shots. That indicated the shots most probably came from the doorway,
which with a burglary you’d expect the other way around if the perp was
caught in the act.
However, there was another piece of evidence that would pretty much
confirm which way the slugs had traveled.
Frank again kneeled next to the body. There were no drag marks across
the carpet and the bloodstains and spray patterns indicated the deceased
was shot at the spot she had fallen. Frank carefully turned to the body,
again lifting up the skirt. Postmortem, blood settles to the lowest
portions of the body, a condition called livor mortis. After four to six
hours, the livor mortis remains fixed in position. Consequently,
movement of the body does not lead to a change in distribution of blood.
Frank laid the body back down. All indications were strong that
Christine Sullivan had died right here.
The spray patterns also reinforced the conclusion that the deceased was
probably facing toward the bed when she met her end. If so, what the
hell had she been looking at? Normally a person about to be shot would
look in the direction of the assailant, pleading for their life.
Christine Sullivan would have begged, Frank was certain of that. The
detective looked at the opulent surroundings. She had a lot to live for.
He eyed the carpet carefully, his face barely inches from its surface.
The spray patterns were irregularly distributed as though something had
been lying in front of or to the side of the deceased. That could prove
to be important later on.
Much had been written about spray patterns. Frank respected their
usefulness, but tried not to read too much into them.
But if something had partially shielded the carpet from the blood, he
would want to know what that something was.
Also the absence of spotting on her dress puzzled him. He would
catalogue that one away; it might mean something too.
Simon opened her rape kit and with Frank’s assistance swabbed the
deceased’s vagina. Next they combed through both the hair on her head
and her pubic hair with nothing readily apparent in the way of foreign
substances. Next they bagged the victim’s clothing.
Frank looked over the body minutely. He glanced at Simon. She read his
mind.
“There’s not going to be any, Seth.”
“Indulge me, Laurie.”
Simon dutifully lugged her print kit over and applied powder to the
corpse’s wrists, breasts, neck and inside upper arms. After a few
seconds she looked at Frank and slowly shook her head. She bagged what
they did find.
He watched as the body was wrapped in a white sheet, deposited in a body
pouch and taken outside where a silent ambulance would transport
Christine Sullivan to a place everyone prayed they would never have to
go.
He next viewed the vault, noted the chair and remote. Dust patterns on
the floor of the vault had been disturbed. Simon had already covered the
area. There was a smudge of dust on the chair seat. The vault had been
forced though; the door and wall were heavily marked where the lock had
been broken. They would cut out the levered piece of evidence, see if
they could get a tool print. Frank looked back through the vault door
and shook his head. One-way mirror. That was real nice. In the bedroom
too. He couldn’t wait to meet the man of the house.
He-went back into the room, looked down at the picture on the
nightstand. He looked over at Simon.
“I’ve already got it, Seth,” she said. He nodded and picked up the
picture. Nice-looking woman, he thought to himself, real nice-looking in
a come-fuck-me kind of way.
The photo had been taken in this very room, the recently departed seated
in the chair next to the bed. Then he noticed the mark on the wall. The
place had real plaster walls instead of the usual drywall, but the mark
was still deep.
Frank noted the nightstand had been moved slightly; the thick carpet
betrayed its original position. He turned to Magruder.
“Looks like somebody slammed into this.”
“Probably during the struggle.
“Probably.”
“Find the slug yet?”
“One’s still in her, Seth.”