“Sir, the victim was killed in an office area on the main level, two rooms back from the central stairs.”
“And you know he was killed there because you were there at that time?”
“I…”
“You know he was killed rather than suffered an accident of some nature, as you saw the killing?”
“I— No, sir, I…”
“Correct response? The DB is in an office area on the main level, two rooms back from the central stairs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long have you been in uniform, Officer?”
“It’s my third day, Lieutenant.”
“First DB?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You gave a decent report. You’ll need to do better. Next time, leave out the conclusions. Focus on facts known and any relevant observations.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Stand by,” she repeated, and went inside.
“He’s very young,” Roarke commented.
“And has a ways to go.”
She scanned the enormous entrance, the grand staircase with its carved newel posts in the shape of sitting lions.
They didn’t look real happy, either.
The marble floors, white as the Swiss Alps, looked just as cold to her. The room to the right held an elaborate fireplace. Its face—white marble again—was framed by white pillars, topped by a thick, white mantel.
A glossy white grand piano dominated one corner. A couple of long, high-backed couches in gold, a few chairs in white-and-gold stripes, tables—white or gold—sat in an arranged formality that made her back itch.
The smaller room to the left sent out the same stiff and formal vibe with its white sofa, little slant-top desk in gold.
“Nobody lives in either of these rooms,” she decided, and walked on.
She found the office, and the victim.
And knew immediately the MTs had compromised the scene. Though it irritated, she had to assume they’d felt they had no choice.
The victim lay on his back, his head and hair drenched in blood that had yet to congeal. His eyes had begun to film, so the blue had a dull and glassy stare. He wore what had been a gray, long-sleeved tee—soaked red at the shoulders—and a pair of gray sleep or lounge pants. One gray house skid lay beside his right foot, the other near the big desk of glossy black.
He wore a gold wedding ring and some sort of medallion on a gold chain.
As she sealed up, took her recorder out of her purse, and clipped it on, Eve glanced around the office. A few paintings that were likely good ones hung on muted gray walls. A chair rail in deeper gray ran about three feet up the walls. A couple of black leather chairs, a gel sofa in a quiet blue gave the room some style.
The desk held a large comp monitor, a data and communication unit, framed photos that faced whoever sat at the desk. To the right, a door that would have blended into the wall if it were closed stood a few inches open.
Though she’d check it, she considered it a storage area, as to the left the door to a half bath stood open.
For now, she focused on the body.
