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Alicia Batra grabbed the plate of Rita’s celebration cake and dug in, closing her eyes with a blissed-out look on her face. “I’m so hungry. I missed lunch. Did somebody close a homicide?”
“I wish.” By department tradition, whenever a homicide was solved, one of the detectives—whoever was next on the list—brought in baked goods. Normally Kit brought in cupcakes from her favorite bakery when it was her turn. Sometimes Betsy sent in goodies and those were always demolished before lunch. “I was at a family dinner for Rita. Mom made the cake.”
Alicia smiled. “The adoption. That’s so nice. Tell Rita I said congratulations. Your folks, too. I hope you didn’t leave too early.”
“Nah. Dinner was wrapping up.” And not looking at Sam Reeves had become exhausting. You’re a coward.
“Good.” Alicia licked the fork and set the half-eaten cake aside. “I missed lunch because I was strongly encouraged to get these two autopsies done ASAP.”
Kit felt a twinge of guilt for taking off the time for Rita’s dinner, then quashed it. The case was still here. Frankie Flynn and Kent Crawford were still dead. Rita, however, had needed her support tonight.
“What did you find? You said it was important.”
“Pull up a chair. I have some photos to show you.”
Kit did, fighting her impatience. “What?”
“Should we wait for Connor?”
“No. He said to go ahead. He’s taken his date up to LA for a concert and can’t get back to the city for several hours. So spill.”
“The tox results aren’t in yet, but I do have preliminary stomach contents. Mr. Flynn’s last meal was still mostly undigested. He had some kind of poultry dish.”
“I’ll check with CSU to find out if anything like that was found in his trash or drain. There wasn’t anything like it in his fridge, though. I checked. How long would you say it had been between his last meal and his death?”
“Zero to three hours. Probably closer to an hour. I sent samples to the lab and they’ll be able to tell you exactly what was in the meal. Again, the lab results will be able to tell you more.”
Kit noted the details. “Thanks. What else? Because you could have told me this on the phone.”
Alicia’s smile was sharp. “Mr. Flynn wasn’t killed with that butcher knife.”
Kit’s eyes widened. “Then what did kill him?”
“Another blade. A sharper one. Whoever did this was very good. But I’m better.” Alicia opened a series of photos. “Look here, at this cut. Look at where it stops.” She enlarged the picture on her screen and Kit squinted.
“It looks like it stops, then starts again.”
“Exactly. But what I think we’re really looking at is two different blades. This top part—only a few millimeters—was made by a thinner, sharper blade. Then it becomes a thicker wound.”
Kit frowned. “Someone sliced him twice?”
“Yes and no. I think he was killed with the thinner blade. Then someone took a great deal of care to go over that first slice with another knife. That’s the one they left in his chest.”
Kit leaned closer to study the photo. “But why?”
“I dunno. That’s your area, not mine. But you don’t have the murder weapon.”
“Well, shit. That’s a good enough reason, I suppose. We’d be chasing our tails looking for whoever owned that uber-expensive Wüsthof knife and not the real murder weapon. Do you know what kind of blade the thinner one was?”
“A stiletto or something similar that was long and wicked sharp. But I can’t tell you more than that.”
“How long after the first cut was the second made?”
Alicia nodded approvingly. “Good question. Not long. Minutes to a few hours.”
“Long enough for someone to find a Wüsthof knife in Mr. Flynn’s kitchen drawer or to go fetch one if they didn’t bring it with them.”
“I’d say so.”
