THIRD (DC After Dark #1)(10)
I grunted my agreement, my gaze scouring the scene before me looking for . . . I wasn't quite sure. Not yet. A clue was here and I just needed to figure out what it was. No killer was so good that they didn't leave something behind. The real test was whether the cop was good enough to find the mistake.
"Where is Mrs. Marsden now?" I looked at the uniform cop hovering on the edge of the scene.
He held a cell phone to his ear but placed a beefy paw over the mouthpiece to answer me. "We called all her available numbers but she's not answering. The housekeeper and her personal assistant haven't seen her since last night. We have a couple of officers at the residence and the senator's office now."
I looked at Peter and he raised an eyebrow at me. Eight years of partnership and we didn't need words to make the point: Mrs. Marsden was either victim number two or suspect number one.
She wouldn't be the first wife to off her cheating husband in the hotel room where he was sticking his dick in places it shouldn't be.
I walked around the bed, letting my gaze wander over the upscale furniture in the room. Everything about it screamed "you can't afford this" and I found myself tiptoeing around like a bull who'd just discovered his big ass in a china shop. There were the leavings of a late-night dinner on the table. Used and dirty plates, an empty bottle of wine and two glasses, one broken and scattered across the carpet.
A dark suit coat tossed over the back of a chair by the window caught my attention. I walked over, picking it up to look it over. Designer label. Senatorial navy blue. Probably cost more than I made in a month. On the low table next to the chair was a clear evidence bag, in it I could see a cell phone, keys, a pack of gum and a business card. I peered over, reading the name on the white and slightly crumpled piece of paper.
"Dr. Carla Androghetti. Doctor of Psychiatry." I looked at Peter. "What's the card of a head shrinker doing in the Senator's pocket?"
"Not a clue," Peter shrugged, tugging off his latex gloves with a loud snap. "But it's as good a place to start as any."
"I'm driving," I said as we both headed to the door. "Driver picks the radio station and I'm not listening to your shit taste in music today."
Nine
CARLA
"Ryker, please tell me that's the last appointment for the day."
I looked up as my office administrator sauntered into my office. Just under six feet tall, muscular and wiry, his pale skin was covered in tattoos, some of them peeking over the collar and beyond the cuffs of his suit jacket. Starkly handsome, he would be devastating if he only smiled more often. But he didn't and I'd long ago stopped expecting him to. Doing hard time would knock all the smiles out of you.
"Last one Dr. Androghetti," he replied, placing a stack of paperwork in the middle pocket of my briefcase. We'd been together long enough that the knew I would tackle it all at home after a hot shower or soak and a glass of wine. Like a couple of old married people, we even bickered like one so I couldn't resist reminding him about our agreement.
"If that was the last patient of the day, then you agreed to call me Carla." I shoved away from the desk and leaned back in the leather chair. I gave him a glare but it was half-hearted because today had been a bitch of a day. Helping people was my passion but it was exhausting. "That was the deal once we crossed the boss/employer thing and morphed into friends."
"If I had any clue that the consequence of holding your hair back as you puked in the toilet during that ugly bout of stomach flu would be becoming your BFF, I would have let you drown." His words were harsh but the lift of his lip told me that he wouldn't have actually let me die in a bowl of artificially blue water. "It's time for you to get the hell out of here because I have somewhere to be and if I leave you here, you'll work until midnight again."
"Where are you going?" I ignored his crack about my workaholic tendencies, there was no use in denying that the this tiger had stripes. But Ryker had let slip that he had plans for the evening and inquiring minds wanted to know. "Do you have a date?"
"I'm going to Landslide." He shrugged at the mention of our favorite club and my excitement dimmed. We went there all the time and it was a great place to hook-up but not for much of anything else. And for Ryker . . . I wanted him to have something besides blowjobs in the back room and one-night stands back at some strangers apartment. He read my mind because he dismissed with a slash of his hand. "Don't give me that look. I'm good."