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Marzillo’s eyes flicked down. “Much harder to tell in this case. I’ll know once I remove it, because if the blindfold was on before the blows, the cloth will have been pushed into the lacerations.”
“Time of death?” Arnett asked from Jo’s side.
Marzillo grimaced. “I can’t be precise until I calculate ambient temperature, et cetera. Best I can guess right now, less than eight hours based on incomplete rigor mortis, but probably closer to the longer tail of that.”
“So earlier than our other two? Before dawn?” Arnett asked.
“Almost certainly. Look at the state of the blood around the edges of the blindfold. It’s dried out considerably, more than I’d expect in just a couple of hours.”
Jo stared down at the gym bag lying next to Scott, and the small towel resting just next to that. “She must have just finished working out. If so, the gym should have footage of her coming and going, or at least some form of check-in tracking.”
Peterson appeared at their side. “Goran said she was Ossokov’s defense attorney?”
“Yep,” Arnett said.
“Narrows down the suspect list considerably, I’d say,” Peterson said.
Jo stood, and her hand flew to her necklace. “Possibly.”
Peterson cocked his head. “Possibly? Three blindfolded victims killed in three days, all closely related to Ossokov’s case.”
“Why would Ossokov want to kill his defense attorney?” Jo asked. “He was released because the lab made a mistake that somehow contaminated the DNA results. How could she possibly be responsible for that?”
Arnett kicked his legs out as he straightened up. “General rage she didn’t win the case? Or in retrospect he figures she should have thought to challenge the DNA evidence?”
“That’s possible.” Jo’s phone rang, interrupting her. “It’s Lieutenant Hayes. Guess Goran and Coyne decided to call her after all.” She tapped on the call. “Josette Fournier.”
“Are you on your way to HQ?” Hayes asked.
“Arnett and I are at the crime scene,” she answered.
Hayes paused. “What crime scene?”
“Deena Scott.” She flashed Arnett a confused glance, which he returned.
“Goran and Coyne are on that,” Hayes said.
“They called us because she’s blindfolded like our other victims,” Jo said.
“And nobody thought to inform me of this?” Hayes said, tone clipped.
Jo winced. “We just got here ourselves.”
Hayes hesitated again, then continued. “Then you won’t mind leaving Goran and Coyne to it and turning right around. I need you in my office ASAP. Cooper Ossokov’s attorney just filed a civil suit against the state that claims malfeasance on the part of the DA’s office and the SPDU specifically.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
Jo pulled up the copy of the filed complaint as a too-pale Arnett hurried back to HQ. “You want me to read it aloud?” Jo asked.
“Hard pass on the mind-numbing legalese. Give me the highlights.” The tires squealed as he sped around a turn a little too quickly onto the highway.
Jo grabbed the travel mug Matt had prepped while she’d raced to get ready. With her notepad balanced on her thigh, she scrolled through the documents as quickly as she could without losing details—the suit ended any doubt that Ossokov was at the heart of the murders, and she had to sort out how everything fit together as quickly as possible.
An all-consuming chill settled over her as she skimmed the list of named parties. “The suit calls out the DA’s office, specifically Sandra Ashville, and both you and Steve Murphy of the SPDU.” She glanced over at him to gauge his reaction, and to guide her own.
“Ossokov lists me specifically.” It wasn’t a question.
“You okay?” she asked.
