Joan Pickart - Body of Evidence

The elevator doors opened directly into the foyer of the penthouse. She ran into a uniform the moment she stepped out, and had to produce her badge once more to get him to allow her in. Even then the man looked at her skeptically, and she wondered if that would ever stop.

“Look, I’m supposed to meet with Detective Waters. We’re partners. On this case,” she added as an afterthought, since she had no idea if the assignment would last beyond this case.

Something flickered in the man’s eyes, and she thought the corners of his mouth twitched. But all he said was “He’s in the kitchen.”

She tried not to speculate about the officer’s thoughts as she stepped past him. Now all she had to do was figure out where the kitchen was in this place. As she walked, she forced herself not to gape at the opulence evident in every square foot of the place, from huge Oriental carpets to a pair of matched sofas that had to be big enough to seat twelve people each, from sculptures on lighted pedestals to paintings on the walls that looked as if they should be in museums.

She walked until she heard voices. Stopping, she realized they were coming from two different directions, straight ahead and off to her left. She listened for a moment, then heard the low, rich baritone of Detective Colin Waters. Even after her short time assigned to this job she couldn’t mistake it. She turned left.

“-need the videotapes for the elevators for that time period.”

“I’ll get them right to you, Detective.” This promise was followed by the sound of footsteps, and she decided it was all right for her to go in.

“You do that,” Waters was saying. “I appreciate it.”

She was sure she imagined the slight break in his words as she stepped into a kitchen that looked more suited to a five-star restaurant than a home, because he didn’t even glance in her direction. The other man, a shorter, stockier man with a goatee, didn’t just glance, he stopped in his tracks and stared at her.

“About time, Detective Wilson,” Waters drawled pointedly, and Darien fought not to let color stain her cheeks. He knew how long it took to get here from probably anywhere in the city, so why was he-

“Detective?”

The other man almost squeaked it, and Darien stifled a sigh. And then stopped as the thought occurred to her that the statement might have been aimed at the other man as much as at her, letting him know who she was before he said anything embarrassing. She studied the tall, powerfully built man assessingly, wondering if there was indeed such tact and consideration hidden behind an exterior that had seemed, to her at least, decidedly gruff until now.

By the time she decided she had no way of knowing and that it wouldn’t make any difference anyway, the other man had escaped out another doorway. She also decided against making any comment about his unfair dig about her arrival time. If she was right, she’d look silly, and if he really was criticizing, he didn’t deserve a response.

Start as you mean to go on, her father had always said, and she meant to start this partnership on the right foot.

“What have we got?” she asked briskly.

There was the slightest of pauses before he answered, and she was very aware of his steady gaze. With those unusual golden-brown eyes, it was hard not to be. There was the slightest bit of emphasis on the first word when he finally spoke.

“We have a homicide case that could turn into the nightmare to end all nightmares.”

“Victim’s a big shot, I gather,” she said, as neutrally as she could.

“And then some. They’re more recognizable in this town than the mayor. And they’ve got friends in higher places than that.”

“I thought I heard eggshells crunching,” she said.

To her surprise, Waters grinned. “And very expensive eggs we’re walking on at that.”

She felt absurdly pleased. And decided to make it clear right away that she understood her position. “What do you want me to do?”

He gave her a look she couldn’t quite interpret. “You’re waiting for me to tell you what needs to be done, Wilson?”

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that, so she went with the truth. “I know what needs to be done. I know what my area of expertise is, so I would assume I’m supposed to tackle his computer. But I also know I’m the rookie here, so I was asking what part of it you want me to do.”

After a brief moment, he nodded as if she’d gotten the answer to some difficult test question correct. “Benton and Sutter have the evidence situation under control, and we should have their preliminary written reports by the end of the day. We’ll take the computer with us as evidence; it’s a laptop-at least it’s the only one I could find-so we don’t need to wait for transport, as long as one of us has it in our possession from the time we leave here until it’s booked in, for chain of evidence.”

“Did Benton or Sutter draw any early conclusions?”

“Limited. This is the highest-profile kind of case, so those eggshells are pretty thin. So far all we know for sure is Franklin Gardner’s dead, he didn’t do it himself, and there’s no sign of forced entry.”

“Anything missing?”

“A few valuable items. But whoever it was left cash and other easily portable-and fence-able-things behind.”

Darien frowned. “Interrupted burg, maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“By the victim?”

“It’s possible,” he said. “There are signs of a struggle in the study where he was found. I’ll show you in a minute.”

“But that still doesn’t explain the lack of forced entry.”

“Nope.”

“Nobody heard anything?”

“The live-in maid, who found him, was the only one here. But the study is soundproofed, according to her, so he could work undisturbed.”

“You’ve talked to her?”

“Not yet. She’s first on the list, but she’s pretty distraught.”

“He have any enemies?” Her mouth curved wryly. “As if anybody could reach such an exalted position in life without making at least a few along the way.”

“Safe bet,” Waters agreed. “But we don’t have names yet.”

“So…we start asking questions?”

“Indeed we do.”

“I understand it was a shocking experience for you, Mrs. Hobart,” Waters said.

“It was terrible!” The woman shuddered. She looked tired as she sat on her employer’s elegant sofa, and Darien supposed she’d been up most of the night. The notes she had said the woman was fifty-three, but right now she looked at least a decade older.

“So I’m sure you want to help us find who did this to Mr. Gardner,” Waters said, his voice gentle.

“I already told the other detectives, I don’t know anything. I heard a noise, then I found him on the floor in the study.”

“You didn’t see anything at all?”

A suddenly wary look crossed her face. “No. I told you, a noise woke me.”

“What kind of noise?”

“Just a noise,” she insisted. “I walked to the hall, I saw a light on. I found Mr. Gardner. I called 9-1-1. That’s all.”

She sounded almost defensive, Darien thought. And on her thought she saw Waters incline his head a fraction, as if the woman’s tone had also caught his interest.

“I see. Then I guess we won’t need much more of your time,” Waters said. The woman relaxed visibly. “We’ll just need the names of everyone who was here yesterday and last night. And anyone else who came regularly.”

Immediately the woman stiffened up again. And Darien saw Waters notice it.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t do that. It would betray my employment contract.”

“Your contract?” Waters said, looking puzzled.