Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) (38 page)

With a fresh burst of adrenaline she wriggled her arm out from under his knee and flailed for any kind of weapon. She groped around the floor until her fingers closed around something smooth and slender—a pen, a chopstick, she didn’t know. She gripped it in her hand and jabbed at his face with all her might. He reared back with a howl.

Laney bucked hard and rolled out from under him as he clutched his face.

A scream erupted from deep inside her. She tripped to her feet and rocketed for the door.

THIS CASE WAS
going to throw him. Reed Novak knew it the second he saw the volleyball court.

Taut net, sugary white sand. Beside the court was a swimming pool that sparkled like a sapphire under the blazing August sun.

“Hell, if I had a pool like that, I’d use it.”

Reed looked at his partner in the passenger seat. Jay Wallace had his window rolled down and his hefty arm resting on the door.

“Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Reed didn’t answer. The point was probably to slap a photo on a Web site to justify the astronomical rent Bellaterra charged for one- and two-bedroom units five minutes from downtown.

Reed pulled in beside the white ME’s van and climbed out, glancing around. Even with a few emergency vehicles, the parking lot was quiet. Bellaterra’s young and athletically inclined tenants were either at jobs or classes, or maybe home with their parents for the summer, letting their luxury apartments sit empty.

Reed stood for a moment, getting a feel. Heat radiated up from the blacktop, and the drone of cicadas drowned out the traffic noise on Lake Austin Boulevard. He glanced across the parking lot to the ground-floor unit, where a female patrol officer stood guard.

“First responder, Lena Guitierrez.”

Reed looked at Jay. “You know her?”

“Think she’s new.”

They crossed the lot and exchanged introductions. Guitierrez looked nervous in her wilted uniform. Her gaze darted to the detective shield clipped to Reed’s belt.

“I secured the perimeter, sir.”

“Good. Tell us what you got.”

She cleared her throat. “Apartment’s rented to April Abrams, twenty-five. Didn’t show up for work today, didn’t answer her phone. One of her coworkers dropped by. The door was reportedly unlocked, so she went inside to check . . .”

Her voice trailed off as though they should fill in the blank.

Reed stepped around her and examined the door, which stood ajar. No visible scratches on the locking mechanism. No gouges on the door frame.

Jay was already covering his shiny black wingtips with paper booties. Reed did the same. Austin was casual, but they always wore business attire—suit pants and button-down shirts—because of days like today. Reed never wanted to do a death knock dressed like he was on his way to a keg party.

He stepped into the cool foyer and let his eyes adjust. To his right was a living area. White sectional sofa, bleached wood coffee table, white shag rug over beige carpet. The pristine room was a contrast to the hallway, where yellow evidence markers littered the tile floor. A picture on the wall had been knocked askew, and a pair of ME’s assistants bent over a body.

A bare foot jutted out from the huddle. Pale skin, red toenail polish.

Reed walked into the hall, sidestepping numbered pieces of plastic that flagged evidence he couldn’t see. A slender guy with premature gray hair glanced up. Reed knew the man, and his expression was even grimmer than usual.

April Abrams was young.

Reed knelt down for a closer look. She lay on her side, her head resting in a pool of coagulated blood. Long auburn hair partially obscured her face, and her arm was bent behind her at an impossible angle. A strip of silver duct tape covered her mouth.

“Jesus,” Jay muttered behind him.

Her bare legs scissored out to the side. A pink T-shirt was bunched up under her armpits, and Reed noted extensive scratches on both breasts.

“What do you have?” Reed asked.

“Twelve to eighteen hours, ballpark,” the ME’s assistant said. “The pathologist should be able to pin that down better.”

Reed studied her face again. No visible abrasions. No ligature marks on her neck. The right side of her skull was smashed in, and her hair was matted with dried blood.

“Murder weapon?” Reed asked.

“Not that we’ve seen. You might ask the photog, though. She’s in the kitchen.”

Reed stood up, looking again at the tape covering April’s mouth. A lock of her hair was stuck under it, which for some reason pissed him off.

He moved into the kitchen and paused beside a sliding glass door that opened onto a fenced patio. Outside on the concrete sat a pair of plastic bowls, both empty.

“I haven’t seen a weapon,” the crime scene photographer said over her shoulder. “You’ll be the first to know.”

Reed glanced around her to see what had her attention. On the granite countertop was an ID badge attached to one of those plastic clips with a retractable cord. The badge showed April’s mug shot with her name and the words
ChatWare Solutions
printed below. April had light blue eyes, pale skin. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she smiled tentatively for the camera.

The photographer finished with the badge and shifted to get a shot of the door.

“Come across a phone?” Reed asked, looking around. No dirty dishes on the counters. Empty sink.

“Not so far.” She glanced up from her camera as Jay stepped into the kitchen and silently handed Reed a pair of latex gloves. “I haven’t done the bedroom yet, though, so don’t you guys move anything.”

Reed pulled on the gloves and opened the fridge. It took him a moment to identify the unfamiliar contents: spinach, beets, bean sprouts. Something green and frilly that might or might not be kale. The dietary train wreck continued in the pantry, where he found three boxes of Kashi, six bottles of vitamins, and a bag of flaxseed.

Opening the cabinet under the sink Reed found a bag of cat food and a plastic trash can. The can was empty, not even a plastic bag inside it despite the box of them right there in the cabinet. He’d check out Bellaterra’s Dumpsters. Reed opened several drawers and found the usual assortment of utensils.

“That’s an eight-hundred-dollar juicer.” Jay nodded at the silver appliance near the sink.

“That thing?”

“At least. Maybe a thousand. My sister got one last Christmas.”

Guitierrez was standing in the foyer now, watching them with interest.

“Did you come across a phone?” Reed asked her. “A purse? A wallet?”

“No on all three, sir. I did a full walk-through, didn’t see anything.”

Reed exchanged a look with Jay before moving back into the hallway. The ME’s people were now taping paper bags over the victim’s hands.

Reed stepped into the bedroom. A ceiling fan moved on low speed, stirring the air. The queen-size bed was heaped with plump white pillows like a fancy hotel. The pillows were piled to the side and the bedspread was thrown back, suggesting April had gone to bed and then gotten up.

“Think she heard him?” Jay asked.

“Maybe.”

The bedside lamp was off, and the only light in the room came from sunlight streaming through vertical blinds. Reed ducked into the bathroom. Makeup was scattered across the counter. A gold watch with a diamond bezel sat beside the sink. Reed opened the medicine cabinet.

“Sleeping pills, nasal spray, laxatives, OxyContin,” he said.

Reed examined the latch on the window above the toilet. Then he moved into the bedroom. Peering under the bed, he found a pair of white sandals and a folded shopping bag. On the nightstand was a stack of magazines:
Entertainment Weekly, People, Wired
. He opened the nightstand drawer and stared down.

“Huh.”

Jay glanced over. “Vibrator?”

“Chocolate.” Four bars of Godiva, seventy-two percent cocoa. One of the bars had the wrapper partially removed and a hunk bitten off.

Reed was more or less numb to going through people’s stuff, but the chocolate bar struck him as both sad and infinitely personal. He closed the drawer.

“We ID’d her vehicle,” Guitierrez said, stepping into the room, “case you guys want to have a look.”

Reed and Jay followed her back through the apartment, catching annoyed looks from the ME’s people as they squeezed past again.

“So, what’s our game plan?” Jay asked as they exited the home and stripped off their shoe covers.

Reed watched the gurney being rolled across the lot. Twenty minutes into the case, and already they needed a game plan. That was how it worked now, and Reed didn’t waste his energy cursing social media.

He thought of April’s mug shot. He thought of her anxious smile as she’d stood before the camera, probably her first day on the job. She’d probably been feeling a heady mix of hope and anticipation as she embarked on something new.

He pictured the slash of duct tape over her mouth now. It would stay there until she reached the autopsy table.

“Reed?”

“No forced entry. No purse, no phone. But he left jewelry, pain meds, and a Bose stereo.”

Jay nodded because he knew what Reed was thinking. At this point, everything pointed to someone she knew.

Jay glanced across the lot. “Damn.”

Reed turned to see an SUV easing through the gate, tailgated by a white news van. Just in time for the money shot of the body coming out. In a matter of minutes the image would be ping-ponging between satellites.

“Dirtbags,” Jay muttered.

Reed shook his head. “Right on time.”

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