If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [139]
“I saw it and—” She stopped and turned Vanessa’s head more to the right. “She’s had a face-lift. It’s good work, too—I didn’t notice the marks at first, but I wasn’t looking for them.”
Patrick stared. “I can barely see anything.”
“Like I said, excellent work. But right here under her ear—” She put her finger on the tiny scar. “And there’s minimal tightness, so I think she already had good skin and complexion, no excessive sun exposure. She’s someone who has been well taken care of most of her life.”
“Someone killed her,” Patrick said flatly.
“I think so, but I couldn’t say definitively. We should secure her body and this room.”
“How long has she been dead?”
“One to three hours.”
“We need to question everyone. But Lucy—if the killer suspects that we’re on to the fact that Vanessa Marsh was murdered, no one here is safe.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do. Lucy, you’ve never been able to lie. Let me ask the questions, okay? I’m going to tell everyone that we need to move the body to a cold environment for health reasons.”
“That’s true.”
“Then you can say that.” Patrick rubbed her arm. “Then I’ll say we have no idea what happened, but it looks like an accidental overdose or possibly natural causes.”
“Before I saw the needle mark, I thought embolism or aneurysm.”
“Good—”
“But will anyone believe she took sleeping pills in the middle of the day and accidentally overdosed?”
“Not everyone thinks like a cop, Lucy. We need to search this room now, before we move the body. I’ll need help—Steve and Kyle.”
“Do you think Trevor killed her?”
“The husband is always the first suspect, and often guilty.”
“He just doesn’t seem—” She cut herself off. Killers didn’t always look the part. “I like him,” she said simply.
“So do I. But we’re cops in this scenario. You didn’t kill her and I didn’t kill her. Therefore, right now we’re the only people we can trust. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’ll start here. You take the bathroom and their luggage.”
Lucy started in the bathroom. The shower floor was still damp; the hair dryer was plugged in. She put herself in Vanessa’s shoes—take a shower before dinner, dry her hair before dressing. She’d set out her clothes—another indication that she planned to go downstairs to eat. Vanessa’s makeup, jewelry box, and toiletries were organized neatly on the counter. She wouldn’t leave the hair dryer plugged in all day. She would have put it away. The meticulous way the bathroom was set up indicated that.
How did the killer get the needle into Vanessa without a struggle? It had to be someone she trusted to get that close. And what drug could have such an immediate effect that she would have no time to scream or fight back? It would have to have a paralyzing effect. Had she been drugged while lying in bed? Then why had she lain down in the first place?
Maybe Trevor came in and suggested a midday lovemaking session. They got into the bed and during foreplay he injected her. Up close and personal. Intimate. Watched her die. Was she surprised? Did she beg for her life or demand to know why?
There were few convenient drugs that could kill instantly, but if Vanessa was incapacitated that would make it easier for her killer.
Lucy stepped out of the bathroom and said, “Patrick, the wine by her bed. We need it for evidence.”
“What are you thinking?”
“She was drugged before she was injected. There’s no food in here; the wine is the only thing.” She took a picture of the wineglass and pill bottle. She’d already photographed the body and the puncture wound. She wished Trevor hadn’t moved the body, because lividity hadn’t set in. She could guess, based on the slight discoloration along the right curve of Vanessa’s waist, that she’d been lying on that side for over an hour when she died. Because Trevor had now laid her on her back, the blood and fluids would be pooling on her underside.
Still, Lucy had taken the pictures and hoped someone with more experience than she had would be able to decipher them.