Page 191 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Jury-rigged

stated. Friday night, the second of May, Ms. Creighton returned from
her job at the usual time and retired for the night. Saturday afternoon
she did not show up for work. Her boss telephoned about six
o’clock; receiving no response, he called her landlord. That
gentleman banged on her door, which was locked. Getting no
response, he opened the door with his own key and found her body.
I was there by seven o’clock with a complete crew and began the
investigation.”
“I see the photos of the bedroom. This place has only two rooms
and a small bathroom, right? She is on the floor next to her bed,
tangled in sheets. Again, taken from the same angle—that was a good
idea, Duncan: we can compare them easily—the body is supine,
hands folded over face exactly as the other three. Here’s the
coroner’s report: death almost instantaneous, three deep punctures
below the base of the skull, sharp upward angle of entry. No other
marks on her, no sexual assault. Time of death estimated widely
again, given the state of rigor and the ambient temperature: anywhere
from midnight to four a.m.”
“Do you see the match stick and ice pick in that wide-angle shot?”
“Yes. You’ve had them analyzed?”
“Results came in yesterday. We do have the murder weapon, and
the match is not from the same box as the previous killing. In fact,
none of the four were manufactured at the same time in the same
place. The Simulians definitely learned from Sherman’s sloppiness
that matches are too hot to handle; I think we can surmise that the
purchaser of those four boxes will not be identified easily, if ever.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Duncan. This view also shows the
disorder among Ms. Creighton’s possessions.”
“I know: the inventory is in there, too. No way to tell if anything is
missing. Things were thrown around more than willfully destroyed or
searched for valuables. Computer looked intact, but diskettes on the
floor. Some books pulled off shelves, but not all. She had some
plastic tubs for file folders—student projects, I guess—and they were
kicked around. Kitchen cabinets, where experienced burglars go first
to find the expensive jewelry, were untouched. This had to be
another red herring from the Simulians.”
Labelle kept studying the photographs of the boxy apartment.
“How did the killer get in and out?”

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