The number, street and suburb were accurate.
“God, Kate, they know where Ben lives.”
The detective moved to her side. “It’s okay, Hayden spoke to Martin and he’s taking Ben to stay at his friend’s house for a few days. Ben will stay in the classroom with his teacher until Martin gets there.”
“He can’t come to stay with me anymore,” she sniffed. “This can’t be happening.”
“Look, it’s not as uncommon as it seems. Noelene’s boyfriend works for motor registry and we suspect he used their database to get most of the info.
“Going by the amount of drugs we found in the family home, these guys are into dealing as well as selling weapons from the armed robberies. That’s how they can afford to pay for Gary’s medical fees in cash.
“We’ve treated them pretty much as opportunistic idiots, but they’ve got more than a few angles going that make money. Noelene obviously wants to protect it all.”
“Why would she collect all our addresses? She can’t be planning on wiping out half the police, doctors, prosecutors and their families.”
“We think she got hold of the personal details in case she decides to bribe the boys out of trouble. They’ve also got Natasha’s parents, brother and aunt on the list.”
“That won’t mean anything to Martin. He won’t understand. Instead, he’ll use it to stop me from seeing my son. God, Natasha is already dead.”
Kate put her hand on Anya’s shoulder. “That family holiday had an effect. Hayden tells me Martin was pretty concerned that you were all right.”
Anya coughed and processed what Kate had said.
“Did they have any police names?”
“Hayden and Liz Gould, her husband and kid’s names too. Mine wasn’t on the list so you’re welcome to stay in the spare room for a few days if you want. You know I’m barely there.”
It didn’t seem such a bad idea. They could look out for each other. Besides, Anya didn’t fancy going home alone, not now.
“Do you think it’s necessary?”
Kate kicked the ground. “I don’t want to scare you, but whoever killed Natasha knew what they were doing. It was an assassination: short, quick, no witnesses. It doesn’t fit the Harbourn style and, thank God, she wasn’t raped. It doesn’t add up. But put it this way, misery enjoys company, so they say.”
Anya knew the detective well enough to know that this was the closest she would come to admit being concerned.
“Do you promise to tidy up?”
Kate held her hand over her heart. “Scout’s honor I’ll try not to be messy. But only if you agree to water the pot plant.”
As annoying as Kate would be to share a house with, it made sense. “There’s been enough carnage lately. The plant just got a reprieve.”
The detective’s phone rang and Kate answered it. “Just told her now, she’s still here…We’ll be there some time after two.”
34
Later that afternoon they returned to the Homicide office. Anya bought sandwiches from the vending machine, more for something to do than because she was hungry. The mood in the office was flat despite phones buzzing continuously.
“We’ve just got the photos through from Natasha’s PM,” Kate said. “I’m about to go over them, but understand if you want to give this one a miss.”
Anya wanted to help in any way she could. She sat on a chair next to Kate’s messy desk.
“This one’s after emergency services were finished.”
Instead of a crumpled body, the image showed Natasha on the outside path. Paramedics had moved her to the nearest flat surface, where there was more room to work. A breathing tube was inserted into her mouth and her shirt was open from attempted cardiopulmonary massage. Two gel plates remained in place along with four adhesive ECG dots. The paramedics had tried to defibrillate life back into her. Just like they had for Giverny Hart.
Blood trickled from Natasha’s forehead down to her left ear.
The next image was of the back of the head. A small entry wound near the base of her skull was the only evidence of what had occurred. Anya compared it to the photo of the forehead, which was larger.
“The bullet entered at the back and exited through the forehead, which is why it was found in the wall. It’s a small bullet. My guess is a.22 caliber.”
“Easy to get hold of, used by just about every drug dealer in the city.”
The next photos Kate showed were of Natasha’s manicured hands. No nailpolish, just perfectly shaped and filed, not long enough to be impractical. Feminine and functional. It pretty much summed up the woman Anya knew.
Above the left wrist on the inside were four one-centimeter wide bruises. One larger, and three adjacent, in a vertical row. It looked as though the killer had grabbed the left arm. What she was looking at were a thumb and three finger marks. There were no grazes or bruises to the wrists themselves.
“Was there any damage to her left shoulder?”
Kate sorted through some papers on her desk. “She had a bruised, torn pectoralis muscle according to the report. The pathologist is sending his summary later on today. What are you thinking?”
Anya stood up and pushed the chair away. Shaun Wheeler looked up from his desk and put down his phone.
“Can I borrow you for a minute?” Anya asked.
He nodded and stood. “What do you w-w-want me to do?”
“Kneel down on the floor.”
The young detective forced a laugh and then realized she wasn’t kidding. He was quickly on two bended knees. Anya moved behind him while Kate watched. By now they had the attention of most of the Homicide staff.
“She came home, opened the security screen, then front door. The briefcase was in her left hand, and the house keys in her right. She put the briefcase down, and that meant that hand was free. Somehow she was either pushed or ordered to her knees. Any bruising or grazes there?”
Kate flicked through some more printed photos. “There was a hole in one stocking at the knee. And a small bruise over each kneecap, probably from the wooden floor.”
“Okay, she either bent down, maybe to greet the cat, or was pushed down.” She cautiously took hold of Wheeler’s left arm and wrapped her thumb and first three fingers above the wrist. Her fingers were in virtually the same position as the bruises on the body.
“The killer has come up behind her, grabbed the arm and, to tear her shoulder muscle, has to have pulled the wrist up behind her back.”
“It’s like a half-nelson,” the male detective said, his left hand behind his shoulder blades.
“From there the killer could have easily forced her to her knees,” Kate said, “which explains where the bullet was found if her head was low when she was shot. There was another bruise on the left side, above the ear.”
Anya deduced, “She didn’t put her hands out to protect herself when she fell forward, or they would have shown marks like the knees did. It looks like someone had control of her and she had no chance to react. There was no time to drop the keys or reach for the Mace.”
The thought of protection being so close made Natasha’s murder more difficult to accept. If only she had reached for the pepper spray in time.
Then Anya remembered what they had talked about the night of Giverny’s death. No regrets, no what if’s or if only’s. It was how the prosecutor lived her life.
With Wheeler under her control, Anya shoved her right index finger into the back of his head. At the same time she released his left arm with a forward push and he toppled forward, putting his right arm out to protect
