"Spindler, Erica - See Jane Die" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spindler Erica)

She swept her gaze over the interior. "He would have been someone who fit in here, in this world. Someone who traveled in similar circles to hers."

"Drivers license lists her address as Hillcrest Avenue. That's the heart of the nosebleed section."

Highland Park. The most prestigious neighborhood in Dallas. As old money as Dallas got. She pursed her lips. "My bet is, one of them was married. Maybe both."

"No ring."

Mac was right. Her left-hand ring finger was bare, not even sporting the telltale cheater's tan line. "Then I'll bet he was."

"Maybe they were rug munchers."

This came from Lester. Stacy swung to face him. "Excuse me?"

"You know, lesbos."

"You're disgusting, you know that?"

"Got a soft spot for those types, Killian? Anything you'd like to share?"

She could hear the rumor already, spreading through the department: Stacy Killian's a dyke. Finally, the reason she'd rather bust their balls than fondle them.

Just great.

"I find certain labels offensive. You would, too. If you were human."

"Why don't you shut up, Lester," Mac snapped. "We've got a job to do here."

The other man's face flooded with color. He opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it. A few of the others chuckled and Stacy figured Mac hadn't heard the last of this.

But that wasn't her problem.

Mac brought her attention back to Elle Vanmeer. "I'm not saying you're wrong about the infidelity thing, but here's another scenario. Lovers celebrating something special. An anniversary or birthday. Landing a big contract. Rendezvousing here is part of the celebration."

"Could be," she conceded. "But it doesn't feel that way to me."

"If the guy was married, could be his wife beat him here. He arrives, finds her dead and runs scared."

She played that scenario over in her head. "It takes a lot of strength to choke the life out of someone. But it could be." She looked at the coroner's deputy. "Jump in anytime, Pete."

Pete Winston, a smallish, balding man who looked more like an accountant than a forensic pathologist, glanced at her from his position at the head of the bed. "She's been dead ten to twelve hours. Judging by the hemorrhages in her eyes and lips, what you see is what you've got. 'Course, the autopsy will tell the whole tale."

"She have intercourse before she was killed?" Stacy asked, hopeful. Sex meant sperm or pubic hair, which in turn meant DNA.

"Don't know yet. Panties are in place, but that doesn't mean no." He stood and came around the bed to stand beside them. "Take a look at these."

With a gloved finger he indicated a series of small scars, at her bikini line, hips, inner and outer thighs. "Liposuction," he said. "And look here." He indicated small scars at her hair- and jawlines. "She's had a face-lift as well."

"Chicks today," said Lester. "You date someone and find out later you were fucking a grandmother."