“Record on. Victim is a Caucasian male, pronounced dead by medical techs at one hundred hours, nine minutes. The scene has been compromised by same. Though the victim is now on his back, the blood pattern on the floor indicates he was turned. Visible evidence of a head wound, probable weapon a large rock—looks like a decorative piece, about eighteen inches long, ah… eight inches wide at one end, descending down to about three at the tip.”
“I believe that’s a piece of amethyst, Lieutenant.”
“Yeah?” She glanced up at Roarke. “Expert consultant IDs said rock as amethyst, lab to confirm. Said piece, situated on the floor by the right side of the desk, has blood and gray matter on the head.”
She took out her Identi-pad, pressed the victim’s finger to it. “Victim is identified as Nathan Barrister, age fifty, of this address. No visible defensive wounds. Victim wears a gold ring on the third finger of his left hand and a gold chain with…” She tipped the medallion up with a sealed finger. “Yeah, a Saint Christopher medal.”
She turned the head, huffed out a breath at the severity of the wound on the back of the victim’s head. “No wonder they pronounced so quickly. With this? If he wasn’t dead when they got here, he sure as hell was by the time they tried working on him.”
She sat back on her heels. “Close to one in the morning. He’s dressed for bed or lounging around. Maybe he’s working late, or came down to work.
“The way this looks? He’s bashed from behind as he’s walking backfrom that door over there. Check that out, will you? Probably office storage. You sealed?”
“I am, yes.”
As she continued her examination, Roarke, avoiding splatters and pools of blood, moved to the door.
“Not office storage, no, it’s not that.” He had to put his back into it to fully open the door. “It’s a vault.”
“A vault?” She looked up from her gauges that told her TOD was about ten, maybe eleven minutes before the MTs arrived.
“And it holds some very interesting treasures.”
She stood, walked over. It changed things, she thought. Changed everything.
She saw paintings that even her novice eye recognized as important. Jewelry sparkling behind individual glass displays. Sculptures, statues, what she assumed were artifacts, and more.
“What you have here, Lieutenant, is a small, exclusive, private, and ill-gotten collection.”
“I get the first three. How do you conclude the ill-gotten?”
“For one? That exquisite Renoir? Stolen from the Smithsonian about, oh, maybe twenty-five years ago. The ruby necklace there? Stolen again, from—if I recall correctly—a countess, from her manor house in… it might’ve been Sussex.”
He caught the look she slanted him, shook his head.
“There’s an empty display there.”
“There is indeed. And also a tablet on the built-in desk. I’d wager you might find the inventory.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She looked back at the victim. “He maybe hears something, comes down to check. Bam, bash. Killer grabs one thing? That’s a question. Maybe only has time for it. I’m going to want that tablet checked, but I need you to check the house security first. I’m going to tag the morgue, the sweepers, then start interviews.”
She turned back to the closet. “It doesn’t look like whatever was in that display would’ve been the handiest to grab if you were in a hurry. If somebody found the vic like this? Look at the timing. It had to be practically on top of TOD.
“Security,” she said again. “Security feed. Any sign of a break-in.”
“I know the drill well enough.”
“Peabody should be here soon. If she brings McNab along, put him to work.”
She made her way through the house, taking her time, as she wanted a sense of the whole. That sense turned a one-eighty when she saw the kitchen/lounge area.
She wouldn’t have called it casual, but the entire area read warm, welcoming, comfortable. Not stark white, no I’m-crazy-rich gold. Instead, the soft green walls—with an entire one taken down to what might’ve been the original brick—added a kind of calm.
In a nook with padded benches, a trio—two women, one man—sat with their faces shocked, their eyes damp.
A pot of what smelled like tea sat on the table along with cups and saucers. Wide windows let in the wash of security lights that shined over a garden area going into its fall fade.
The appliances gleamed, the acres of counters spread in slate gray while the cabinets, glass fronted and lit, had frames of dark forest green.
