Yes, sir. Rafe nodded, his surly mood hidden behind a face that was pure business. He grabbed his jacket and jogged out the door.
Captain? Holden prompted. They still didnt have an explanation for the off-duty call.
Looks like weve got another Rich Girl murder. Banking family this time. The Cosgrove estate. They found Cosgroves daughter strangled to death in her bedroom. Signs of torture. Cutler muttered a curse under his breath. There was a party going on downstairs when they found her. Almost a hundred people on the scene with a dead woman upstairs.
Thats ballsy. Holden voiced what Alex was thinking. Sounds as though this guy is trying to flaunt his crime.
Thats the second death with that kind of victim in just over a year, isnt it? Trip asked, sliding a bookmark between the pages of his paperback and cramming it into the pocket of his jacket. The first ones never been solved. I thought a task force had been set up to narrow down a suspect.
Yeah. Alex frowned. They were men of action. Troubleshooters. Protectors. They werent the cops who sifted through clues at crime scenes. Why call us instead of homicide?
Its up to us to secure the scene so the detectives and CSI can get in and do their job.
Were on crowd control?
Not exactly. The captain pulled his KCPD SWAT jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. The perps upping his game. The partys no coincidence. This time he left a bomb threat with the body.
Chapter Two
Audrey Kline squinted against the swirling strobe effect of the four police cars and other official vehicles lined up on the street in front of the Cosgrove mansion as she climbed out of her Mercedes and tried to make sense of what was going on here. The scene outside the sprawling stone house resembled the aftermath of some kind of natural disaster, with people huddling under blankets, women wearing their escorts suit jackets over designer dresses, one man sitting at the back of an ambulance with a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and many others silently weeping.
It was true. It hadnt been some cruel tabloid rumor that had blipped past on her local internet news site.
Gretchen was dead.
The certainty of it hit her like a punch to the gut and, for a moment, she sagged against the open door, her shocked breaths forming frosty clouds in the damp November air. How? Why?
Screeching brakes alerted her a split second before the glare of headlights spun around the corner half a block away, hitting her square in the face. A television news van. Audrey turned away and closed the car door, instinctively shielding her face from the unwelcome intrusion.
There was already a slew of other reporters here, searching for someone noteworthy from the wealthiest and most powerful of Kansas City society to give them a sound bite. And more of those underground bloggers whod broken the news of the murder half an hour ago were probably mingling with the guests, texting away.
But Audrey was in no mood to be a media darling tonight. Gretchens death was personal. Private. She needed answers. She needed this to make sense. This was the second friend shed lost in the past two years. Her mother had died the year before that. Standing around and waiting with the others would only give her time to feel, to remember, to hurt. And to have that kind of weakness caught on tape and posted in the public eye would only make the grief that much tougher to deal with. If she ever wanted to be known as something more than Rupert Klines little princess, then weakness wasnt something anyone here was going to get a chance to observe.
With newfound resolve giving her strength, Audrey buttoned up the front of her cashmere blazer, stuffed her keys into the pocket of her jeans and slipped through the suits and cocktail dresses of the party guests gathered outside the front gate. They parted like zombies, shocked and murmuring, as she made a beeline for the uniformed policeman standing by the driveways wrought-iron gates. Excuse me, officer? Im a friend of the family.
Her father had taught her that standing as tall as her five feet five inches allowed and walking and talking with a purpose usually convinced people that she belonged wherever she wanted to be. But the young officer wasnt fooled. Leaving one arm resting on his belt beside his gun, he raised his hand to stop her. Im sorry, miss. No ones allowed to come inside the gate.
She tilted her chin to argue that she belonged here. My father and Mr. Cosgrove went to Harvard together. I dont think he would mind
And then she saw the two detectivesone tall and light-haired, jotting notes, the other shorter and darkertalking to a pair of crime scene investigators, each wearing their reflective vests and holding their bulky kits in their hands. What were they doing outside the house? Had something happened on the grounds, as well? The blip shed seen on her laptop said the victim had been found in her bedroom upstairs.
Why werent they interviewing suspects? Taking pictures? Why were they just standing around? Didnt they know what a beautiful soul Gretchen had been? How much her parents and friends had loved her? Why werent they tearing that house apart to find out whod killed her?
Audrey took a deep breath to cool her frustration, wishing shed taken the time to don a suit and high heels instead of quickly pulling on jeans and a jacket over her pajamas. Shed been up late working at home instead of attending Gretchens party where she might have been able to do some good by kick-starting the investigation and putting these people to work. With no makeup and her hair hanging down to her shoulders in loose waves, she knew she looked more like a teenager than a grown woman. But she wasnt about to let her appearance stop her anymore than had the two red lights shed run speeding across town to get here.
Shed known Gretchen Cosgrove since kindergarten. Their adult paths had taken them in different directions, but they saw each other at social functions like this one often enough to keep in touch. A friendship like that didnt die. A woman Audreys own age shouldnt die.
Please. She reached into her back pocket and looped the lanyard with her Office of the District Attorney identification badge around her neck. The job was new, her switch from private practice to public prosecutor a calculated bid to establish her independence beyond the shadow cast by her father. She hadnt had the opportunity to pull rank without her fathers influence to back her up yet. But this was as good a time to try as any. Im an officer of the court. Im sure theres something I can do to help.
Sorry, maam, the officer apologized, but my orders are strict. Nobody crosses the cordon tape until SWAT clears the scene, not even the commissioner herself.
I dont understand. Wasnt the body found a couple hours ago? The crime scene is getting cold.
His gaze dropped down to her ID badge. Apparently, the judicial emblem held enough sway for him to lean in to whisper. There may be a bomb inside.
A bomb?
He put a finger to his lips. Thats what the note with the body said. Captain Cutler said until we know more, we dont want to say or do anything that will cause a panic.
Cutler. She knew that name. That meant his SWAT team was on the premises, and that Gretchens death might not be the only tragedy KCPD had to worry about. Audrey glanced around, recognizing many of the guests in attendance. There was the party planner Audrey had hired herself in the past, Clarice Darnell, along with her staffservers, caterers, parking attendants. These were friends, colleagues, acquaintances Audrey had met at society events similar to this one. They were already traumatized by the news that their hostess tonight had been murdered. She didnt wish more trouble on any of them. No. We wouldnt.