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CHAPTER FIVE
It was hard to stay focused.
With so much testosterone bouncing around the apartment, Jessie was still slightly apprehensive that a shootout might break out any moment.
She tried to force the simmering animosity out of her brain as she walked through the place. She needed to have a clear head from this point forward. The coroner might focus on the state of the body and the crime scene folks might look for blood spatter or fingerprints. But she needed to be aware of everything that contributed to the psychological makeup of the victim. Even the smallest detail could lead to the killer.
The apartment was fairly unremarkable. It was clear to her from the décor that both residents were female even though the gender of the victim’s roommate hadn’t been mentioned. One of them was clearly way more personally conservative than the other. The wall art was a confusing amalgam of watercolors and religious iconography next to Gustav Klimt prints and incendiary Mapplethorpe photos.
As she walked down the hall, Jessie got the distinct sense that the more outré roommate was also the one with more money. Her style seemed far more dominant. When they passed the smaller bedroom, she glanced in and saw a cross on the wall above the dresser.
So the one who could afford the bigger bedroom died.
Sure enough, they continued on to the larger bedroom at the end of the hall, from where she could hear voices.
“You up for this, criminal profiler lady?” Costabile asked derisively.
“She’s been…” Ryan started to say but she cut him off.
“I’m good,” she answered.
She didn’t need him standing up for her professional virtue. And she definitely didn’t want another tough guy competition when she was trying to concentrate. Ignoring whatever stare-down was going on behind her, she took a deep breath and stepped into the bedroom.
Before even looking at the body, she allowed her eyes to scan the room. There were more of the bold decorating choices on the walls and a disco ball lamp beside the bed. A chair in the corner was on its side and magazines were scattered on the floor, hinting at a struggle. The desk was mostly empty, though there was a clean, rectangular spot surrounded by a layer of dust, a sure sign that a laptop had recently been there.
“TV is still here,” Ryan noted. “So is the gaming console. Seems like an odd decision for a thief to leave that stuff.”
“Laptop is gone though,” Jessie noted. “Anyone find a cell phone?”
“Not yet,” Officer Webb said.
“Did you get her number from the roommate so we can try to track it?” she asked, trying not to let her impatience show.
“The roommate has been a little on the hysterical side,” Costabile said. “We’ve had trouble getting much of anything out of her other than her name, Elizabeth Polacnyk. The EMTs have her in the ambulance outside. They were going to sedate her.”
“Okay,” Jessie said. “But don’t let her leave until we’ve had a chance to speak to her.”
Costabile still looked put out but nodded for Officer Lester, who was still near the front door, to convey the demand. As he did, Jessie finally turned her attention to the girl on the bed. She was already in the body bag, though it hadn’t been zipped up. The sight of it was infuriating to Jessie.
“Did anyone take photos before her body was disturbed?” Ryan asked, speaking aloud the question in Jessie’s head.
A crime scene tech raised his hand.
“I managed to snap a few just before she was loaded in the bag,” he said.
The deputy medical examiner on the case walked over.
“Hi. I’m Maggie Caldwell. We tried to hold off on bagging,” she said apologetically. “But we were instructed otherwise.”
The accusation hung in the air, unspoken.
“Like I said,” Costabile said defensively, “seemed like an open-and-shut case; didn’t want to waste resources.”
Jessie tried to keep her voice even as she replied.
“I’m sure you have decades of experience on the job, Sergeant,” she said. “But are you in the habit of making the command decision to disturb a murder scene before the detectives arrive, regardless of what resources it requires?”
“Valley Bureau isn’t as flush as you Downtown types,” he barked. “We don’t have the luxury of lingering lovingly over every dead runaway we find.”
