Read Online The Heavens May Fall by Allen Eskens - Free Book Online

him.”
    “You got him figured for this?”
    “I wouldn’t put it past him. He pulled some shit on me during a case once. Let’s just say I wouldn’t lose any sleep if I had to send him to prison. Did you get a TOD?”
    “I can give you a fairly tight range. I’d put her time of death at pretty close to midnight. Body temperature can do only so much, especially because we can’t be certain when she was moved outdoors.”
    “What caused the neck wound?”
    “A blade.” Maggie turned back to her computer, clicked past a number of photos of organs being extracted and weighed, and stopped at photos of the neck. “I cleaned the wound, and if you look at this close-up, you can see that the incision is about an inch and a half wide. And look here.” She pointed at the ends of the cut with the tip of a pencil. “This blade is double-edged. No flat side.”
    “Like a dagger?”
    “Generally speaking, yes. And the killer stabbed the blade all the way in.” Maggie pointed to a couple dots about the size of a pencil eraser equally spaced on either side of the incision. “This dagger has a cross guard that’s curved in toward the blade in an arc. The tips of the guard left bruises on her neck.”
    Max pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up the photo Bug had sent him of the knife display case they had found in the bedroom. “Any idea on the blade length?”
    “Not for sure, but it was long enough that it penetrated through to the other side of her neck.” Maggie clicked to a picture from the left side of the woman’s throat and a small half-inch incision.
    Max showed her the display-case photo.
    Maggie compared Bug’s measurements to her own. “The incision is a few millimeters wider than the blade you have here, but with a double edge like that, you’re going to cut on the way in and on the way out. The length of the blade fits and the points on the tips of the cross guard are a perfect match. I’d say that if this isn’t your murder weapon, it’s a dagger very much like it.”
    “Excellent,” Max said. “What else you got for me?”
    “Some unusual bruises.” Maggie again moved through her computer photos to a series taken of Jennavieve Pruitt’s back. “It’s here.” She circled an area of the woman’s shoulder with the tip of her pencil. “It’s hard to see through the lividity, but there is a definite bruise on her right shoulder and here on the back of her left arm, and some finger-shaped bruises on the back of her head and neck. You can almost see a handprint.”
    Max looked at the pictures and moved his hands around to try and match the bruise pattern. Then he got down on one knee and looked up at the picture again. “If the killer held her down . . . if she was facedown on the bed and the killer held her down like this, with a knee on her right shoulder, one hand on the back of her head, and the other on her left arm . . . would that explain the bruise pattern?”
    Maggie went through the photos again, comparing them to Max’s simulation. “I think that fits pretty well. You think she was held down?”
    “We found the crime scene. She was stabbed a few feet from a bed, but then either fell or was pushed onto the bed, where she bled out.”
    “And the killer held her down while she bled to death. That would explain the lack of blood on the bedding you found her in.”
    “Any chance of prints from the skin?”
    “We can try, but it’s very unlikely.”
    “Any indication of sexual assault?”
    “Nothing definite. If she had sex recently, it was with a condom and not rough enough to leave a mark.”
    “What about stomach contents?”
    “She had a salad for dinner—I’m guessing a late dinner—and wine.”
    “She had wine in her stomach?”
    “I didn’t sip it to verify, but I sent a sample in for a toxicology test.”
    “Any sign of defensive wounds?”
    “No bruises, other than the ones I showed you on her shoulder, arm, and neck. No skin cells under the finger