The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [290]
Palma started to cry again, the tears running fat and steady down her cheeks. “It was all bruised and red and her eyes…I ran over and I called her name. I think I called her name and I tried to wake her up. Pull her up. She wasn’t sleeping. I knew she wasn’t sleeping, but I had to try to wake her up. My sister. Someone hurt my sister.”
“We’re going to take care of her now.” Eve thought of the time it would take for her, then the sweepers, to process the scene. “I’m going to need to talk to you again, in a little while, so I’m going to have you taken down to Central. You can wait there.”
“I don’t think I should leave Nat. I don’t know what to do, but I should stay with Nat.”
“You need to trust us with her now. Peabody.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Eve glanced at the uniform who nodded toward a doorway.
Eve walked away from the weeping. Then, sealing up, walked into death.
2
IT WAS A GOOD-SIZED BEDROOM WITH A COZY little sitting area on the street side. She imagined Natalie had sat there to watch the world go by.
The bed looked female and fussy. Lots of pillows scattered around the room—some of them bloody now—that had likely been piled on the lacy pink-and-white spread, as some women loved to do.
There was a small wall screen angled to be seen from either bed or sitting area, framed pictures of flowers, a long dresser. There were bottles and whatnots on the floor—several broken—that had probably sat in some girlie arrangement on the dresser.
A couple of fluffy rugs graced the floor. Natalie was sprawled over one of them, legs twisted and bound at the ankles, her hands bound in front and clenched together as if in desperate prayer.
She wore pajamas, blue-and-white checked. They were spotted and streaked with blood. A robe, also blue, was tossed in a corner. The matching tie was wrapped around the woman’s throat.
Blood stained both fluffy rugs, and a splotch of vomit pooled near the door. The room reeked of both, and of urine.
Eve moved to the body, crouched to do the standard ID test and gauge for time of death.
“Victim is Caucasian female, age twenty-six, identified as Copperfield, Natalie, residing this location. Facial bruising indicates trauma perimortem. Nose looks broken. Two fingers of the right hand also appear broken. There are burns visible on the shoulder where the pajama top is torn. More burns on the bottoms of both feet. Skin has a blue-gray cast consistent with strangulation. Eyes are bloodshot and bulging. Wit touched the body upon discovery, some scene contamination. TOD, one forty-five A.M., approximately two hours before discovery.”
She shifted as Peabody started in. “Watch the puke,” she warned.
“Thanks. I’ve got two uniforms and a departmental counselor picking up the sister.”
“Good. Vic’s still wearing her pj’s. Sexual assault isn’t likely. Look here, around the mouth. See, was gagged at one time. Got some of the tape adhesive on her face. See the right pinky and ring fingers?”
“Ouch. Snapped them.”
“Broke her fingers, broke her nose. Burned her. Lot of damage to her things that could have been caused in a fight, or by the killer to make a point.”
Peabody crossed to a doorway. “Bath through here. No ’link in place by the bed, and one on the floor here.”
“What does that tell you?”
“It looks like the vic grabbed the ’link, made a run for the bathroom. Maybe hoping to lock herself in, call for help. She didn’t make it.”
“Looks like. Wakes up, hears somebody in the apartment. Probably figures it’s the sister. Maybe she calls out, or just starts to roll back over. Door opens. Not the sister. Grabs for the ’link, tries to run. Could be. New lock on the door—a good one, with a security peep. Maybe somebody’s been bothering her. Run her, see if she’s made any complaints in the last couple months.”
She rose, walked to the hall door. “Killer comes in this way, she’d see him from the bed. Smart to grab the ’link, sprint off in the opposite