“When a murder weapon, moving at a certain speed and trajectory comes to a sudden stop, for example at the top arc of an attacker’s swing, any liquid, say blood, will continue the initial speed and trajectory as it flies from the murder weapon onto a stationary object, such as the ceiling, floors, walls, or furniture at the murder scene.”
“Messy,” Bilger mumbled.
“Indeed. Murder is a messy business, especially when it involves a baseball bat caving in a grown man’s skull. Which, for the record, results in cast-off of both blood and brains.”
Bilger, still not breathing well, turned a distinct shade of green.
Interestingly enough, so did D.D.
“Now,” Alex continued crisply, “while blood and brains are messy, they’re also very useful to a crime scene expert. Did you know that each blood droplet formed by cast-off contains a distinct head and distinct tail, much like the shape of sperm? The sharper tail end always points back to the origin of the stain, meaning by studying the size and direction of the blood droplets, an expert such as myself can determine many things about both the attack and the attacker.”
Alex paused, peered down at Bilger, who was now nearly cowering on the sofa.
“Yes,” Alex said softly, as if speaking to himself. “A height of five eight and a half would be exactly correct for the murderer of Samuel Chaibongsai.”
“But, but—” Bilger protested weakly.
“Of course, a crime scene as brutal and graphic as a man bludgeoned to death yields many types of blood evidence. In addition to droplets of cast-off, there were several large, distinct areas of bloodstain. Including an imprint against the wall, as if the murderer brushed against it . . . with the back of his bloody hand, which was wearing a single flat-topped ring studded with two small diamonds.”
Alex suddenly stepped forward, grabbing Bilger’s hand. “How long did it take you to get the blood out, Mr. Bilger? Soak it in jewelry cleaner, or just a quick rinse? Because blood is a very tricky substance, and I bet you didn’t get it all. Somewhere, embedded around one of those tiny, tiny little vanity diamonds, is enough of Samuel Chaibongsai’s blood to put you away for life.”
“But I didn’t, but I didn’t—” Bilger moaned.
“We know about your contact with Chernkoff,” D.D. boomed, jerking Bilger’s attention to her. Her stomach ached now. She rubbed it unconsciously, as she continued to speak: “How much did he offer you, Donnie? How much money was Samuel Chaibongsai’s life worth? One million, two million dollars?”
“You don’t understand . . .”
“I know, I know,” D.D. continued. “You’re a good guy, you’d never do such a thing. But then you were at Foxwoods, had a little run of bad luck.”
Donnie’s head whipped up. She thought his eyes were going to bulge out of his head with surprise. He stared at her slack-jawed, a drowning man, finally realizing he was beyond the reach of a life rope, and going under quickly.
“I screwed up,” he whispered.
D.D. again: “How bad, Donnie? Tell me. Give me something to work with, and maybe I can do something for you.”
“Three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars,” Bilger whispered.
“You lost three hundred and seventy-five
“At Foxwoods,” he mumbled.
D.D. caught the distinction. “At Foxwoods? Does that mean you gambled at other casinos as well?”
“Mmmm, maybe.”
“Mmmm, how much?”
“Six hundred ninety-seven thousand,” Donnie rattled off quickly. “But I got a lead on a horse—”
“Donnie Bilger! You lost nearly seven hundred thousand dollars that belonged to Andreas Chernkoff? Are you nuts?”
Bilger looked up at her miserably. “It’s a disease, you know. I need treatment. Maybe, I could just . . . go away . . .”
“When did Chaibongsai find out?” D.D. pounced. Her stomach muscles squeezed queasily. She rubbed them again.
“I don’t know—”
“Seven hundred thousand dollars. That’s a lot of incentive to keep him quiet. Given that the moment Chernkoff gets word, your death will be long and slow.”
“But that’s just the thing—”
“Was it a baseball bat? Pick it up at a local sporting goods store? You might as well tell us. We’re going to find out.”
“He knows.”
“Samuel, of course—”
“No, no. Chernkoff. He knows. Found out. ’Bout four weeks ago. And you’re right, I thought he was gonna kill me, but he called in a favor instead.”
D.D. paused, dumbfounded. On each side of her, she could feel Alex and Joe grow equally still.
“What kind of favor is worth seven hundred grand? Did you kill Chaibongsai for money?”
Donnie paled further and looked like he was about to keel over. “No, god no. I got his girlfriend a part. Except, the part wasn’t quite good enough. She got mad. Really, really mad. And, um,” Donnie licked his lips nervously. “And maybe, um, maybe you should turn around, ’cause she’s standing right behind you.”
Chapter 7
D.D. turned around first. The space was small, crowded. She could feel Alex, his shoulder solid and reassuring next to hers. She could see Joe, just two steps to the side. In a space so small, filled with three trained law enforcement officers, how scared could she be?
Then she saw the gun, pointed straight at the enormous mound of her spasming belly, and she registered the blond stand-in, Natalie, holding the gun, and D.D. nearly stopped breathing. Instinctively, her hands clasped her stomach, her interlocked fingers no match for a bullet, of course, but when you were an expectant mom, what else could you do?
Alex took an automatic step forward, half of his body muscling in front of D.D.’s, pushing her back behind him.
“Don’t move!” Natalie said instantly, the high, brittle edge to her voice spooking D.D. even more than the actress’s white-knuckled grip on the 9mm.
“Hey, Natalie,” Joe spoke up. His tone strove for congeniality, but came out forced. In theory, he knew Natalie better than all of them, having worked with her these past few weeks. Better yet, his true identity remained under wraps, giving him the element of surprise.
D.D. eased closer to Alex, trying to give Joe more room to maneuver.
Natalie stood in the bedroom doorway of the trailer. Apparently she’d been here even before they’d arrived, giving her plenty of time to listen to their shakedown of Donnie B. Now, her pale face was grim, her blue eyes resolute.
While they’d been talking, she’d obviously done some thinking, and D.D. had a feeling they wouldn’t like the
