Every Breath You Take: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 2) by M.K. Gilroy Read Free Book Online Page B

another day.
    • • •
    “Nice of you to join us, Conner,” Zaworski barks.
    I’m five minutes late to our morning briefing. I’m definitely done with public transportation. At least once I get home tonight.
    Last time I was with everyone in this conference room we were still looking for a serial killer. I was the one who found him. I had a nice stay in the hospital for my efforts. A “welcome back, we missed you, you’re our hero,” seems appropriate at the moment.
    Ten of us surround the battleship gray table. A few notes are scribbled on the whiteboard on the wall. Before I can decipher Zaworski’s cuneiform he say, “Squires, hit the lights.”
    Don is leaning back in his chair and stretches his arm to twist the dimmer knob counter-clockwise.
    “I don’t have to tell you’se guys that the Durham murder is almost a week old,” Zaworski growls. “I hope I don’t have to tell you it looks like we’re doing nothing.”
    “Sir, we’ve talked to almost thirty—”
    “Save it, Konkade,” the captain interrupts. “I know we’ve talked to a lot of people. What I want to know is why we don’t have any ideas. We’re going to walk this through from the top.
    “Let’s go, Randall,” he says to the new guy I haven’t met yet. I look around the room at familiar faces, including Antonio Martinez. We worked with him on the Cutter Shark case. He was partners with Bob Blackshear at the Third Precinct. Don has told me he transferred to the Second and would be partnering with the new guy, Randall. Don and Antonio have been working the case together from the first day. Randall arrived end of last week and is apparently a fast study since he’s running the slide show.
    I’m relieved that musical chairs is over and I’m still with Squires. Relationships take me a while.
    Martinez waves and blows me a kiss before the lights are all the way down. Some things haven’t changed.
    Randall clicks the keyboard on an Apple computer that is connected to a projector. They call the tech guys at Apple geniuses. Maybe he’s a genius too. First image up is a close-up of a man with the left side of his head caved in. The photographer had the place lit up bright as a summer day at the Indiana Dunes, so no details are missing.
    “Walk us through it, Jerome,” Zaworksi orders. “And save the weird science.”
    Jerome is a tech nerd from the medical examiner’s office. He clears his throat nervously and takes Randall’s place behind the keyboard. He was the only one besides Matinez who smiled and waved when I made my entrance.
    “Multiple blows with a blunt object,” he says. “We found a 20-ounce rip-claw one-piece hammer next to the bed. A pretty common style, but a little heavier than most. The wounds fit the shape and size of the hammer head. It’s made by Stanley.”
    “Thanks for letting us know that,” Zaworski growls. “Next.”
    Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.
    Randall clicks a button and the second image shows the right side of his head. No marks. The blood has been cleaned off. His lifeless right eye is wide open and staring blankly into the camera. The victim was a handsome man. Early forties? Late thirties?
    “If he was conscious at the time of the attack, the first blow probably rendered him unconscious or semi-unconscious,” Jerome continues. “The position of the body suggests he was already in bed. Blood splatter and pooling tells us he wasn’t put there and didn’t fall there. The puddle of blood underneath his head suggests he never even turned his head. We can’t prove it be we suspect he was sleeping when he was attacked. The assailant seems to have gone into a frenzy. We think the victim was struck sixteen or seventeen times. The trauma marks start to blend together.”
    Gross.
    “If he had been awake and conscious, he would have tried to turn away and shield the blows with his arms. This side of his face is unmarked. No bruising on his arms.”
    “That guy is a sound