looks so … grotesque.”
“That she does.” She studied the mutilated face. “I fear someone was proving a point. Look at the perfect bilateral symmetry … right through the tip of the nose. Ruler-straight. Right side of the face is completely untouched, the left completely destroyed. Know what it reminds me of?”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“Phantom of the Opera. Wonder if your killer is an Andrew Lloyd Webber fan.” She threw the tarp back over the face. “I’ll get my guys. Take her down to the morgue and finish her up indoors.”
“Could you call Steve in?”
Rukmani snapped off her gloves. “Be glad to, Sergeant.”
Technically it was detective sergeant. Poe smiled back without meaning it. As soon as she left, he pulled back the sheet, eyes immediately focusing on her face … on the lone eye. It had been blue. Now the pupil was fixed so that it appeared black. Using extreme imagination, he could picture her pretty once upon a time. A nice complexion, a high cheekbone, thick lips—half of them. Gently, he pulled the blanket away from her body, then winced and backed up.
Her upper torso mimicked the face. One half was totally intact. Delicate bones. A large breast, no doubt with the help of implants. The side held smooth skin, a flat abdomen, a swoop of waist … shapely legs. The other side of the rib cage was shredded hamburger. Loose tendrils of muscle had remained attached to exposed bones, dancing with each blast of air.
At that moment, Jensen chose to make his entrance. Open-mouthed, he stared at the half-mangled corpse. Instinctively, he retreated, groped for one of the tent panels, and stuck his head outside. He felt his dinner bubbling up until it erupted with volcanic pressure. Hot molten lead in his mouth, spewing into the wind. Heaving until he was empty. When he was done, he ejected the last chunks from his mouth, then wiped his eyes and lips with a handkerchief. Shakily, he returned his focus to the body, then looked away.
“Sorry about that.”
“Who was she, Steve?”
Jensen licked his sour lips. “What are you talking about?”
“You know her. Why else would a vet like you puke—”
“Did you get a look at her face?”
“Yes. It’s an abomination. Who was she?”
Trapped. Jensen rubbed his face. Better to head Rom off before he dug too deep.
Jensen coughed. “I think her name is … was … Brittany. Brittany Newel.”
“You think?”
Jensen was quiet.
“Age?” Rom asked.
A big sigh. Jensen said, “Maybe twenty-two … twenty-three.”
“Nice legs.” Poe stood up, brushed his pants off. “Dancer?”
“Yeah, I think she danced.”
“Show or lap?”
“Maybe both.”
“Remember which hotel?”
“God, it was so long … maybe Havana.”
“Is that where you met her?”
“Does it matter?”
“Now that she’s dead it does.”
Jensen’s eyes narrowed. He straightened his spine and loomed over Poe. “Are you questioning me?”
Poe shrugged off the intimidating body posture. “About her, yes. Not about her murder.”
Not yet.
The explanation did little to mollify Jensen’s anger. “I picked her up in a bar, Poe. Around a year ago. A quickie thing. Nothing long-term.”
“Long-term,” Poe repeated. “Aren’t you married?”
Jensen glared, then stormed out of the tent, bumping shoulders with Rukmani, spinning her sideways. He stopped instantly, turned around, came back inside. “God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Rukmani rubbed her sore shoulder. “What’s your problem?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll live.”
Poe bent down, covered the body. “Are your guys coming, Doc?”
“Yes, of course. Takes a moment to unload the gurney, Rom.”
Jensen said, “What can you tell us about this, Doc? Other than the fact that the guy who did this must have lots of shit under his fingernails.”
“You think someone did this with his fingernails?” Poe asked.
Jensen said, “As opposed to …”
“A tool,” Poe answered.
“Not a sharp tool,” Rukmani said. “Too many jagged edges. Maybe a rake of some sort. Lots of parallel lines. You look at the tissue shreds under a microscope. If it was done with an implement, we’ll find bits of metal or plastic … or bits of fingernail. Someone very strong, with sharp, strong nails. Ah … the gurney cometh.” Rukmani smiled at Rom. “It’s kind of crowded in here.”
Poe cocked his head at Jensen. “Let’s go.”
Immediately, their faces were hit with gravel.
Poe shouted, “Talk in the car.”
They broke for the Honda. Once inside, they took a few moments, wiped sand and dust from their faces and mouths. Poe said, “You shouldn’t be on this case.”
“C’mon—”
“Steve, you have a problem. You fucked her!”
Jensen winced, brushed blond hair from his face. “You take me off now, it makes me look bad. C’mon, Rom. Toss me a bone.”
“Like?”
“Suppose I just get the basics. I’ll go over to the apartment and talk to her roommate.” A pause. “I really don’t know anything about her. Things like who her friends were, who her enemies were. You know. Just … the basics.”
Poe thought over the proposal. Pulling him off would point the finger. And then there was Alison … “Call up Patricia. You two can go together—”
“Oh, for Chrissakes, Rom—”
“For your own welfare, Steve.” To make sure you don’t rifle through her personal effects and pull incriminating evidence. “She’s your backup.”
Jensen spoke through
