"I was in bed early enough." I didn't elaborate that I hadn't done any actual sleeping in the bed of the man I'd picked up at a club. I didn't need to. We'd been partners long enough for him to jump to all the correct conclusions. I pointed at the body. "So was he from the looks of it."
Several used condoms were in the trash can, their wrappers scattered on the bedside table along with lube and a large, flesh-colored dildo. That fucker had to be nine inches long and breathtakingly wide and I mentally saluted the senator and his mystery sex partner. He hadn't been conducting constituent town halls in this two-thousand a night junior suite last night. Not unless he had new and personal ways of obtaining votes.
The M.E. perked up, sliding a used condom into an evidence bag. "He had sex. Lots of it according to our preliminary examination of the sheets." She paused as she wrote on a bag with a black Sharpie. "We'll determine if the semen in the rubbers is his but there's also evidence of anal penetration." She pointed her chin at the sex toy lying next to the telephone. "We'll test the dildo to see if that is what was used on him or his partner or both. Any DNA we can find we'll cross-check and get you the results."
I whistled but not in judgment. I couldn't begrudge any guy indulging in a little ass play if that's what he liked. Hell, I enjoyed sex with men and women although I'd confined my activities to the male variety since my divorce. A cheating wife had soured my appetite for female companionship or any whiff of commitment for a while. "I wonder what Mrs. Senator Marsden thinks about him meeting up for a little fun on the side."
"Maybe she was here with him," Peter said, lifting the edge of the coverlet. His eyes scanned the area, looking for anything that might be a clue to what had gone down here. He looked up at me and winked. "You know. Keeping the spark alive. A little role play to spice things up. Meet in the bar and pretend to be strangers before heading up to the room . . ."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "You speaking from experience? You and Katie . . . " I let my question hang in the air between us. They were good together, my partner at work and his partner at home. Solid and still hot for each other even after three kids. They were also the best of friends and it was an amazing thing to watch. I didn't even try to curb my jealousy.
"Fuck off," he chuckled as he reached for something on the floor just under where he was searching. He produced another used condom wrapper and passed it off to the M.E. and her never-ending supply of evidence bags. "Everybody knows that hotel sex is hot."
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?"