Defensive Wounds Read Online Free PDF Page A

Two long black hairs, almost certainly Marie’s, two short whitish hairs, a brown hair, and something that looked like a hazel-colored fiber.
    She turned her attention to the nylons. They had been looped around each wrist and then tied in a double square knot. Something, a fiber or a hair not dark enough to be Marie’s, had been caught in the knot. Theresa diagrammed, marked each end with a colored twist tie—red for toward the victim’s left side, green for toward the right, like lights on a ship—and cut it. The victim’s limbs relaxed slightly, pulling a few inches out from each other. Theresa tugged on one arm, then pushed the body away from her, just enough to glance at the stomach. No injuries, just a deep cherry lividity that did not change when she pressed her index finger against the stomach. The blood pooled at the body’s lowest points and then coagulated. “Lividity is completely fixed, and so is rigor. It’s nice and cool in here, so that would keep the process slow.”
    â€œHow long, then?”
    â€œThe pathologist can be a lot more specific, but I’m guessing she’s been here all night.”
    Theresa moved some of the black locks, stiffened with blood, off the victim’s face. Her eyes were open, the irises a deep brown, already clouding. Marie Corrigan had an elfin chin and perfectly groomed eyebrows. Glossy mauve lipstick had smeared over the edge of one full lip and onto the fawn carpet. Her front tooth had chipped, the loose piece of enamel caught in the rug fibers below.
    Neil looked thoughtful. “So maybe it was a date. Conference is over for the day, let’s have a few drinks—”
    â€œExcept they didn’t. No glasses, not even wet spots on the nightstand.”
    â€œHe was smart enough to clean up, take all that stuff with him.”
    â€œMaybe. And be smart enough to take a complete set of towels—bath towel, hand towel, and washcloth—so that it would seem that all sets are present.”
    â€œWhat about the bath mat? Is that there?”
    â€œGood thought. But yes, it’s there.” The pristine bed still bugged her. She’d made enough beds in her life to tell the difference between one with the covers turned back and one that had been occupied, with its tiny crumpled wrinkles. And as a female, she firmly believed that she could tell the difference between clean and spotless. The room wasn’t merely clean—it was spotless . As if Marie and her killer had walked in, the murder had taken place, and the killer had walked out. But why? If there hadn’t been some wild sex romp, why did he kill her? And if he planned to kill her, why had Marie gone so easily to her own slaughter? She must have walked in under her own steam—no killer would trot around an expensive hotel with a fully grown dead weight.
    Maybe she had trusted him.
    Theresa reined her mind in from running down endless alleys of what-if and took a closer look at the carpeting. What had first appeared to be footprints were only smudges, about a half inch by a quarter inch, randomly distributed. By lowering her face to the floor as far as she could without actually laying her cheek on the carpet, she could tell that the two smudges between Marie and the bathroom door coincided with indentations in the plush fawn surface. The killer had gotten a drop of blood on his foot and walked around with it. But the indentations didn’t have the smooth, firm edges of a shoe print. Perhaps the killer had been barefoot? He’d shed his clothes as Marie did the same, preparing to take the edge off after a day of lectures? Theresa used a sterile, disposable scalpel to saw off the stained carpet fibers and drop them into a manila envelope.
    The hotel around her seemed to press in like a force against her skin, and she finally figured out what oppressed her: the silence. The only sound in the room came from the faint creak of Neil Kelly’s