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?"
"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."
Six
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."