Chapter 1

Day One

The girl was beautiful. No that’s not right. The girl was stunning.

Her blue eyes were embellished with black eyeliner and earthy-toned eyeshadow. Her long eyelashes enhanced with black mascara, her prominent cheekbones daintily rouged and her full luscious lips painted with ruby-red lipstick.

Her breathtaking visage was framed by flaming red hair which was fanned out on the pillows, poised perfectly, almost like a portrait.

Her flawless skin was alabaster white, almost translucent. The red brocade bustier she was wearing shaped her torso, cinching her waist, flattening her stomach and pushing up her ample bosom. Her long, shapely legs were sheathed in vintage black stockings and her feet shod in cherry-red four-inch high heels. One knee was raised and her waist slewed sideways so that a modicum of modesty prevailed and her private parts were hidden from view except for one pert buttock clad in translucent panties.

She lay on black satin sheets with her arms stretched wide, almost inviting you to join her. She looked like she was sleeping, except for the deep slash across her swanlike neck.

The girl had obviously been posed by her killer.

The room was suddenly illuminated by a flash as one of the forensic technicians took another photograph, this time from a different angle. The other CSIs dressed in Tyvek coveralls picked over the scene collecting forensic evidence. The medical examiner had already pronounced the girl deceased and was carefully inspecting the body without disturbing the scene.

“What do you make of it?” Detective Tommy Lomax asked his partner.

“She’s young, pretty and dead. This place is no dump either. If it’s hers she’s got money, she comes from money, she married money or she has a boyfriend with money,” Jack Shepard growled, his voice hoarse from thousands of cigarettes.

“What about how she’s dressed?” Tommy pointed his chin at the girl.

“Maybe daddy likes her dressed sassy? Maybe she’s a hooker?” Jack offered, scratching his poorly shaved chin.

“A kept woman?” Tommy mused.

“She was posed. She was killed here; most of the blood has soaked into the bedding. What do you think doc?” Tommy turned to Hector ‘Doc’ Freeman, the medical examiner.

“Based on lividity and body temperature I’d say she died within the last twenty four hours. The incision in her throat is the likely cause of death and looks like it was made with a very sharp knife or possibly a razor. I don’t want to speculate too much until I get her to the morgue and conduct the autopsy but I don’t see any defensive wounds,” Doc Freeman stated in the usual dispassionate voice he used when he attended a crime scene.

“Can I get in closer there Gail?” Doc asked Gail Johnson the lead forensic investigator.

Other than a rudimentary examination to declare wrongful death, Doc had left the corpse untouched so that the CSIs could do their thing.

“Sure. We have most of the initial trace evidence bagged from her body and the bed. We’ll conduct a more thorough examination of the bed when you move her and I’ll assist with the autopsy,” Gail nodded.

Underneath her shapeless Tyvek coveralls the diminutive Gail Johnson had a killer body, great tits and a pretty face. Tommy Lomax had tried it on with Gail a year ago when she came to Camden from New York City to take over as head of the Camden PD forensics unit but her bullshit detector detected his bullshit immediately and they remained cordial colleagues but she didn’t mind a little playful banter with him.

Doc approached the body and lifted one of the girl’s arms by the wrist.

“Rigor mortis is still at stage one and her pallor suggests that she’s been dead for less than eight hours, so that narrows it down some. See what I mean about no defensive wounds?” Doc indicated the woman’s hands.

Her fingers were elegant. She was wearing several silver rings and she had long manicured fingernails painted the same ruby red as her lipstick. None of the nails were broken and there appeared to be no scratches, cuts or contusions on her wrists or forearms which are representative of defensive wounds and would indicate that a she had fought with her assailant.

“Maybe she knew her killer? Maybe she was drugged or asleep when she was attacked. I don’t see any signs of a struggle,” Jack Shepard hitched his pants up around his substantial gut as he was want to do when he thought he’d made a significant observation.

“I don’t like to jump to conclusions but I agree with your partner; at least based on my initial observations,” Gail Johnson added.

“Can we turn her over? See if there are any cuts or bruises on her thighs?” Tommy asked.

“Sex, drugs or money,” Jack Shepard sighed.

Tommy and Jack called sex, drugs and money the holy trinity. They were the most common motives for violent crimes. Bruising or scratches on the girl’s thighs might be indicators of rape or sexual assault.

Gail shrugged as if to say ‘sure – go for it’ and tugged at her latex glove. Everyone at the scene was wearing latex gloves and disposable shoe coverings. Only the CSIs were wearing Tyvek coveralls but they’d had the body to themselves for over an hour and Gail had permitted the detectives and the medical examiner into the crime scene now that the CSIs had conducted their initial evidence collection procedures, mainly the collection of hairs, fibres and fluids from the body.

Gail’s team were now dusting for prints, taking pictures and collecting any trace evidence in the room.

Doc Freeman gently straightened the girl’s leg and rolled her lower body over into the prone position.

“Jesus Christ!” Doc recoiled from the bed.

“What the fuck?” Jack Shepard took a step backwards.

“Well there’s something you don’t see every day,” Tommy said sarcastically.

The girl was wearing translucent white panties. The front of her panties was distended by a good sized flaccid penis.

“Fucking freak,” Jack Shepard whispered and Gail shot him an angry look.

“It gets better,” one of the CSI techs said.

The CSI who had been collecting and bagging evidence held out a student ID card to Gail Johnson in his gloved fingers. She and Tommy Lomax peered intently at the card. The name on the card was Steven de Lorraine.

Gail took the card and held it next to the girl’s face.

“Could be him ... her ... whatever the fuck,” Tommy leaned in and looked at the card then at the girl’s face.

The facial features were similar enough for Tommy to be almost positive that it was, as was Gail.

“Doesn’t Senator Raymond de Lorraine have a son named Steven?” Jack Shepard offered, although he could no longer bring himself to look at the body.

“Fuck this! Nobody says anything to anyone about this,” Tommy glared at everyone in the room.

“I’m calling the Captain, who I’m sure will call the Commissioner, who I’m sure will call the Mayor. Nobody else enters the crime scene and I mean nobody. This is a closed crime scene,” Tommy strode out of the room pulling his cell phone from his inside his jacket pocket.

“Thanks for the shit sandwich Tommy,” Captain James McElroy, head of Camden PD’s homicide division said, indicating a chair in front of his desk.

“Hey boss. The bad guys kill ‘em and then I find the bad guys. The rest is up to the DA and the prosecutor,” Tommy eased his lean frame into the chair.

“At least you had the sense to close the crime scene,” the Captain said and settled behind his desk.

“I approved the removal of the body from the crime scene and the senator’s wife made a formal identification at the morgue. The body has been identified as Steven de Lorraine who up until his death has been using the name Stephanie Carter,” Captain James McElroy sighed.

“This case has the potential to become a political shitfight and the press are gonna be all over it. They’ll come after the Senator as will his political opponents and the ACLU and the LGBTI activists are gonna stir up a shit storm if we don’t make an arrest soon,” Captain McElroy said anxiously.

“The alphabet soup brigade has stolen most of the letters from the alphabet so they should understand that we need PC to make an arrest,” Tommy said flippantly.

The Captain cleared his throat and nodded towards the rear corner of his office.

Tommy swivelled his neck. He hadn’t seen the woman sitting in the back corner of the Captain’s office because she was sitting perfectly still, tapping away at a tablet with her head bowed but listening intently. She was wearing a charcoal grey skirt suit, her ankles crossed demurely. Tommy appraised what little leg he could see and then turned back to the Captain dismissing her. She was probably some chick appointed by the mayor’s office to be liaison on the case to ensure the I’s were dotted and the T’s crossed because the case had the potential to embarrass his office.

“The Senator and his wife filed a missing persons report regarding their son Steven de Lorraine a little over a year ago. He was a student at Camden College at the time. If you remember, the press played it up and the government put pressure on us to find him. The Senator tried to get the Feebs involved but there was no evidence that a Federal crime had been committed,” Captain McElroy refreshed Tommy’s memory.

“There was no ransom demand and no evidence of foul play and the usual false sightings all over the state. The case went cold and interest waned. Steven de Lorraine is still listed as a missing person but everyone assumed he’d just done a bunk and ran away from mommy and daddy,” Tommy added.

“Yeah. There were sightings of him in Australia and France but they didn’t lead anywhere. He’d cleaned out his rather substantial bank account and most people guessed he’d gone backpacking,” the Captain said, fiddling with a letter opener on his desk.

“And now he turns up murdered except he isn’t Steven de Lorraine anymore he’s Stephanie Carter,” Tommy leaned forward in his chair.

“I don’t get it with these people. So what happens? Some guy wakes up one day, puts on nylons and lipstick, changes his name from Karl to Karen and starts calling himself a lady? What kinda bullshit is that?” Tommy grimaced.

“I’m one of these people, “ the woman sitting at the back of the room said dryly.

“This is detective Julie Sanderson. She’s been assigned by the Prosecutor’s office to work the case with you,” Captain McElroy said by way of introduction.

“I already have a partner. I don’t need another,” Tommy snapped at the Captain, refusing to look at Julie Sanderson.

“Jack Shepard is a dinosaur Tommy. He’s a misogynist homophobe. A bad fit for this case,” Captain McElroy said as delicately as he could.

“I’m not much better,” Tommy countered.

“You’re still my best investigator Tommy. You will work the case with Detective Sanderson who has insight and experience with these matters. I’m not asking Tommy; I’m telling,” the Captain said with forceful finality.

“Keep a lid on it Tommy and use some restraint. I want this case solved as quickly and as quietly as possible. Meeting adjourned,” James McElroy got up from behind his desk and held the door open for the two detectives and closed it behind them as his phone began to ring.

Julie Sanderson followed Tommy out of the Captain’s office and into the squad room. The detectives all looked up as Julie entered the room. I wasn’t that they were not used to seeing a woman in the squad room, one third of the detectives on the force were women. It was just that she was a new face. They soon went back to their jobs, heads bent over computer screens, talking on phones, reading reports.

“Over here,” Jack Shepard called out to Tommy.

Jack ushered Tommy and Julie into one of the interview rooms. A sign taped to the door read No Entry - Restricted Access.

“You finally got your own office Tommy,” Jack pointedly ignored Julie Sanderson.

“I’m off the case but don’t worry about me Tommy, I can make up the overtime working my second job,” Jack twirled a set of key in his fingers.

Like many of the detectives, Jack Shepard worked a second job, employed off the books by a private security firm.

“Here’s the keys, good luck partner,” Jack bulldozed past Julie Sanderson, deliberately shouldering her out of the way.

He slammed the door behind him.

Tommy took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair.

All of the evidence relating to the Steven de Lorraine missing person case was collated in two cardboard boxes on the table. What little evidence that had been gathered so far regarding the murder of Stephanie Carter was contained in a slim file marked Confidential – Case Detectives Only.

Julie picked up the file and fanned the contents.

“Not much here yet,” Julie remarked.

Tommy ignored her and began to go through the boxes. He affixed a picture Steven de Lorraine to the wall and snatched the file from Julie and found a close-up of Stephanie Carter’s face and pinned it beside the picture of Steven de Lorraine.

He kept his back to Julie and stared intently at the photographs.

“Do you have any questions for me Detective Lomax?” Julie asked; her arms crossed defiantly.

“Yeah. You gonna wanna use the ladies room or the men’s?” Tommy could barely contain his anger at losing his partner.

“Any constructive questions?” Julie said evenly.

Tommy turned and studied Julie closely for the first time.

She was a tall woman even in her low heels. She was slim, her business suit fitted to her lithe frame. He could see where the tailor had cut a bespoke side seam in her jacket to allow for the nine millimetre automatic she wore at her waist. She wore a plain white shirt under the charcoal suit, black low heels and tan nylons. She was dressed more like an FBI agent than a regular city cop.

She wasn’t pretty but she had an interesting face. Her emerald-green eyes were framed by a brunette, shoulder-length blunt-cut bob which looked a little severe. Her makeup was minimal except for her red lipstick. Tommy would have picked her as a lipstick-lesbian under different circumstances.

“Constructive? Yeah, now that I think of it I do,” Tommy said pensively.

“So tell me detective; do you still have it?” Tommy nodded suggestively at Julie’s skirt.

“You curious detective? Wanna put your hand under there and find out?” Julie looked at him defiantly.

Julie’s face was flushed and Tommy couldn’t tell it was anger or embarrassment.

“If you’ve finished with your transphobic rant detective Lomax I’m ready to go to work,” Julie sighed heavily.

“Ok Sanderson. Whether we like it or not we’re saddled with each other but I’m the lead detective. You take orders from me,” Tommy slapped the file down on the desk.

Julie noticed that it was marked: Stephanie Carter – (Steven de Lorraine).

“At least the authorities are acknowledging that the victim’s name is Stephanie and are not misgendering her,” Julie said coolly.

“More a formality I’d say so they don’t get the missing person and the murder cases confused. Anyway I guess the missing person’s case is closed now,” Tommy nodded at the two cardboard boxes.

“But there may be evidence in those boxes pertinent to the murder. Stephanie was missing for over a year before she was found dead,” Julie speculated.

“Not just a pretty face, are you?” Tommy said begrudgingly and Julie forgave his misogynism for the sake of peace.

Tommy reached for his jacket.

“There’s your homework. Go through those files tonight and see what might be useful to us before we interview the Senator and Mrs de Lorraine. Right now let’s get back to the crime scene and see what we can find,” Tommy didn’t get the door for Julie; he threw the keys to her so she could lock it behind them.

Julie followed him down to the city car and slipped into the passenger seat. She had to adjust the seat to allow for her long legs. Over time the seat had sagged from bearing the nearly three hundred pounds of Detective Jack Shepard and smelled like Old Spice, old cigarette smoke, old fast-food and old farts. She slid the window down to let in some fresh air and Tommy Lomax overrode the slide switch and slid her window closed and locked it. He smiled at his little victory and Julie just shook her head and leafed through the murder file while he drove.

When they pulled up outside the apartment block Tommy turned to Julie, he hadn’t spoken a word to her in the car. When she switched on the radio he had immediately switched it off. He seemed to take delight in tormenting her.

“When we get in there you say nothing and you touch nothing. Just observe, take notes and keep your trap shut,” he hissed.

As part of her detective training Julie had undertaken a crime scene investigator course and had attended countless crime scenes but she said nothing. Tommy exited the vehicle without saying another word and strode towards the lobby without waiting for Julie. He flashed his badge at the doorman, stalked across the entrance lobby and pressed the elevator button.

While they waited for the elevator Julie approached the doorman and showed him her badge.

“Were you working here last night?” she asked gruffly.

“Yes I work nights,” the doorman grunted.

He had a Baltic accent and was short-headed and broad-faced with a heavy under-jaw and a flat broad nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. He was bulky and bald-headed and looked like he might once have been a wrestler or a weightlifter.

He didn’t seem to take kindly to being questioned by a woman

“Before you ask, I see nothing. I open door, carry bags, press elevator button, hold messages, parcels and deliveries and call cabs for residents who too fuckin’ lazy to do themselves,” the doorman said in heavily accented English whilst glaring at Julie, almost challenging her.

“Please write your name and contact details here. We will need to interview you,” Julie put her notebook on the desk and the doorman scribbled in it while she glared at him.

He handed the notebook back to Julie and she saw that he had written ‘FCUK YOU’ in a childlike scrawl. Julie sighed. She would get his details from the property manager or the employment agency. She caught the elevator just before the door closed.

Tommy was leaning against the back of the car and he looked up at her.

“What did I fucking say? Say nothing and touch nothing,” he sighed.

“You told me to take notes. I took notes,” Julie countered.

Tommy ripped the notebook out of her hand and read what the doorman had written.

“Very fucking helpful. Now I’ll have to lean on him a little harder than I wanted to. Teach him to have some respect,” Tommy sighed again.

“I don’t need you to beat up a witness because he disrespected me. Women face this sort of discrimination all the time when dealing with the criminal element,” Julie said, a little exasperated.

Tommy slammed the emergency stop and pushed Julie against the wall. He stepped in close to her, his face inches from hers. She could smell that he was wearing an expensive cologne; no Old Spice for Tommy Lomax.

“You don’t get it you dumb bitch. I’m not going to muscle him for disrespecting you,” he gave her a reproachful look.

“You are whatever you are, masquerading as a cunt. He disrespected your badge and that is intolerable,” Tommy hissed.

He raised his hand and Julie flinched expecting a blow but Tommy slammed it into the emergency stop button and the elevator continued its ascent. He gave Julie a final glare and stepped away from her. Julie’s heart was pounding.

The apartment block was situated in a less affluent part of Camden City but not quite in the slums. The building was showing its age but was in reasonable shape. The walls in the hallway had been freshly painted not that long ago and the carpet was new. Police crime tape had been strung across the hallway blocking access to Stephanie Carter’s apartment. It was one of the nicer apartments being a corner suite with floor to ceiling windows facing a park.

The apartment had been decorated with style: Italian marble floors, expensive rugs, nice artwork on the walls, expensive furniture and modern objects d’art placed artfully around the living area. It was open plan with a kitchen island and a separate large bedroom with an ensuite bathroom and walk-in robe. The incongruence of the affluence of the abode in this rundown apartment block was not lost on Julie.

“Welcome back Tommy,” Gail Johnson had taken off her Tyvek suit but was still wearing latex gloves.

She was wearing skinny jeans and a longsleeved t-shirt. Without the hood her short black bob famed a pretty face. Most of the CSIs had moved on to another crime scene.

Julie almost collided with Gail as she came through the door because Julie was concentrating on putting on her protective gloves.

“Shit!” Gail said as she looked up into Julie’s face.

Julie tried to remain stoic but Tommy caught the look of recognition that passed between the two women.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were working this case. I didn’t even know that you were in Camden,” Gail said almost apologetically.

Julie shook her head and nodded at Tommy as if to say ‘don’t say a word’.

“We’ve taken away the trace evidence for processing and photographed and catalogued everything of interest but I’ve left it in place so you can see it in situ. I’ll bag it and take it away when you’re finished. We didn’t find a murder weapon,” Gail was all business but the brief interchange between her and Julie was not lost Tommy.

Julie approached the bed. The black satin sheets had absorbed most of the blood. It was difficult to see but there was plenty of it once you looked closely.

“I’d expect to see arterial spray on the wall,” Julie nodded at the pristine white wall behind the bedhead where a huge print of a nude woman posed tastefully on a chaise lounge hung imposingly.

“What did I say? Keep your trap shut!” Tommy glared at Julie.

Julie lowered her head but Gail answered her anyway.

“You’re correct. There should be arterial spray. It looks like the wound severed the trachea below the larynx which prevented her from screaming or yelling. It also would have severed the carotid artery preventing oxygenated blood from reaching the brain. Death would have come quickly, hence no sign of a struggle, but there should be arterial spray,” Gail pointed to the blood-stained sheets and the almost pristine wall.

“We’ve used luminol on the walls and surrounds and there are some droplets, most likely from the initial incision but my guess is that the murderer placed something over her throat to catch the spray until her heart stopped pumping and then he let her bleed out into the bedding,” Gail nodded at the bedsheets.

“Doc Freeman will need to confirm my hypothesis at tomorrow’s autopsy,” Gail deliberately looked at Tommy rather than Julie.

Tommy nodded at Gail and waved his hand dismissively at Julie indicating for her to start documenting what she saw.

The apartment was opulent and scrupulously clean with nothing out of place. The appliances were expensive, top of the line: a Bang & Olufsen sound system, paired with a Beovision flat screen. It was almost like a show home, like no one actually lived there. The trash can in the kitchen was empty, there was an ashtray on the occasional table but it was spotless although Julie could smell a faint residue of cigarette smoke.

The pantry and refrigerator were sparsely stocked but what was in them was expensive, the makings of canapés and finger foods but nothing substantial. There were several bottles of premium champagne and vintage wines. There was a fully stocked bar with crystal glassware. One lipstick smeared wine goblet sat on the kitchen island with a little evidence tag beside it. Beside that was a Versace handbag that would have cost Julie a month’s wages. There was an evidence tag hanging from the shoulder strap.