I shoot photos of the wounds and then stand and study the area around her. There’s nothing on the ground around her but her phone.
Shoving my camera in my pocket for a moment, I grab it and try to check the messages. There’s facial ID. An easy problem to fix. I hold it over Naomi’s face and it unlocks. I quickly scan the messages. There’s a call from someone labeled “JJ.” It’s outgoing. JJ, who could be male or female, didn’t answer. And so, Naomi sent a message that reads: One more time for the history books.
JJ didn’t reply.
The history is cleared. This reads a little too similar to the exchange Emma had with Jamie to sit right.
We’re back to the game.
I screenshot the text exchange and shoot it and the phone numbers involved to Tic Tac with a message: Victim number two. We’re back to Banking the Billionaire. Find out if they ever played. And find out who JJ is.
He replies with: Yes, my Bitch Queen.
Bitch Queen?
That’s new and I’m not really sure if it’s him being a bitch or him being affectionate. I don’t really do affectionate. I’d rather him be a bitch.
I check my messages for Kane and when there are none, I check for anything from Lucas. Nothing from him either. Lucas hasn’t even responded about a ping for Kane’s location, but Lucas can be the real little bitch. He gets hurt and he shuts down. He’s probably drinking and passed out. I consider asking Tic Tac but asking the FBI to search for Kane Mendez is not a good idea, no matter how friendly Murphy tries to act with Kane. Kane’s team is sophisticated. They’ll find him. They probably already have.
Resolutely, I shove my phone in my pocket again and focus on the crime scene.
My gaze lifts to the bed, and on the one nightstand, I find a lamp and an empty wine glass.
Closing the space between it and me, I pick up the glass and find the remnants of liquid. She drank the wine, but there’s no way a sharp object got inside that wine and she didn’t know. I mean, unless she gulped it? Where is the bottle? And how did she make it from the side of the bed to the middle of the bedroom? I check the trashcan and find the bottle. Maybe she was so drunk that she stumbled forward as she was taking the pills? I open the nightstand and find a bottle of generic ibuprofen. Bingo. I dump some of them out on my gloved hand and study them. They all look normal, at least to the naked eye.
I bag them and set them on the nightstand before I glance around the room. There’s a chair in the corner next to a bookshelf. I walk in that direction and study the selection of books. All romances and self-help books. Maybe she was inspired to play Banking the Billionaire from one of these books. I find a journal and it seems a logical place to find out. I open it and find it empty. Apparently, it was a gift she never used or one of those self-help books told her to use it and she just couldn’t get motivated. Maybe she was too busy playing Banking the Billionaire.
Next, I head to the dresser and start digging through the drawers. One drawer, two, three. More. Everything is neatly organized and aside from a vibrator, I find nothing that doesn’t belong. Okay, well I guess that vibrator being beside the bed in the nightstand would be more logical, but maybe that’s just me.
I head into the bathroom, which is small, and quick to search. I bag the few bottles of medications I locate. There’s really nothing more. I reenter the bedroom just as Chief Houston steps into the room, and with his linebacker, fit frame, he shrinks the already tiny room. I give him a quick once over. “Boots and gloves. A rule follower. I guess that’s how you got your title, Chief.”
“I’m certain that’s meant as a jab,” he says dryly. “I’m also certain I don’t want to know what you mean.”
“You’re under forty and the chief for a year now,” I say. “That takes lots of rule following. And I’m actually not insulting you. I’m just thinking how suffocating that must be, always following the rules and yelling at everyone who doesn’t. I sure hope you have someone like me around.”
“I have you right now, like it or not,” he comments dryly, and then eyes Naomi, before glancing at me again. “What’s the story?”
“A near duplication to a murder in the Hamptons.” I motion to the body. “She swallowed something that cut her inside out. I suspect it’s ibuprofen she downed with wine.” I toss the bagged pills on the table. “She also has a similar text message exchange with an unknown person to that of the other victim. ‘One more time for the history books.’ They were playing some game, we think. We’re already working that angle. Assign a detective team I can tolerate. Communicate with Andrew.”