“Like an ambush, from behind.”
“Yeah, and I’m betting the fibers on her pants, and the ones Morris took out of the heel of her right hand are from the interior of the vehicle used to transport her. I’m going to set up the board and book. What have you got?”
“McNab’s already in and started on the ’link. EDD’s waiting for the go-ahead for the rest of the electronics. Carmichael and Santiago are on tap for the search, and Uniform Carmichael’s on the canvass. I put an alert out for the wedding ring and the wrist unit, and went ahead and contacted the husband about the earrings so we could alert all of it. She had on these gold heart-shaped studs the kids gave her last Mother’s Day. I really hope we get them back. Something like that . . . Anyway, we could get lucky there if the killer decides to pawn or sell.”
“They’re not pros, so we could get lucky.”
“I started a run on the financials—vic and spouse. They both have life insurance—and plenty—but they’re solid money-wise. He makes considerably more than she did, but she didn’t do half bad. They’ve got investments, the low-risk, long-term growth type, and already have college funds started for the kids.”
She took out her notebook, swiped through just to refresh. “They own the condo, and have a mortgage going on a house on Long Island, in Oyster Bay. One vehicle—family-style cargo deal, late model, but not flashy. Some art and jewelry. Dickenson and Grimes started their firm eleven years ago, took on the other partners along the way. They have a good rep. The vic worked for Brewer and company for about the same amount of time, moving up, time off for each of the kids with standard maternity leave. The nanny’s been with them since the first kid came along. I have her data.”
“Okay, we’ll talk to her, to the vic’s work people, to the law partners.”
“Crossing, there are some clients popping on each, and I’ve got a couple so far who’ve used or are using the wit’s firm.”
“Run it through, then we’ll work the matches.” She glanced down when her unit signaled an incoming. “There’s the warrant.” She ordered it to print, read the attachment. “Yung says the family’s heading over to her place. Give Carmichael the warrant, and get them going. Give EDD the nod on the electronics. Be ready to— Sir.”
She straightened her shoulders when Commander Whitney filled her doorway. She’d expected contact, and quickly, but wished he’d called her up to his office, given her time to prepare.
“I’ve been informed Judge Yung’s sister-in-law has been murdered.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve just come in from the field. I haven’t written up my initial report, and am waiting for some lab results.”
“Run it through for me.”
“Peabody, get things started. Commander,” she began, then gave him an oral report.
He was a big man in her small office, his dark face grim as he listened, as he walked over to stare out of her skinny window at the gloomy morning.
“You’re not leaning toward the husband?”
“I’m leaning away from the husband,” Eve told him. “But we’ll take him through the process. Both he and the judge have been cooperative. I’ve got Carmichael and Santiago heading over to the vic’s residence to do a search, and EDD’s picking up the electronics. McNab’s already processing the husband’s ’link. The upshot is she was snatched by person or persons unknown for reasons as yet undetermined. But it wasn’t random, it wasn’t a mugging, and there’s no evidence at this early stage to indicate Judge Yung is connected to that reason. I’m going to take a harder look at the wit, and his partners, and find out what the vic was working on, or has worked on, her current clients.”
He nodded, turned back to her. “The wife of a prominent judge’s brother, the media will stir that. We’ll have the liaison issue a statement, save you time.”
Sing “Hallelujah.” “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m acquainted with Yung, as most of us are. You should know she and her husband and Chief Tibble and his wife are friendly.”
“Understood.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.” The minute he left, she opened the murder book, then set up her board, centering Marta Dickenson’s photo. She ran through the time line again, scanned the interview with the wits, then the spouse. For a moment, she studied the printouts she made from her crime scene record.
Blood drops on the tarp, she mused. Sloppy cleanup. Quick grab—timed well. Killing method, quick and brutal. Trained, she thought again
, but not professional.
So who’d hired, or had on their payroll, a couple of thugs with training—spine-crackers, security, bouncers—who weren’t above breaking the neck of a defenseless woman?
Start with why, she mused, and gathered her things.
Her ’link signaled again. “Dallas?”
“Lieutenant.” Harpo with her spiky red hair popped on screen. “Figured to give you a quick heads-up on those fibers.”
“You ID’d them.”