J. Robb - Judgment in Death

Music blared. It gave her a jolt to hear Mavis's voice screeching out into the opulent bathroom. All white and gold, the room almost hurt the eyes with its sheer white walls, gilt pools of mirrors, twin sinks large enough to bathe in.

Under the music she heard the rumble of a motor. She crossed the floor, damp and gleaming white, to the leg of the L-shaped room.

The tub was waist high and white as the Alps, but for the wet river of blood that ran down the side, just below a single hand. Red dripped onto the badge tossed on the floor.

"Damn it. Goddamn it." She leaped to the tub and saw immediately it was far too late for the MTs.

Bayliss lay on the lounging level, his head pillowed on a silver cushion, his body strapped down with long ribbons of adhesive.

His eyes stared up at her, wide and horrified, and already filmed over with death.

Glinting on the floor of the tub were credits. She knew there would be thirty.

"I wasn't fast enough. Somebody wanted him dead more than I wanted him alive."

Roarke lifted a hand to the base of her neck, rubbed once. "You'll want your field kit."

"Yeah." Her assent was a sound of disgust. "Whoever did this is gone, but be careful anyway." She reached for her communicator. "I have to contact the locals. Protocol. Then I'm calling it in. Meanwhile, you're drafted as aide. Seal up before you come back in, and don't-"

"Touch anything," he finished. "Hell of a way to die," he added. "He'd have been kept alive, aware, strapped down there while the water level rose. The room's soundproofed. No one would have heard him screaming."

"The killer heard him," Eve said and, turning away, opened transmission.

– =O=-***-=O=-

She recorded the scene and did a preliminary sweep before the local police arrived. Knowing she had to balance authority with diplomacy, she requested rather than ordered the sheriff to send his men out to knock on doors.

"Not many people around here just now," Sheriff Reese told her. "Come June, it'll be a different story."

"I realize that. Maybe we'll get lucky. Sheriff, this is your turf, but the victim comes from mine. The killer, too. As this murder links to my ongoing investigation, it falls under my authority. But I need all the help I can get. And your cooperation."

"You'll have it, Lieutenant." He studied her for a moment. "Some people might think we're in the boondocks here, but we're not boobs. Don't get your city crimes too much, but we know how to handle them when we do."

"I appreciate it." She passed him her Seal-It. "Did you know Captain Bayliss?"

"Sure." Reese sprayed his shoes, his hands. "He and his wife were regulars. They spent the month of August here most every year, and about a weekend a month rest of the year. Popped in now and again otherwise. Had parties, spent some money in the village. Didn't have much to do with the locals but were friendly enough. Didn't cause any trouble."

She started upstairs with him. "Did Bayliss make a habit of coming here alone?"

"Not really. He'd come down on a Friday night now and again-once, twice a year-stay till Sunday. Went out on his boat, did some fishing. The wife didn't care for fishing. You notify her?"

"My information is that she's in Paris. She'll be contacted. Bayliss ever bring anybody here other than his wife?"

"Can't say he did. Some do, men bring a buddy or a side piece, you'll pardon the expression. Women do the same. Bayliss stuck with his wife. Never heard of him bringing any… entertainment with him."

She nodded, walked to the tub with him. Reese stared down, blew out a breath. "Jesus, that's a sorry sight. I don't mind saying I'm glad this is yours, Lieutenant." Reese scratched his head. "If he was trying to make it look like suicide, why'd he leave the man strapped in there?"

"He wasn't trying to mock a self-termination. He just needed the blood on the badge. It's pattern. I've got the scene recorded, and now that you've officially witnessed it. I'm going to drain the tub, examine the body."

"You go right on." He stepped back and watched Roarke come in.

"My temporary aide," Eve explained. "This is Sheriff Reese."

"I know who you are," Reese said. "Seen your face onscreen often enough. You own some property around here."

"That's right."

"You keep it in good maintenance. We appreciate that around here. That your rig out front?"

"Yes." Roarke smiled a little as Eve turned off the motor. "It's a new line."

"Slick."

"I'll give you a closer look before we go," Roarke offered.

"I'd appreciate that."

"Victim is male, Caucasian," Eve began. "Identified as Bayliss, Captain Boyd, age forty-eight. Cause of death appears to be drowning. Single laceration in left wrist is potentially life-threatening."

She fit on her microgoggles. "No visible hesitation marks," she reported, then pushed them off again. "Victim is wearing a gold wedding ring and a gold wrist unit. A strong adhesive tape has been used to strap the victim to the tub at throat, left forearm, chest, torso, waist, hips, and on both thighs and ankles. No defensive wounds are evident."

The water drained out, little sucking sounds, while she spoke. As the level lowered, Bayliss's hair and genitals floated toward the surface.

"I need to get in to examine the body. Sheriff, will you record?" She slipped the recorder off her jacket, held it out.

"I like my job better than yours." He fixed it to his shirt, moved closer.

She stepped onto the platform, swung a leg over the edge. Already in her mind, the scene played out. He'd have been unconscious, she was sure of that. It wouldn't have been possible to get a healthy, well-built, adult male into the tub and restrained without signs of a struggle.

She planted her feet on either side of the body as she imagined the killer had done. Bending, she began to work at the tape. "Strong stuff. It looks like that tape used for packing cargo and heavy shipments. He used a smooth-bladed tool to cut it. No ragged edges. Probably shears or scissors. Neat, patient work. He took his time."

The tape screeched a little as it pulled away from the smooth, damp surface of the tub. She took her time with it, carefully sliding the tape into evidence bags.

With his head free, Eve lifted it, turned it. And saw no signs of a blow.

Stunned him, she thought. Used a weapon. Probably a standard police issue. Damn.

She worked her way down the body, handing Roarke the bagged tape as she freed it.

Her movements were brisk and efficient, Roarke thought. Her eyes were flat. Distancing herself, as much as she was able, focusing her mind, her skill on the job.

She wouldn't have called it courageous, but he did. To give herself over, to stand over death and work doggedly to balance the scales, even for a man he knew she had disliked.

"Microgoggles," she ordered, and Roarke passed them back to her.

With them on, she crouched, examining the abraded skin where Bayliss had futilely fought against the tape. Yeah, she thought, wanted him alive and awake while the water churned up. Screaming, begging, sobbing.

Did he call you by name? I'd lay odds on it.

She turned him, her hands unconsciously gentle. On his back, his buttocks, she saw faint marks where his body had pressed and rubbed against the tub.

And on his hips was a small tattoo, gold and black, a replica of the shield that was now smeared with his blood.

"A cop through and through," she commented. "At least that's what he considered himself. He'd have hated dying like this. Naked, helpless, and undignified."

She gathered the coins littering the bottom of the tub. "Thirty," she said, jingling them in her palm before dropping them into the bag Roarke held out for her. "He deviates his method but not his symbolism. Bayliss hasn't been dead long. We didn't miss this one by much. The blood barely started to settle to its lowest level, and what's been spilled out there's still wet. I need the gauge to get time of death."