Still, as awful as all that was, it wasn’t the only thing that drew Jessie’s attention. On a plate that was likely placed in front of her by the killer was a card of some kind. Jessie wanted to get a closer look at it but there were multiple crime scene people around the body, as was Cheryl Gallagher, an L.A. County deputy medical examiner, who Jessie knew well.
Gallagher wore her standard lab coat. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, which matched her perpetually tight face. Jessie had worked with her on multiple occasions, and while the woman wasn’t the warmest person of all time, she was good at her job.
At the sight of Jessie and Sam, the CSU folks stepped aside. Gallagher, who had been facing the other way, looked over.
“Hi Cheryl,” Jessie said, not wasting much time on pleasantries, which she knew the M.E. hated. “What can you tell us?”
“Hunt, Goodwin,” Gallagher replied. “All the usual caveats apply, but here’s what we feel confident about putting in our preliminary report. It’s too early to pinpoint a time of death, but based on skin lividity and blood coagulation, I feel comfortable saying that it was last night. My initial window is sometime between 6 P.M and 2 A.M.”
“That’s a pretty big window,” Sam noted.
“I might be able to narrow it once we gauge body temp and rigor mortis,” Gallagher said.
“If Edward Cain is to believed, it was likely on the later side,” Sergeant Brasov volunteered. “He said he and his wife hosted some kind of fundraiser here last night. It ended close to 10. He said that once everyone left, Maria told him that he should go upstairs and she’d finish the dishes. That was around 10:30.”
“If true, that helps,” Jessie said, then turned back to Gallagher. “Anything else? Maybe thoughts on the murder weapon? From what I’m seeing, it looks like it was a pretty big knife.”
“Actually, I don’t think it was a knife at all,” Gallagher said.
“What then?” Sam asked.
“These are just initial impressions,” the M.E. warned, “but based on the nature of the wounds, I think the killer used scissors.”
Jessie was about to comment on how odd scissors were as a stabbing weapon as opposed to a knife. But before she could say anything, Gallagher continued.
“That’s backed up by something else.”
She stepped over to the curtains and grabbed one of the leftover cords in her gloved hand, holding out the spot where it had been snipped. Jessie saw what had drawn Gallagher’s attention. There was a clear blood stain where the cord had been sliced. If the woman was right, then the murderer had used the same scissors to kill Maria Cain and to cut the curtain cords.
Jessie walked slowly over to the table and looked down at the plate, squinting at the item left in the middle of it. It didn’t take long to identify what it was: a green card. Jessie looked up at Gallagher to see if she’d drawn the same conclusion. The woman nodded. Jessie turned to Brasov.
“You said she immigrated here from Colombia, correct?”
He nodded as well. Suddenly Jessie recalled what Captain Parker had told her. Chief Decker said there was a complicating component to the case beyond the involvement of Edward Cain and that he wanted someone who could navigate the situation delicately. If what she was looking at was what it seemed, then this murder was also a potential hate crime.
“We need to talk to Edward Cain,” she told Brasov. “Now.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Just before Jessie entered the pool house, she took a second to remind herself of the political fragility of the situation. Under normal circumstances, the husband of a murder victim was suspect number one. And technically, Edward Cain was no exception.
Based on what she knew so far, he was in the house at the time of the murder. And his claim that he’d gone straight to the golf course the following morning, completely missing the bloody kitchen, was already dubious.
But she had to remember that Cain was also a massive benefactor to the LAPD. Not that his status would protect him if he killed his wife. But if he hadn’t, treating him too harshly and alienating him could have consequences for the department. And of course, if he was innocent, then she was about to talk to a grieving widower. That needed to be her starting point.
Once she and Sam stepped inside, it didn’t take long to assess the situation. One officer was waiting by the door. Another stood awkwardly by a sofa where a man in his forties sat, staring off into space. Wearing golf attire, he was ruggedly handsome with hair that was more salt than pepper. Even from across the room, she could see that his eyes were puffy and red.
She looked over at Sam to see if he wanted to take the lead, but he gestured that she should feel free to do so. She approached slowly and stood near Cain, waiting for him to register her presence. When he looked up at her, the dullness in his eyes changed.
“I know you,” he said, his voice raspy and tired. “You’re Jessie Hunt, the profiler.”
“That’s right, Mr. Cain,” she told him, hoping she sounded comforting enough. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. May I sit down?”
He nodded at the sofa and she settled in at the far end of it. Then she indicated that Sam should join her. He stood at the edge of the couch.
“This is Detective Goodwin,” she said. “We’re working the case together.”
Cain nodded absently at Sam before turning back to Jessie.
