I found Sydney’s cell phone on the bar counter. The screen was locked, so I took it to the bathroom and held the device in front of her face. Sometimes it worked on the dead, sometimes it didn’t. It was morbid, but necessary.
The screen cleared, and I had access to the device. I thumbed through the recent calls and texts. There were several from Bailey, a few steamy ones from Trevor, and a slew of nasty ones from Fletcher. I looked through her secure messaging app, Memo. There were a handful of unsavory messages from Patrick. I read through the exchange. It was difficult to put them in context since she had messages set to disappear within 48 hours.
I took screen grabs and sent them to my phone.
First responders showed up, and I led them through the apartment to the bathroom.
Dietrich snapped photos, and camera flashes bounced off the walls. Brenda went to work, examining the body. Forensic investigators chronicled the scene, dusting the door handles and flat surfaces for prints.
Light gray hardwoods lined the floor in the living room. There was carpet in the bedroom. Forensic investigators would vacuum everything, looking for trace fibers.
Daniels arrived, and we had a brief conference. It was crowded in the bathroom, and we let Brenda and her crew do their work.
By that time, Paris Delaney had arrived. She hovered with her news crew outside the apartment, waiting to catch a glimpse of the carnage.
After Brenda wrapped up, I asked her for a time of death.
“I’d say between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM last night. I’ll know more when I get her back to the lab.”
“Sexual assault?”
“Judging by the condition of the body, I suspect so. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Daniels frowned and shook his head. The chaos was never-ending. “I’m not looking forward to telling Judy what happened to her daughter.”
“We’ll do it,” I said. It was not an enviable job.
“Anything to go on?”
I shook my head. “No forced entry. No blunt trauma.” I pointed to the high heel. “There’s another in the bedroom. Just a guess, but the attack probably happened out here. The assailant may have dragged her into the bedroom to assault her, then into the bathroom to degrade the trace evidence.”
“Somebody she knew?”
I shrugged. “Could be. Boyfriend, jealous ex. She could have been assaulted at the door and forced inside.”
“I want answers,” Daniels said.
“We’re on it,” I said, then added, “When Judy called, had she been to the apartment yet?"
"Not as far as I know," the sheriff replied.
My brow wrinkled with confusion. "She didn't bother coming over here before calling you?"
"Judy doesn't do anything herself that she can have someone else do for her."
"Got it."
"When you’ve got that kind of money, the world caters to you."
I had no doubt Judy and Preston Hollister were large contributors to the sheriff's campaign.
We left the apartment, and the camera closed in.
“Deputy Wild, is this the apartment of Sydney Hollister?” Paris was on top of it.
“I can’t comment.”
“What happened?”
