Read Online Eclipse by Hilary Norman - Free Book Online

when he’d found Mrs Delgado had been – according to a female neighbor – enough to ice her blood.
    Even Dr Elliot Sanders, the Chief Medical Examiner, was grim-faced when he joined the party. ‘I gather you saw Fort Lauderdale,’ he said to Sam.
    â€˜Bad scene,’ Sam said. ‘Lot of similarities.’
    As in that previous case, the victim was in the bedroom. The late Mrs Delgado looking even worse, or maybe just more bizarre, than Amelia Newton had.
    No sunglasses this time.
    A pair of small, old-fashioned white lace doilies covering her wounds.
    Sanders took his first look beneath them.
    â€˜Gauze again, stuffed into the sockets under those things.’
    â€˜Holy Mother,’ Martinez said quietly.
    Sam stayed silent, pushing through these first tough moments so he could get straight to work.
    The parallels with Fort Lauderdale were unmistakable. The victim tidily positioned on her own king-size bed. Fully clothed in an olive-colored linen dress, her underwear in place.
    Same kind of latex sheeting over three stacked pillows.
    â€˜Why three pillows?’ Martinez asked.
    â€˜Makes them easier targets, maybe?’ Sam hazarded. ‘But why bother with the rubber sheet if they’re leaving it behind?’
    â€˜Maybe a thing about dirty laundry,’ Martinez said. ‘Not that it worked.’
    â€˜Seems almost theatrical,’ Sam said.
    Sanders went on working. ‘I heard you’re singing again.’
    Sam didn’t respond, knew no answer was expected, went on focusing hard.
    The time frame here was obviously the biggest difference between this and the last scene, this crime perpetrated more recently, perhaps just an hour or two ago.
    Not the only timing difference. The first three killings had been approximately a month apart, then nothing in April – now
two
in less than a week, and did that mean the killer was growing more frenzied (though there was nothing here, in this carefully set scene, to suggest frenzy) or making up for lost time? And if the hiatus had been in March, coinciding with spring break, they might have been considering a teacher or other school employee, but . . .
    He quit trawling, and came back to what was in front of them.
    Ballistics would probably confirm that the wounds had been created by the same weapon.
    Just those weird little lacy coverlets seeming to make it a little worse.
    And that
smell
again, Sam realized as it reached him through the rest. Past the smell of burned feathers from the pillow probably used as a silencer – feather pillow rather than foam this time, though more than likely that was simply because it had been available.
    This time, though, he identified the other smell.
    â€˜Anyone else smell acetone?’ he asked.
    Elliot Sanders nodded toward the victim’s feet, toenails polished bright pink.
    â€˜Recently applied?’ Sam asked, trying to recall if Amelia Newton’s toe or fingernails had been painted.
    â€˜Not this morning,’ the ME answered.
    â€˜That smell always hangs about,’ Martinez said. ‘I’ve never liked it.’
    â€˜So no chance the killer applied that polish?’ Sam asked the ME.
    Sanders took another look at the victim’s toes. ‘Too hard to have been painted that recently. Unless the killer was here all night or longer.’ He paused, added ironically: ‘She certainly didn’t die of inhalant abuse.’
    â€˜Drugged again?’ Sam said.
    â€˜You’ll find out when I do,’ Sanders said. ‘No sign of her being forced to swallow anything.’
    Joe Duval, who’d arrived soon after the Miami Beach detectives, came into the room. Different kind of worry etched on his forehead.
    â€˜The daughter’s missing,’ he said.
    Carlos Delgado had only just started making sense, was still a mess.
    As anyone finding that scene, let alone his wife, would be.
    Ex-wife.
    Looking at him closely now, Sam had to ask