cpatricia.blacknotice-第75部分

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let　us　in。
　　〃Glad　as　hell　to　see　you；〃　he　said　to　both　of　us。　〃Thought　you　were　on　vacation；〃　he　added　to　Marino。
　　〃Yeah。　I　got　vacated；　you're　right。〃
　　We　put　on　gloves；　and　Butterfield　shut　the　door　behind　us。　His　face　was　tight；　his　attention　going　everywhere。
　　〃Tell　me　about　it；〃　Marino　said；　eyes　sweeping　the　foyer　and　zooming　into　the　living　room　beyond。
　　〃Got　a　nine…one…one　call　made　from　a　phone　booth　not　too　far　from　here。　We　get　here；　and　this　is　what　we　find。　Someone　beat　the　holy　hell　out　of　her；〃　Butterfield　said。
　　〃What　else？〃　Marino　asked。
　　〃Sexual　assault。　Looks　like　robbery；　too。　Billfold　on　the　floor；　no　money　in　it；　everything　in　her　purse　dumped　out。　Watch　where　you　step；〃　he　added　as　if　we　didn't　know　better。
　　〃Damn；　she　had　big　bucks；　no　kidding；〃　Marino　marveled；　looking　around　at　the　very　expensive　furnishings　of　Bray's　very　expensive　home。
　　〃You　ain't　seen　nothing　yet；〃　Butterfield　replied。
　　What　struck　me　first　was　the　collection　of　clocks　in　the　living　room。　There　were　wall　clocks　and　hanging　shelf　clocks　in　rosewood；　walnut　and　mahogany；　and　calendar　and　steeple　clocks；　and　novelty　clocks；　all　of　them　antique　and　perfectly　synchronized。　They　tick…tocked　loudly　and　would　have　driven　me　mad　were　I　to　live　amidst　their　monotonous　reminder　of　time。
　　She　was　fond　of　English　antiques　that　were　grand　and　unfriendly。　A　scroll…end　sofa　and　a　revolving　bookcase　with　dummy　leather　book　dividers　faced　the　TV　Placed　here　and　there　with　no　thought　of　pany　in　mind；　it　seemed；　were　stiff　armchairs　with　ornate　upholstery　and　a　satinwood　pole…screen。　A　massive　ebonized　sideboard　overpowered　the　room。　The　heavy　gold　damask　draperies　were　drawn；　and　bwebs　laced　box…pleated　valances。　I　saw　no　art；　not　a　single　sculpture　or　painting；　and　with　every　detail　I　took　in；　Bray's　personality　became　colder　and　more　overbearing。　I　liked　her　less。　That　was　hard　to　acknowledge　about　someone　who　had　just　been　beaten　to　death。
　　〃Where　did　she　get　her　money？〃　I　asked。
　　〃Got　no　idea；〃　Marino　answered。
　　〃All　of　us　been　wondering　that　ever　since　she　came　here；〃　Butterfield　said。　〃You　ever　seen　her　car？〃
　　〃No；〃…　I　replied。
　　〃Huh；〃　Marino　retorted。　〃She　takes　a　brand…new　Crown　Vic　home　with　her　every　night。〃
　　〃A　damn　Jaguar；　fire…engine　red。　In　the　garage。　Looks　like　a　ninety…eight　or　ninety…nine。　Can't　even　guess　what　that　cost〃　The　detective　shook　his　head。　。
　　〃About　two　years　of　your　working　ass；〃　Marino　mented。
　　〃Tell　me。〃
　　They　talked　on　about　Bray's　tastes　and　wealth　as　if　her　battered　dead　body　didn't　exist。　I　saw　no　evidence　that　an　encounter　had　occurred　in　the　living　room；　or　that　anyone　even　used　it　much　or　bothered　to　clean　it　thoroughly。
　　The　kitchen　was　off　the　living　room　to　the　right；　and　I　glanced　inside　it；　again　checking　for　blood　or　any　other　sign　of　violence　and　finding　none。　The　kitchen　did　not　feel　lived　in；　either。　Countertops　and　the　stove　were　spotless。　I　saw　no　food；　only　a　bag　of　Starbucks　coffee　and　a　small　wine　rack　holding　three　bottles　of　merlot。
　　Marino　came　up　from　behind　and　edged　past　me　through　the　doorway。　He　opened　the　refrigerator　with　gloved　hands。
　　〃Doesn't　look　like　she　was　into　cooking；'　he　said；　scanning　sparsely　stocked　shelves。
　　I　surveyed　a　quart　of　two…percent　milk；　tangerines；　margarine；　a　box　of　Grape…Nuts　and　condiments。　The　freezer　held　no　more　promise。
　　〃It's　like　she　was　never　home；　or　ate　out　all　the　time；〃　he　said；　stepping　on　a　pedal　to　pop　up　the　trash…can　lid。
　　He　reached　inside　and　pulled　out　pieces　of　a　torn…up　Domino's　pizza　box；　a　wine　bottle　and　three　St。　Pauli　Girl　beer　bottles。　He　pieced　together　fragments　of　the　receipt。
　　〃One　medium　pepperoni；　extra　cheese；〃　he　mumbled。　〃Ordered　last　night　at　five…fifty…three。〃
　　He　dug　around　some　more　and　found　crumpled　napkins；　three　slices　of　the　pizza　and　at　least　half　a　dozen　cigarette　butts。
　　〃Now　we're　cookin'；〃　he　said。　〃Bray　didn't　smoke。　Looks　like　she　had　pany　last　night。〃
　　〃When　did　the　nine…one…one　call　e　in？〃
　　〃Nine…oh…four。　About　an　hour　and　a　half　ago。　And　it　don't　look　to　me　like　she　was　up　making　coffee；　reading　the　paper　or　anything　else　this　morning。〃
　　〃I'm　pretty　sure　she　was　already　dead　by　this　morning；〃　Butterfield　offered。
　　We　moved　on；　following　a　carpeted　hallway　to　the　master　bedroom　in　the　back　of　the　house。　When　we　reached　the　open　doorway；　both　of　us　stopped。　Violence　seemed　to　absorb　all　light　and　air。　Its　silence　was　plete；　its　stains　and　destruction　everywhere。
　　〃Holy　shit；〃　Marino　said　under　his　breath。
　　Whitewashed　walls；　floor；　ceiling；　overstuffed　chairs；　chaise　longue　were　spattered　so　pletely　with　blood　it　almost　seemed　part　of　a　decorator's　plan。　But　these　droplets；　smears　and　streaks　weren't　dye　or　paint；　they　were　fragments　from　a　terrible　explosion　caused　by　a　psychopathic　human　bomb。　Dried　speckles　and　drips　sullied　antique　mirrors；　and　the　floor　was　thick　with　coagulated　puddles　and　splashes。　The　king…size　bed　was　soaked　with　blood　and　oddly　stripped　of　its　linens。
　　Diane　Bray　had　been　beaten　so　severely　I　couldn't　have　told　her　race。　She　was　on　her　back；　green　satin　blouse　and　black　underwire　bra　on　the　floor。　I　picked　them　up。　They　had　been　ripped　from　her　body。　Every　inch　of　skin　was　dried　wipes　and　smears　and　swirls　reminding　me　of　fingerpainting　again；　her　face　a　mush　of　splintered　bone　and　battered　tissue。　On　her　left　wrist　was　a　smashed　gold　watch。　On　her　right　ring　finger；　a　gold　band　was　beaten　into　the　bone。
　　For　a　long　time　we　stared。　She　was　naked　from　the　waist　up。　Her　black　corduroy　pants　and　belt　didn't　seem　to　have　been　touched。　The　soles　of　her　feet　and　her　palms　were　chewed　up；　and　this　time　Loup…Garou　hadn't　bothered　eradicating　his　bite　marks。　They　were　circles　of　widely　spaced；　narrow　teeth　that　didn't　look　human。　He　had　bitten　and　sucked　and　beaten；　and…Bray's　plete　degradation；　her　mutilation；　especially　of　her　face；　instantly　screamed　rage。　It　cried　out　that　she　might　have　known　her　killer；　just　as　Loup…Garou's　other　victims　had。
　　Only；　he　didn't　know　them。　Before　he　showed　up　at　the　door；　he　and　his　victims　had　never　met　except　in　his　hellish　fantasies。
　　〃What's　wrong‘　with　Anderson？〃　Marino　was　asking　Butterfield。
　　〃She　heard　about　it　and　freaked。〃
　　〃That's　kinda　interesting。　That　mean　we　don't　got　a　detective　here？〃
　　〃Marino；　let　me　see　your　flashlight；　please；〃　I　said。
　　I　shone　the　light　all　around。　Blood　was　spattered　on　the　headboard　and　a　bedside　lamp；　caused　when　the　impact　of　blows　or　slashes　projected　small　droplets　away　from　the　weapon。　There　were　low…velocity　stains　as　well；　blood　that　had　dripped　to　the　carpet。　I　got　down　and　probed　the　bloody　hardwood　floor　next　to　the　bed；　and　I　found　more　pale　long　hairs。　They　were　on　Bray's　body；　too：
　　〃The　word　we　got　was　to　secure　the　scene　and　wait　for　a　supervisor；〃　one　of　the　cops　was　saying。
　　〃What　supervisor？〃　Marino　asked。
　　I　shone　light　obliquely　on　bloody　footprints　close　to　the　bed。　They　had　a　distinctive　tread　and　I　looked　up　at　the　officers　in　the　room。
　　〃Uh；　I　think　the　chief　himself。　I　think　he　wants　to　assess　the　situation　before　anything's　done；〃　Butterfield　was　talking　to　Marino。
　　〃Well；　that's　tough　shit；〃　Marino　said。　〃And　he　shows　up。；　he　can　stand　out　in　the　rain。〃
　　〃How　many　people　have　been　inside　this　room？〃　I　asked。
　　〃I　don't　know；〃　one　of　the　officers　answered。
　　〃If　you　don't　know；　then　it's　too　many；〃　I　replied。　〃Did　either　of　you　touch　the　body？　How　close　did　you　get　to　it？〃
　　〃I　didn't　touch　her。〃
　　〃No；　ma'am。〃
　　〃Whose　footprints　are　these？〃　I　pointed　them　out。　〃I　need　to　know；　because　if　they　aren't　yours；　then　the　killer　hung　around　long　enough　for　the　blood　to　dry。〃
　　Marino　looked　at　the　officers'　feet。　Both　men　were　wearing　black　crosstrainers。　Marino　squatted　and　looked　at　the　faint　tread　pattern　on　the　hardwood　floor。
　　〃Could　it　be　Vibram？〃　he　sarcastically　said。
　　〃I　need　to　get　started；〃　I　said；　getting　swabs　and　a　chemical　thermometer　out　of　my　case。
　　〃We　got　too　damn　many　people　in　here！〃　Marino　announced。　〃Cooper；　Jenkins；　go　find　something　useful　to　do。；
　　H