Melchior gave an honest laugh. “He seemed very passionate. I didn’t know him well.”
“That makes two of us.”
The scene had become dense with live bodies skittering around like ants. Two CSU techs, a police photographer, a pair of investigators from the coroner’s office- Tandy Halligan, big and tall and female, Derrick Coltrain, small, black, and male.
“How’s the hubby?” Coltrain asked Amanda.
“Retirement doesn’t wear well on him.” Ten years ago, she’d met Lawrence Isis, a half-Irish, half-Egyptian Copt software engineer at a campus concert- Celtic folk music, Amanda had gone on a lark, a friend’s urging. The chemistry had been instant, despite the fact that Larry resembled Woody Allen with dark hair and a terrific tan. He’d signed on early at Google, rose through the company, accruing stock. Lots of stock. After living well below their means in Amanda’s Oakland condo, they’d made the quantum leap to the mansion two years ago. Seventeen rooms still empty, but Amanda loved the echoes. Larry, though, needed a hobby.
Derrick Coltrain said, “I wouldn’t mind early retirement if I had all the toys.”
Giving her a curious look. The unspoken message: what the hell are you doing here?
On a day like this, good question. She’d gone through Grayson’s phone, had progressed to the representative’s state-issued BlackBerry. The woman’s life had been a series of endless meetings. Over the last two years, she’d scheduled one vacation- a trip to Tecate, Mexico. Probably the spa. Amanda and Larry had been there. She loving the exercise, he bemoaning the lack of wireless.
Coltrain said, “What’s he into, the genius?”
“He’s thinking of starting up another business.”
“Hey, let me know when he’s about to go public.”
Tandy Halligan said, “By the time it goes public, it’ll be too late.” She began the process of examining the body. Going slowly, nervous, which wasn’t like her. But what if the head detached from the body?
Carefully, she lifted each hand, examined digits closely. “No ligature marks on the wrists. Fingers and nails look clean and undisturbed, doesn’t appear there’s much, if anything, to scrape.”
Steeling herself, she rotated the head to get a side view of the face.
“No scratch marks on the right side…none on the left either. But there is a sizeable bruise on her forehead.”
“She was sitting at her desk, someone came from behind, shot her and she fell forward,” Amanda said. “Or she napped through the whole thing and the impact bounced her forehead into the desk. The floor is old wood planks, it squeaks when you walk on it. Alone, late at night, if she was awake she’d have heard someone behind her.”
Tandy said, “Unless she was too focused. Like talking on the phone, or typing.”
Amanda wondered if there had been an intruder. No pry marks on the front entrance, the lock was a dead bolt, solid, in working order. The windows also appeared untouched. “Or she wasn’t concerned because it was someone she knew. Which doesn’t negate the sneak-up-and-blow scenario if the killer paid her two visits. The first was a ruse, to get the door unlocked. The second was to blast her.”
Derrick Coltrain said, “Can I suggest something? Sometimes representatives make a fetish about keeping their doors open. To be accessible, kind of a Berkeley thing.”
“At that hour?”
No answer.
Amanda said, “Any idea when she was murdered?”
“Maybe six to eight hours ago but that’s just a guess.”
Will entered the office and heard that. “Between two and four AM?”
“It’s a guess,” said Tandy. “Ask Dr. Srinivasan.”
Amanda said, “No pries on windows or doors. You know her to leave her door open?”
“She had a rep for hospitality,” Barnes said. “Continuous coffeepot, plate of crullers. For anyone who stopped in, including the homeless. It was chilly last night. Maybe she let one of them crash in the outer office while she worked. Maybe he had a psychotic break.”
“A homeless man with a shotgun?”
Barnes shrugged.
Amanda said, “I went through her cell calls last night. Lots came in but she only returned a few. One she returned was to a Donald Newell in Sacramento – ”
“Donnie’s a homicide detective.” Barnes sighed. “I think they were friends in high school.”
“Another homeboy. How big was your town?”
“Big, but small. Shit, I wonder if Donnie knows. I’ll give him a call.”
Simultaneously they looked back at the body. Tandy was in the process of wrapping it up in plastic sheeting when screaming outside the office froze her. Through the window, Amanda saw two policemen trying to restrain a hysterical young woman. She was trim with shoulder-length platinum hair, pink cheeks, and Marilyn Monroe lips. Tight black leotard top over low-rider jeans, high-heeled sandals.
The two detectives rushed outside.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m going in!” screamed the blonde. “Bastards!”
The cops looked to the detectives.
Amanda said, “Crime scene, no entrance.”
The young woman cursed. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her eyes were bloodshot, and her breath reeked of alcohol. “Do you know who I am?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Her lover! Did you hear me- her goddamnfucking lover!”
“Sorry for your loss,” said Barnes.
“You still can’t go in there, but let’s talk,” said Amanda. She placed her arm around the blonde’s shoulders, closing her nostrils to the booze stink. A smell she knew so well, growing up.
The blonde relaxed. Sniffed. “I’m Minette. Her lover.”
Amanda motioned the cops to let her go. “Let’s go somewhere quiet, Minette.”
5
It took all of Amanda’s emotional and physical energy to ease the woman away from the scene and into a squad car. Minette The Lover sobbed until she’d cried herself dry. Amanda offered her a tissue.
“Thank you.”
“I’m so sorry, Minette. What’s your last name, please?”
“Minette Padgett. What ha…happened?”
“We’re at the beginning of the investigation, Minette. I wish I could give you some details but I can’t.”
“But she’s…gone?”
Feeble hope in her voice; this part never got any easier. “I’m sorry, but she is gone.” Fresh batch of tears, an explosion of grief. “Minette, right now we’re getting information about Davida. Is there anything about her life that might help us out?”
“What do you mean? Like did she have enemies? She had a slew of them. Assholes in the capital hated her because she was gay. Lots of people didn’t like her messing with stem cells.”
“We got some names from her aide: Harold Modell- ”
“Motherfucker.”
“Mark Decody and Alisa Lawrence- ”
“Motherfuckersss.”
“Artis Handel- ”
“Turncoat.” Minette looked up. “She expected grief from the others, but Artis…he’s a Democrat, she was especially upset about him.”
“Anything more you can tell me about any of them?”
Minette thought a moment, then slowly shook her head. “They were just giving her a hard time. Politics.”
“Anybody else I should know about?”
“I don’t know…I can’t think- my head is…I can’t think.”
“What about personal relationships, Minette? Did she have any problems with friends or relatives?”
“Her mother’s a profound pain in the ass, but that’s just the usual mother-daughter thing. She doesn’t have any sibs. Her father lives in Florida in case you want to talk to him.”
“Why would I want to talk to him?”
“Because he’s an asshole and deserted Davida emotionally after he remarried.”
Amanda wrote that down. “Anyone else?”
A pretty brow knitted, then returned to youthful serenity. “Look, I just can’t process right now.” A big sigh. “Has anyone called her mother?”