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Leo caught it one-handed. “Finding anything?”
“No defensive wounds. It’s possible whoever whacked him over the head came up on him from behind and clipped him from the back. They either got lucky or knew what they were doing.”
Leo turned from the cabinet, hefting one of the steins in his gloved hand. “Why do you say that?”
Bodhi’s index finger hovered over the head wound. “This part of the skull, the temporal lobe right above the ear, is considered the thinnest—and weakest—lateral part of the skull. A good blow or two here and the likely outcome is a fractured pterion. And that’s bad because the pterion covers the middle meningeal artery, which supplies blood to the scalp. If the artery is damaged, it’ll bleed fast and heavily. Within minutes to hours, the hemorrhaging will push the dura into the brain. That pressure compresses the brain, and you’re apt to end up like Mr. Stoddard here.”
Leo frowned. “It’s wild to think that the bones designed to protect the brain are that fragile.”
“They’re not, though. At least not most of them. If the killer was just swinging blindly, they hit the jackpot.”
“Or they know a lot about human anatomy and have precise aim,” Leo said. “Got it. Could this beer stein have been the murder weapon? If so, it’s been wiped clean.” He returned it to the shelf and inspected its mate.
Bodhi bobbed his head from side to side while he considered his answer. “Possibly. It’s certainly heavy enough. But for a fracture from blunt force trauma, the weapon doesn’t need to be weighty. A lighter object swung fast could do as much damage—if not more. The killer could’ve hit him repeatedly with something less unwieldy than one of those tankards.”
Leo abandoned his hunt for the metaphorical smoking gun and crossed the room to join Bodhi beside the body. “Can you tell anything else?”
“Not really. You know the drill. This room is chock-full of evidence. You and I just don’t have the expertise to read blood spatter patterns, gather DNA evidence, or dust for prints.”
Leo nodded.
They stared down glumly at the dead man for a beat. Then Leo said, “Well, we better round up his friends and get them up to the main house before they disturb the scene—if they haven’t already.”
* * *
Leo’s head pounded with a tension headache. Stoddard’s college friends understood the importance of preserving the crime scene and followed his instructions to pack up their stuff and gather at the front door without objection. But the air was thick with emotion and recrimination. Several of the women had red-rimmed puffy eyes. A few of the men, too. They all wore dazed, fearful expressions.
This wasnothow he wanted to celebrate his tenth anniversary.
While Bodhi sat in the parlor with the corpse and finished writing up his meticulous notes in the small notebook he’d produced from his pocket, Leo surveyed the assembled group: Tessa; Annette; and a man and a woman with matching monogrammed bags who were standing six feet apart with their arms crossed and their heads turned away from one another. He pegged them for the quarreling lovebirds. A man with shaggy blond hair hurried down the stairs with a large duffle bag slung over his shoulder and made a beeline for Annette. Judging by the look of concern in his eyes, the husband she’d mentioned during the trek from the cottage.
“Are you Brian?” Leo asked.
He turned away from his distraught wife long enough to give Leo a nod. “That’s right. Brian Elenex.”
He extended his hand, and Leo shook it. “Leo Connelly. I’m sorry about your brother-in-law, Mr. Elenex.”
Brian opened his mouth, then cut his eyes toward Annette and reconsidered his response. “Thanks.”
Leo was almost certain the man had been about to mutter some variation of ‘good riddance.’ He filed that thought away for later consideration.
“Annette says you’re in law enforcement. Are you a police officer or what?”
“No, I work for a federal agency.”
Brian gave him a steady look. “Which one?”
He returned the look. “It’s not one you’ve ever heard of. But I know my way around a crime scene.”
Before Brian could probe further, Bodhi appeared in the parlor doorway. He turned and closed the solid oak double doors firmly. To Leo’s surprise, he inserted an old-fashioned key in the keyhole, locked the doors, and dropped the key into his pocket.
“Where’d you find that key?” Leo asked when Bodhi joined the gathering at the front door.
“Sticking out of the keyhole. I figure locking the room is the best shot we have of preserving the scene.”
Leo nodded. Then a nausea-inducing thought struck him.
“What about preserving the corpse?” He whispered the question in a low voice so Annette wouldn’t overhear.
