A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(33)

She read the autopsy report again, even though she knew it by heart. She’d visited the morgue and gone over the autopsy reports with the medical examiner after spending time at the crime scenes. Ligature marks on the body’s throat indicated a thin, strong, smooth rope of some kind had been used to strangle the woman. There was a round bruise on the back of her neck, and the medical examiner said it was probably because the rope was fitted around her throat and then twisted from behind, constricting the noose. Lacerations on her wrists and ankles indicated she had been bound and that she had struggled against the ropes.

The body had been sexually violated postmortem. However, according to the medical examiner, the embalming would have made future intercourse almost impossible due to the body’s rigidity. He’d seemed distinctly creeped out when she had asked him about it.

She had managed to creep out a man who performed autopsies for a living. Achievement unlocked.

She picked up Monique Silva’s picture from the bed. What had he been doing with her all that time?

Her phone blipped. She picked it up and glanced at the display. It was a message from Andrea:

Miss U. What R U doing?

She typed, Reading an autopsy report.

The reply was instant. U know how to have fun.

Then came the emoticon barrage: a sad face, a dead-looking face, two skulls, a ghost, and a thumbs-down. Messaging with Andrea made Zoe feel like an archaeologist, perplexed by ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. I’ll be here for a few days, she wrote.

The response was a GIF of Fozzie Bear screaming into the air. Zoe sighed and put down the phone. She was about to get back to her papers when a sound came from room 13.

It was the woman. She was asking who was a dirty little boy.

Zoe prayed that she was simply wondering about a dirty boy she was watching on TV.

But no, the response came quickly. The man was, apparently, the dirty little boy. Zoe considered thumping the wall and suggesting a shower to rectify the situation.

There was laughter. A whoop.

The bed began squeaking again.

Zoe collected all the papers from her bed and left the room, slamming the door behind her.





CHAPTER 22

Tatum had the distinct suspicion that Marvin was having a party at their house.

“Marvin, what’s all that noise?” he yelled into the phone. The music emanating from the phone’s speaker forced Tatum to hold the device away from his ear.

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“The noise, Marvin, what is it?”

“Hang on.”

There was the sound of a door slamming, and the volume of the music diminished slightly. “Sorry,” Marvin said. “I couldn’t hear you because of the music.”

“What is that?”

“I invited a couple of friends over,” Marvin explained.

“The neighbors will call the police,” Tatum said. “The noise is ear shattering.”

“I invited the neighbors, Tatum,” Marvin said. “They’re enjoying themselves.”

Tatum sighed. “Everything okay there?”

“I think your cat is angry that you left him alone with me.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You know that pair of brown shoes you left in your bedroom?”

“Yeah,” Tatum said, his heart sinking.

“He shat in the shoes, Tatum.”

“Damn it. Did you throw them away?”

“I’m not touching them. I closed the door so the smell won’t get out. It also masks the pee smell.”

Tatum sat down. His life was being dismantled. “What pee smell?”

“Your cat peed in the bed. And then he shredded the blanket.”

“Maybe you should take him to a shelter until I get home,” Tatum said with a heavy heart.

“Yeah, I already tried that, Tatum. He nearly scratched my eye out. My hands look like I’ve been mauled by a tiny lion.”

“Right.”

“Frankly, Tatum, this cat is a menace. I’ve started going to sleep with a loaded gun by my bed.”

“You don’t have a gun.”

“I do now.”

Tatum tried to control himself. Yelling at his grandfather over the phone wouldn’t do any good.

“Listen, Freckle just needs a little love. Pet him a bit, let him sit in your lap—”

“That fiend is not getting anywhere near my lap. You know what’s in my lap? Some very important stuff.”

“Yes, I get the picture, but—”

“My penis, Tatum. My penis is in my lap,” Marvin clarified. “I’m not letting that thing near my penis. You get your serial killer and come back here, because this cat is getting out of hand.”

“Working on it. Did you talk to Dr. Nassar about the pills?”

“Not yet, Tatum. He’s a very busy man.”

“Call him first thing tomorrow morning, or I swear to God, I—”

There was a sound of a door banging open, and the music volume intensified.

“Marvin, are you coming?” Tatum heard a woman shout over the music. “The booze is here!”

There was a sudden crash in the background and a feminine cry of dismay.

“Marvin,” Tatum said. “Don’t ruin my house.”