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He turned from the window to glare at her. “How likely doyouthink that is?”
She didn’t reply.
They hurried into Burkefeld Gardens twenty minutes later, following signs to the Zen topiary garden. A tall, late-twenties Latina officer, hands lightly resting on her belt with a tense confidence as she scanned the perimeter, spotted them instantly. Her nameplate identified her as B. Rivera.
“What do we have?” Jo asked after introducing herself and Arnett.
“Late-sixties Asian woman believed to be Judge Winnie Sakurai, found dead this morning near the dragon topiary.” She pointed to the tree in question. “Inner perimeter set up around that section.”
“We’re not sure yet that it’s Judge Sakurai?” Arnett asked.
“The crime-scene investigators seem sure, but the official ID hasn’t been made,” Rivera said.
“Has her husband been notified?” Jo asked.
“An officer is on his way now.” She glanced at her watch. “Should be there soon, if not already.”
“Who found the victim?” Arnett asked.
“A man who’d come to the topiary garden to meditate.”
Jo glanced around. “Where is he?”
“You passed him on the way in. He’s waiting on the other side of the hedge.”
“Nearest security cameras?” she asked.
“They have one on the visitor center and one each on the front and back main entrances. They’re putting together the footage for you.”
“Mainentrances. Are there more?” she asked.
“Several one-way exits that don’t have cameras.”
Jo gritted her teeth in frustration—that meant their perpetrator would only have hit a camera on the way in, when it was almost certainly still dark outside.
She nodded her thanks and ducked under the tape. She and Arnett wound their way through the hedges and trees that marked off the separate sections of the topiary garden, and provided an evergreen enclave amidst the autumnal colors of the rest of the park. Clipped, precise landscaping alternated with elaborate, sculpted dry waterfalls and sandy areas stocked with rakes. “I’ve never been here before. It’s beautiful.”
Arnett’s eyes scanned the area. “I’ve been, a long time ago. I remember it being sparser.” He pointed to a peacock topiary. “I guess things like that don’t happen overnight.”
Jo nodded, considering his words.
They stopped at the inner tape to outfit themselves in PPE. Jo spotted Marzillo again heading the investigators with Peterson again at her side—given the likely relation to yesterday’s crime scene, Marzillo would want to make first-hand contrasts and comparisons. Despite three additional CSIs combing the grounds, the scene was again unnaturally silent, with no casual chit-chat, no instructions called back and forth, and none of the gallows humor that normally allowed the techs to keep their psychological distance while facing the horrors of the job. The implications of two murdered members of law enforcement cast an oppressive net that disabled all their defense mechanisms.
As Jo slipped on her hair covering, a familiar figure appeared from around the far hedge. She prodded Arnett with her elbow. “Hayes.”
Arnett responded without moving his lips. “Must’ve used a light bar to get here this fast.”
As they approached Marzillo and Jo caught her first sight of Winnie Sakurai, the fledgling hope she’d been nurturing that Sakurai’s death was a coincidence instantly shattered. On the ground between an ornately carved bench and a pristinely trimmed hedge, Sakurai lay flat on her back, a strip of off-white fabric wrapped around her face, sticky from the dark pool of blood matting her thick hair and soaking into the packed dirt. Her mouth, the only visible portion of her face, slashed diagonally in an exaggerated moue, like she’d been frozen amid a scream she’d never finish.
“Jo, Bob.” Marzillo’s expression was grim as she followed Jo’s gaze. “I’ll do an official comparison, but I can tell you right now the blindfold is made of the same material. The edges are raw, so my guess is it was cut off the same larger piece of cloth.”
“Also shot in the head?” Jo asked, bending for a closer look. A pair of binoculars lay about two feet away on the right, while a Thermos and a journal sat arranged carefully on the bench.
Hayes joined them, planted her hands on her hips, and answered before Marzillo had a chance to. “Beaten to death.”
Marzillo waited a beat before continuing. “Skull fracture. Bludgeoned on the back of the head, most likely with that.” She pointed to a rock several feet away that Peterson was currently photographing.
Jo stepped toward Peterson, then squatted down to examine the rock. “Smooth, flat, oval-shaped. It looks like one of the rocks in the stacked sculptures.”
