and clothing.”
Will didn’t know why it made him feel better to think that Emily Montgomery hadn’t been the one to do her stepfather’s amputation, though being an accessory was almost as bad.
“But they didn’t make any effort to clean up the stairs.”
“Panic? Fear? Diaz said the daughter’s room smelled of alcohol.”
Emily Montgomery’s room was the first door on the right, as evidenced by the slight splintering of the doorjamb when Diaz had broken in earlier.
The room was in disarray, partly from the paramedics who had worked to stabilize Emily before transporting her to the hospital.
Nothing stood out to the cops. Again, the carpets were white, but the decorations were more in line with the tastes of a teenaged girl: dark purples, black, and red rather than the subdued, cool elegance of the main house.
But in the bathroom, one towel had blood smeared on it, and the sink faucet had another smear.
“I’m going to have to call in a larger team, or processing this house is going to take all night,” Gage said, making the call.
Will noted the empty flask and the pill bottle. “What type of pills?”
Gage bent down and picked up the bottle with gloved hands. “Xanax. Prescribed to Emily Montgomery and refilled two weeks ago. Empty.” He stood, pointed to pills all over the floor. “There are at least twenty on the floor. She could have had half a bottle, or almost full. The prescription reads ‘Use as needed. No more than two in a twelve-hour period.’” He opened the medicine cabinet.
“This kid’s pharmacy is bigger than mine,” Will commented.
Eight or nine prescriptions, all prescribed by Dr. Garrett Bowen, lined the top shelf. Two bottles were on their sides, and another three were unopened on the floor. “Another Xanax, but an older prescription. Antidepressants. Tylenol.”
“Tylenol in a prescription bottle?”
“Prescription strength. And here’s Imitrex, primarily for migraines.”
“Sixteen and has more legal drugs in her cabinet than I’ve taken in my entire life,” Will muttered.
Gage frowned.
“Some of these shouldn’t be taken together. Someone needs to talk to this Bowen doc and see what’s up.”
Will made a note. “I’ll talk to the mom first.”
“Until we’re done processing the evidence, there’s nothing for you to do here. I’ll let you know what we find.”
“I’ll be downstairs with Mrs. Montgomery.” Will paused. “What’s your best guess?”
“At this stage, I can’t possibly guess.”
Will stared at him. “I need something to go with.”
Gage shook his head. “Theory, but only theory: at least two perpetrators, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were three. No sign of forced entry. Someone let them in. One or more known to the vic or to the stepdaughter.”
“And this blood?”
“We have a lot of work to do tonight, both here and downstairs, but I’d say Emily Montgomery was in Judge Montgomery’s office during or after he died. It’s looking a lot like murder-suicide, only she failed in the latter.”
“Or maybe Santos’s men threatened her,” Will offered as an alternative.
“Then why leave their witness alive?”
THREE
Julia Chandler was playing with fire. She didn’t care, she was used to it. But this time it wasn’t her job. Emily was in trouble and Julia would do anything to protect her niece.
She didn’t have to show her identification to be let into the crime scene. While it was rare to have a deputy district attorney show up at the beginning of a murder investigation, it wasn’t unheard of. Considering her take-no-prisoners reputation, no one wanted to cross her, cop or criminal.
Perhaps because of her high-profile background as a Chandler, where putting names to faces was required learning back in preschool, or because of her naturally sharp memory, or simply because she worked closely with law enforcement, Julia made it a point to recognize on sight those in uniform. Officer Diaz was manning the door, and her colleague was handling the prosecution of the gang member who shot him last month. The defense council was pushing for a plea, which the district attorney himself had refused. Andrew Stanton was not moved by the circumstances of the kid’s tragic upbringing. Neither was Julia, not when innocent bystanders were hurt.
“How’re you doing, Officer Diaz?” she asked. “Looks like you lost a few pounds.”
“Hospital food. I just started exercising full-time last week. I’ll bulk up.”
“Glad you’re back in form.”
She brushed by him, hoping the small talk had distracted him from asking her purpose.
“Um, Ms. Chandler?”
She stopped as she was about to follow Dr. Gage’s assistant down the hall to the presumed crime scene.
“I’ll need to tell Detective Hooper you’re here before you can go in.” He fidgeted. “You understand.”
She plastered a fake smile on her face. “Of course.”
“No need.” Will Hooper sauntered down the stairs, appearing laid-back and casual, but Julia knew better. The man was a shark, and she loved it when he took the witness stand. It was precisely because of his easygoing, flirtatious manner that he could turn a jury. She never had to spend much time prepping him for trial, which made her job a lot easier. And it was because of his testimony the other month in appellate court that she was able to keep a convicted murderer on death row. He held firm under fire.
“Hi, Will. Where’s your partner?”
“Vacation.” He pinned her with a curious blue-eyed stare and nodded toward the formal dining room off the main entrance. Her goose was cooked.
She closed the pocket doors behind her for privacy and turned to face the detective. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“You do?” He quirked his head.
“She’s my niece. I heard through the grapevine that Judge Montgomery was killed, what would you do in my shoes? Think I’m going to sit on my ass and wait to find out if my niece is dead or alive? Suicide? I don’t believe it.”
“Shit, Chandler, don’t mess with my case. Does Stanton know you’re here?”
She didn’t have to answer.
“Just because you’re Stanton’s shining star doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”
She rubbed her eyes, but when she pictured Emily she opened them. “I’m not going to jeopardize your case, Will. You know that. If anyone is a stickler for the rules, it’s me.”
He stared at her, and she stared right back. Don’t let him see you’re scared. Don’t let him see you have no power.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. But right now, how’s Emily?”
“Why don’t you ask Crystal Montgomery? She’s in the living room.”
Julia bit her upper lip. “Crystal and I don’t always see eye-to-eye.” On anything.
“How close are you to your niece?”
“Not as close as I’d like.”
“That’s an evasive answer, Counselor.” He stared her down.
Julia took a deep breath. Will Hooper was one of the good guys, she reminded herself. “When my brother Matt died, Crystal refused to let me see Emily. I sued for visitation and won. I have her every Sunday.” And after school, whenever Julia could get free, but Will didn’t have to know that. If Crystal knew Julia had broken the court agreement, she’d drag her back before a judge and try to take away her Sundays, just out of spite.
It had already cost her half her family’s wealth-Matt’s inheritance-to see Emily. Julia had dropped the probate lawsuit when Crystal consented to a one-day-a-week visitation. At least Emily had a secure trust fund that Crystal couldn’t touch.
“Emily has a history of delinquency,” Will said, the friendly good guy gone and the hard-nosed cop in his place. “Runaway, vandalism-”
“You don’t have to quote her rap sheet to me, Detective,” she snapped, angry with herself for losing her temper. “I know Emily has problems. She’s been working hard to turn her life around. You don’t know her mother-”
“No, I don’t. But I’m about to go interview her.”
“I have a question for you, Will,” she said, trying but failing to keep the prosecutor out of her voice. “Why was there a lag time between the nine-one-one call and the call for an ambulance?”
Hooper’s eyes narrowed. “I was just about to ask Crystal Montgomery.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t tell anyone her daughter was in the house.”
Julia’s chest tightened and for a moment she almost couldn’t breathe. She whirled around, pushed the pocket doors into the wall, and strode across the hall to the living room. Will was behind her, but he didn’t stop her. The back of her mind ran scenarios: Why was he baiting her? Was this a game to see what kind of reaction Crystal had? Was Emily in deeper trouble than she knew? Julia was almost blind with anger when she opened the living-room doors.
Poised and classy, Crystal Montgomery emanated old money, though it was Chandler old money that had bought her style. A forty-something former fashion model in a chic business suit, a petite version of Professional Barbie, Crystal Montgomery was a viper in disguise.
Crystal’s mouth opened and closed, her eyes narrowed, and she glared at Julia. “What are you doing here?” she snarled.
“You found Victor dead and you didn’t even check on Emily? What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t talk to me.”
“Answer my question!”
“I’m not on trial. I don’t have to answer your questions, Julia.”
Fists tightening, Julia whirled around to collect her temper. Think about Emily. Protecting her niece was the most important thing. She glanced at Detective Hooper, still standing by the door, a blank expression on his face.
Crystal saw Will at the same time. Her voice turned softer, worried, a hint of a tremble. “Detective. She…she killed Victor, didn’t she?”
“What?” Julia slowly turned to face her sister-in-law. “How can you even think such a thing?”
“The crime lab is on the
premises and they have yet to make their report,” Will said formally, closing the wide living-room double doors behind him. “I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I refuse to allow Julia to be involved with this investigation,” Crystal said. “Isn’t there some conflict of interest? She’s related.”
“The inner workings of the District Attorney’s Office are far beyond my influence,” Will said noncommittally, but Julia registered the concern in his eyes.
“I’ll call Andrew Stanton myself.”
Will hardened, and Julia couldn’t help but feel a hint of glee that Crystal had shown her colors early on. No cop appreciated a threat to call any superior.
To avoid putting Will in a difficult position, primarily because she wanted him on her side, Julia said, “I’m leaving. But this isn’t over, Crystal. Don’t screw with Emily.”
“You’re blind, Julia. You always have been.”
Julia firmly shut the door behind her and gathered her wits. How could she be so certain of Emily’s innocence?
Beautiful, smart, destined for something wonderful, Emily wouldn’t have killed anyone. She was just sixteen, dammit, and even with all her problems an honor student.
But what were Emily’s problems? Running away three years ago had been a shock. Worse, Julia hadn’t even known Emily had run. Crystal didn’t tell her. It wasn’t until she came by the following Sunday morning to pick her up that Crystal said her daughter hadn’t come home from school on Tuesday. That had been five days previous. Emily could have been kidnapped, raped, or murdered. The prosecutor in Julia had envisioned every scenario with increasing dread.
Crystal had notified the police and filed a missing persons report forty-eight hours after Emily didn’t return home from school, but there was no evidence of foul play, no ransom request, nothing.
That was when Julia took matters into her own hands and hired a private investigator.
She straightened and everything became clear. Connor Kincaid. She couldn’t be involved in the investigation-she knew the DA would have a fit considering how politically charged this case promised to be-but Connor was a pit bull when he cared about something. And he cared about Emily. He’d tracked her down after three torturous months and brought her home.
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