Page 9 of The Drowned Woman
Leah closed her eyes and took one breath, then another before opening them again. She touched her fingers to her lips then to the phone, a silent promise to Ian. She put the phone away and walked over to Risa Saliba’s apartment.
Six
Luka closed the door to Walt and Trudy Orly’s apartment behind him and took a moment to rein in his emotions. He hadn’t meant to take out his frustration on Leah. After all, the whole point of the pilot program was to determine the most effective role of civilian crisis intervention workers to assist law enforcement. Leah was basically inventing her new job as she did it and it was going to take some trial and error.
Krichek said something from the other room and Luka pushed thoughts of Leah aside to face more immediate concerns: how had Trudy Orly died and who had allowed his crime scene to mutate into a full-blown tactical call-out? He needed answers before Commander Ahearn or the Chief himself demanded them.
He found Krichek standing by the fireplace in the living room, photographing the damage done by Walt’s rampage: overturned end tables, a smashed lamp, scattered knick-knacks, the shattered vase. The kitchen was on his left, an island bar separating it from the living room. The living room had spacious floor to ceiling windows, a large fireplace, and soft, comfortable furniture. The walls were filled with photos of Walt and Trudy at various exotic locales.
Luka scrutinized the photos nearest him—the dates inscribed on the mats were only two to three years ago, yet both Walt and Trudy appeared a decade younger than what he’d seen of them today. Walt’s illness must have progressed rapidly. “Walk me through it.”
“What?” Krichek replied. “You were here, saw—”
“Before I arrived. How the hell did ERT get involved?” Thank God there’d been no press to document McKinley’s men aiming assault rifles at a sick old man. Or to film the presence of civilians on scene. If it turned out Luka’s team was responsible for the screw-up, Ahearn was going to eat him alive.
Krichek was a solid worker, good with tedious details like financials and cell records, but he was also green, prone to wild theories. “Honestly, boss, it went to hell before Harper and I even got here. We arrived to find the body unattended, a screaming match up here. Two uniforms trying to corral the husband, one of them with his Taser out, ready to deploy. That Saliba woman, the neighbor, was trying to help but the uniforms kept shouting at Orly to comply. The old man was like an animal—I don’t think he understood a word they were saying. The uniforms had already called for backup—no idea how that turned into ERT, but next thing I know, just as Harper and the neighbor are working to calm Orly down, McKinley and his guys arrive. I left to deal with them and asked Harper to call you.” He turned one palm up, as if uncertain if he should be asking forgiveness. “Not sure what else I could do. It all happened so fast.”
“Both you and Harper need to document everything that happened—a complete timeline of your actions, down to the second.” Not for the first time, Luka wished Cambria City had the budget for bodycams. “And pray that the neighbor backs you up, that it was the uniforms who escalated things.”
“Yes, sir.” Krichek’s expression turned grave, the seriousness of the situation finally sinking in.
Luka turned his attention to the task at hand. “We don’t know yet if Trudy’s death was suspicious, so what should we be looking for?”
“If she was arriving home when she fell, there wouldn’t be any physical evidence inside the apartment. We could look for indications of pre-meditation like a life insurance policy or other motive…” He trailed off, turning in a circle, suddenly uncertain. Given the violence the living room had suffered it was easy to lose focus.
“How about we see if we can document Walt’s mental impairment,” Luka suggested. “Rule out any possibility that he’s faking that. And help assess how bad off he really is, for when we interview him.”
“Our warrant doesn’t cover medical records, but we could document his prescriptions, especially if they’re in plain sight.” Krichek moved past Luka to the kitchen where, above the sink, an array of prescription bottles could be seen through the cupboard’s glass doors. It, like all the cupboards and the pantry door, was held shut with a child-proof lock. Soft foam had been placed over the sharp corners of the countertop as well, while knob protectors covered the stove’s controls.
“We need to find a next of kin for the Orlys.” Luka tugged at one of the stove protectors. Given his grandfather’s forgetfulness, they might not be a bad investment. “Did Maggie find Trudy’s phone?” The coroner’s investigator would have control of any personal items found on the body.
“Said there wasn’t one,” Krichek said in a distracted tone as he photographed the prescriptions and then looked up each drug. “Wow, this is some powerful stuff. If Orly needs all this, he must be nuts—er, I mean, extremely mentally impaired.”
Luka was more concerned with Trudy’s missing phone. “Keep an eye out for a cell phone.”
“She was old, probably forgot it.”
“Not while leaving her sick husband home alone.” Which reminded him of the other thing bothering him. “Walt was in pajamas; maybe he was in bed when Trudy went to the store?” Perhaps she’d left early, in time to be first in line when the pharmacy opened, hoping Walt would still be asleep when she returned. Luka drifted down the hall to the bedroom. Two twin-sized beds, one neatly made, the other with covers tossed back. On the nightstand beside the second bed was a baby monitor with a video camera. Which meant Trudy definitely took her cell phone with her so she’d be alerted as soon as Walt got out of bed.
He returned to the kitchen where Krichek was still documenting the various medications. “Do you have the victim’s cell number?” Krichek nodded. “Call it for me.”
Krichek dialed and they waited. Nothing sounded in the apartment. “Straight to voicemail.”
“I’m going to check her shopping bags, maybe she slipped it inside.” Luka stepped out of the apartment to the landing between the front door and the elevator. A crime scene tech was dusting the railing over the atrium for prints near where Trudy’s shopping bags had been abandoned. “Wilson, did you hear a phone ring just now?”
“No, sorry.” He didn’t look up from where he was gently swirling his brush, barely touching the walnut surface. Wilson had been with the department for decades, but despite his seniority, he preferred evidence collection on scene to examining it in the lab.
Luka moved to the crime scene tape, but didn’t cross it, respecting Wilson’s space. “Anything?”
“Nothing to point to suicide.” He gestured to the palm prints the powder had uncovered. “See how they’re facing in the same direction? If she’d climbed over to jump—”
“They would be going in different directions as she changed her grip.”
“Right. And so far, these are the only ones I’m picking up. They must do a good job of cleaning. Plus, top floor, not much traffic up here.”
“But if she was gripping the railing—how did she fall?” Luka craned his neck to see more closely. “She was facing forward, holding the railing like she was looking down into the atrium, right? Not backwards, like she was struggling with someone?” He reversed his own position, demonstrating.
“Nope. Definitely forward. See the fingerprints lined up on the far side of the railing?” Wilson pointed to an area he hadn’t dusted yet. “Trust me, they’re there. I’ll get to them in a minute.”
