“Another point in Mr. Worth’s favor,” Ritenour said. “Don’t get me wrong; I’m not suggestin’ this as something he could have done. But he struck me as the kinda guy, if he wanted to make a scene look like a burglary, then it would look like a fucking burglary.”
“Yeah, I know. But whoever it was knew her, and was pissed as hell. A burglar wouldn’t have hacked her up like that.” Aquino drew a preliminary report to him. “He got her three times in the back, so she was running from him. Defense wounds on her arm; she was trying to fight him off. Then when she was down, he kept stabbing her.”
“No signs of sexual assault. Underwear was in place; prelim shows no semen present. Her friends say she left the party last night unusually early, so the timing couldn’t have been planned. She left alone.” Ritenour yawned, bleary eyes focused on his notes. “The knife was from a set in her kitchen and was left at the scene. No prints. We have a lot of smears on the doorknob, a partial of Mrs. Worth’s right thumb, and a good set of the housekeeper’s prints.”
“Doesn’t look like a disgruntled boyfriend, either. She spread her joy around. There were a lot of men, but no one in particular.”
“But maybe one of them wanted to be particular. You know, the sour grapes thing. If I can’t have you, blah blah blah. Anybody on that list she was seeing regularly, then stopped seeing?” Ritenour doodled on his pad. Like all detectives, he and Joe kicked things back and forth between them. The give-and-take sometimes triggered a new insight.
“Nobody that recent.” Aquino paused. “Senator McMillan’s name on that list was interesting, but while he might not want his wife to know about it, I don’t think he’d kill to keep it secret.”
“Not to mention he doesn’t know this list exists.”
“Not to mention. Has the insurance company come through with a list of the jewelry she had insured, so we can tell what’s missing?”
“Not yet. They’re supposed to fax it over in the morning.”
“Let’s walk through this.”
“We’ve walked through it twice already, Joe.”
“Humor me.” Aquino leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Guy breaks in. He’s already got the jewelry. Maybe he plans on taking the television and stereo, too, but it’s just one guy, so I doubt it. He’s in the kitchen, looking in the refrigerator. Lot of people hide stuff in their refrigerators and freezers; they think it’s an original hiding place, so of course a good thief always checks the fridge.”
Ritenour picked up the narrative. “When she comes in, catches him, he panics. He grabs one of the knives. But he already has the jewelry, and he’s stronger than she is; he can get away any time he wants. There wasn’t any reason to kill her, unless she knew him.”
“Like an acquaintance trying to feed a drug habit? That might fly, except for the overkill. The punk enjoyed it. That brings me back to the setup. I think the murder was deliberate, and the rest of it is just stage setting. I don’t think there was a burglar.”
“Then the guys on this list are our best possibilities.” Sourly, Ritenour surveyed the names. “Jesus, the lady saw a lot of action. The problem is, I don’t think any of these names are on the security log.”
“What, you think a guy planning to commit murder is going to sign his real name for the guard?”
“Then how did he get in? Somebody would have to okay him, or the guard wouldn’t let him go up. So he would have had to use his real name.”
“Or somebody in the building was in on it with him.”
Glumly they stared at each other. They were getting into wild territory with a conspiracy theory, and they knew it. The murder had been too personal. So they were left with the puzzle of how the killer got into an upscale apartment building with round-the-clock security. They kept staring at each other. Ritenour arched his eyebrows. “We need a list of recent tenants.”
“Yeah, we sure as hell do.”
“The name won’t be right, but we’ll be looking for a single man, and odds are if we get photos of all the guys on this list, the guards will be able to match one of them to the new tenant.”
Suddenly energized, they hit the phones. The late hour was working against them, though. There was no one in the office of the apartment building to give them a list of recent applicants. Getting photos of the men on the list would also take time; the photos of the ones who had driver’s licenses could be got from the DMV, but a lot of people who lived in the city didn’t drive because owning a car was such a bitch of a hassle. There was also the possibility that the guy could live across the river in New Jersey, or in Connecticut. Both were easy commutes.
“Jesus,” Aquino muttered, looking at the list of Mrs. Worth’s lovers. “This could take the rest of the year. Have you counted how many guys are here? The woman must have had the brains of a flea, what with AIDS and everything. Look at this. I count twenty-three new guys in the past year; then there were all the repeaters. She was in the sack with somebody at least twice a week, on average.”
“My love life should be so active,” Ritenour said mournfully.
“The strain would kill you. Ah, hell, we aren’t going to get anything accomplished tonight.” Aquino stood and stretched. “I’m going home. See ya in the morning.”
“Going home’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”
Following suit, Ritenour grabbed his coat. “You wanna stop off for a couple of beers?”