“Did his stomach contents tell you much about the time he was killed?”
“Some. A good deal of what he ate that evening had not been fully digested, but it doesn’t help us much as it pertains to a time frame. At the time a corpse is examined, a body’s temperature can give you a reasonable guesstimate. But in a case like this, where you’ve got a dead guy sitting out on a porch on a chilly night and the following day, the old ‘time of death’ estimates can get a little squirrelly. Their best guesstimate is death occurred between eleven and midnight on Tuesday night.”
“You must have done some things to look for prints and other biosignatures that the killer could have left behind.”
“Listen to you, Rob—‘biosignatures’! Well, la-dee-dah. You’ve been signing up for those FBI Citizen Academy forensic courses in your spare time, haven’t you?” Eddie teased. “Granted, some of those Design Review Board meetings can get pretty heated, but they rarely lead to murder. Admit it—you don't mind the occasional murder mystery to spice things up in our quiet little town.”
“Moving on,” Rob muttered with a raised eyebrow and a half smile. “So, there’s nothing you have in the way of prints, or physical evidence?”
“You’re leading the witness,” Eddie laughed while shaking his head. “The crime lab boys gave that place the once-over. The porch swing had prints, but they all belonged to the Sausalito PD and the fire guys, from when they were doing their Three Stooges act trying to move Warren off the swing and onto a stretcher. Other than that, we came up with a whole lot of nothing. I think our biggest break is that the body was found on the back porch of the cottage. Can you imagine the mess those cops and fire rescue boys would have made if they had gone traipsing through the crime scene?”
“You still turned up a little helpful evidence inside, correct?”
“Yes, but we need a better idea of where the evidence begins and the contamination ends.”
Eddie paused and took a long sip of tea. “Rob, personally, I have no doubt the killer was deranged. Not to suggest any killer is in his right mind. As we were saying the other day, Warren’s killer was methodical enough to clean up his prints. He also knew to wait long enough after the victim died so that he could whack off the hands without making a mess. And he removed any napkins, paper, or cloth that could have contained his DNA. We went through the trash and Bradley’s laundry bin and came away with nothing. Let’s say he knows more than the average crime of passion killer about the condition of a dead body and how to avoid leaving DNA samples as evidence. I wouldn’t want you sharing that particular information with our fellow citizens.”
“I’ll run by you whatever I’m thinking before I put it into print.”
Eddie laughed. “If The New York Times’ food critic gets in on this case, I doubt she or he will give me the same consideration.”
“Not too likely that The Times will get involved. In fact, I think the San Francisco, Oakland, and Marin daily papers will drop the story until there is an arrest.”
“That would be my guess. Dear Warren was only a star in our small corner of the world.”
“I’ll do a wrap-up story on the case this week. I’m sure I’ll get some reactions from the ones most likely to want to give comments.”
“I trust you have Alma on speed dial?”
Rob chuckled, “Heck yeah! The girl of my dreams.”
“Go with the Randolph angle for now. You know—an undisclosed source close to the investigation suggested it was likely that Grant Randolph would be questioned upon his return from New York.”
Rob nodded. “That will shake things up a bit.”
“Whoa, wait a minute, Rob! I’ve got an even better angle. You should print the final column of the late great gossiping gourmet.”
“What? …Why?”
“A couple of reasons. First, it gives you something no one else has: a final plea from Warren Bradley to his fellow citizens to purge Randolph from his leadership position. Second, it will keep the Ladies of Liberty busy rounding up a lynch mob for Randolph. And third, if my guess is right and Bradley was killed by one of our fellow citizens whose initials are not GR, it encourages our killer to continue hiding in plain sight. Every day he or she thinks they’re in the clear is one more opportunity to fall victim to your own conceit,” Eddie grimaced. “Killing someone and thinking you've gotten away with it can be a real high. While Alma is busy campaigning for Randolph to be arrested, we might have the time we need to find Warren’s real killer.”
“Are you that sure Randolph isn’t your man?”
“Absolutely!”
“Why?”
“Warren's killer waited around after the kill to clean up prints, chop off hands, and dress up the body. The whole crime was not only methodical; it was pretty damn cocky. If Randolph has an Achilles heel, it’s his temper. This wasn’t an act of uncontrollable rage. I’d be more suspect of Randolph if we found Bradley’s body riddled with bullets, stabbed a dozen times, or beaten over the head with one of the great chef’s iron skillets. I’m betting that whoever killed Bradley had been thinking about killing him for a very
