Later that afternoon they returned to the Homicide office. Anya bought sandwiches from the vending machine, more for something to do than because she was hungry. The mood in the office was flat despite phones buzzing continuously.
“We’ve just got the photos through from Natasha’s PM,” Kate said. “I’m about to go over them, but understand if you want to give this one a miss.”
Anya wanted to help in any way she could. She sat on a chair next to Kate’s messy desk.
“This one’s after emergency services were finished.”
Instead of a crumpled body, the image showed Natasha on the outside path. Paramedics had moved her to the nearest flat surface, where there was more room to work. A breathing tube was inserted into her mouth and her shirt was open from attempted cardiopulmonary massage. Two gel plates remained in place along with four adhesive ECG dots. The paramedics had tried to defibrillate life back into her. Just like they had for Giverny Hart.
Blood trickled from Natasha’s forehead down to her left ear.
The next image was of the back of the head. A small entry wound near the base of her skull was the only evidence of what had occurred. Anya compared it to the photo of the forehead, which was larger.
“The bullet entered at the back and exited through the forehead, which is why it was found in the wall. It’s a small bullet. My guess is a.22 caliber.”
“Easy to get hold of, used by just about every drug dealer in the city.”
The next photos Kate showed were of Natasha’s manicured hands. No nailpolish, just perfectly shaped and filed, not long enough to be impractical. Feminine and functional. It pretty much summed up the woman Anya knew.
Above the left wrist on the inside were four one-centimeter wide bruises. One larger, and three adjacent, in a vertical row. It looked as though the killer had grabbed the left arm. What she was looking at were a thumb and three finger marks. There were no grazes or bruises to the wrists themselves.
“Was there any damage to her left shoulder?”
Kate sorted through some papers on her desk. “She had a bruised, torn pectoralis muscle according to the report. The pathologist is sending his summary later on today. What are you thinking?”
Anya stood up and pushed the chair away. Shaun Wheeler looked up from his desk and put down his phone.
“Can I borrow you for a minute?” Anya asked.
He nodded and stood. “What do you w-w-want me to do?”
“Kneel down on the floor.”
The young detective forced a laugh and then realized she wasn’t kidding. He was quickly on two bended knees. Anya moved behind him while Kate watched. By now they had the attention of most of the Homicide staff.
“She came home, opened the security screen, then front door. The briefcase was in her left hand, and the house keys in her right. She put the briefcase down, and that meant that hand was free. Somehow she was either pushed or ordered to her knees. Any bruising or grazes there?”
Kate flicked through some more printed photos. “There was a hole in one stocking at the knee. And a small bruise over each kneecap, probably from the wooden floor.”
“Okay, she either bent down, maybe to greet the cat, or was pushed down.” She cautiously took hold of Wheeler’s left arm and wrapped her thumb and first three fingers above the wrist. Her fingers were in virtually the same position as the bruises on the body.
“The killer has come up behind her, grabbed the arm and, to tear her shoulder muscle, has to have pulled the wrist up behind her back.”
“It’s like a half-nelson,” the male detective said, his left hand behind his shoulder blades.
“From there the killer could have easily forced her to her knees,” Kate said, “which explains where the bullet was found if her head was low when she was shot. There was another bruise on the left side, above the ear.”
Anya deduced, “She didn’t put her hands out to protect herself when she fell forward, or they would have shown marks like the knees did. It looks like someone had control of her and she had no chance to react. There was no time to drop the keys or reach for the Mace.”
The thought of protection being so close made Natasha’s murder more difficult to accept. If only she had reached for the pepper spray in time.
Then Anya remembered what they had talked about the night of Giverny’s death. No regrets, no what if’s or if only’s. It was how the prosecutor lived her life.
With Wheeler under her control, Anya shoved her right index finger into the back of his head. At the same time she released his left arm with a forward push and he toppled forward, putting his right arm out to protect himself.
Kate sat forward, hands on her knees. “So was she hit in the head with the gun at any stage? Could the killer have stunned her first?”
“I don’t think so. That bruise above the ear could have happened when she hit the ground. Without her arms out in front, she would have just toppled forward.”
Wheeler stood up and wiped the knees of his trousers. The phone on his desk rang and he moved to answer it.
Kate spun the chair around and straddled the seat, leaning her elbows on the backrest. “She was executed. No evidence of robbery or sexual interference. The briefcase was untouched as far as we know. This was a targeted killing.”
A minute later Wheeler came back, like a new puppy with a toy he’d retrieved.
“Just had a call from a neighbor. He left for a night shift around 9:45 P.M. and saw a man with a hat and coat on outside Ryder’s house. He f-f-forgot something so drove around the block. He s-s-saw the man a couple of houses down, looking like he was waiting. He did some shopping and met some friends for lunch before c-c-coming back home this morning, which is why he’s only just called.”
“Description?” Kate sat straight, ignoring Wheeler’s intermittent stutter. It was the worst they had heard it, probably a reflection of his stress levels.
“Average height, overweight, about a hundred and twenty kilos. Big b-belly was what he remembered most.”
Liz Gould entered the office and threw down a satchel.
“Doesn’t fit with any of the Harbourns or their known associates. Can you check out the neighbor’s movements last night? Make sure he really did go to work.”
“What about the description? It’s our first real lead.”
Kate rubbed her eyes. “Let’s put out a public appeal for this person of interest to come forward and assist us with our inquiries, the usual. The killer could have lived close. That might explain why no one else saw him or her.”
Anya hoped that all possibilities were being considered. Police tunnel vision limiting suspects could mean the chances of catching the killer diminished with each hour.
“What about a stalker? She had daily contact with dysfunctional and disturbed people.”
“Her and anyone who works with the public,” Liz added. “Try working with security company employees, they’re a breed all of their own.” She sat, pulled off her shoes and rubbed her feet.
“Find anything useful?” Kate wanted to know.
“Doesn’t look like a stalker. I just got back from viewing the court tapes. Ryder’s been in court the past couple of days and cameras didn’t catch anyone hanging around or following her. Same with the bank footage of the street near where she lives. When she appeared, no one was close or visible, let alone someone with a large belly.”
The detectives were all under pressure to make a quick arrest, pressure from politicians, the police commissioner and the Director of Public Prosecutions, not to mention the public and media.
Liz dug her fingers into the soles of her feet. “Unless ballistics turn up the gun and it’s got the killer’s name all over it, we’re pushing a waterfall uphill and all we’ve got is a toothpick.”