“Air’s clear and so’s the body. You’ll establish TOD, but I can tell you the nine-one-one caller, the victim’s mother, stated the vic’s husband and two sons would’ve left for work or school at about eight hundred hours. We’ve cleared her, and the two responding officers back in the kitchen area with her, also cleared.”
Junta blew out a breath. “The mother’s fighting to hold it together. It’s the same basic setup as the Abner killing, but they used a different delivery service. Allied this time out. The egg hit carpet, so it didn’t break. The agent dissipated, had to have done so, before the mother arrived.”
“You got the time on that?”
“She said she came in about eleven. Nine-one-one logged at eleven-sixteen. You probably saw there’s a security cam on the door, so you’ll check the feed there. We’ll stay out of your way until you give us the go.”
“Appreciate it. Peabody, find the hub, check the feed. I’ll take the body. Oh, and, Peabody, cut the music.”
“This way.” Junta led Eve through a tasteful living area where tall shelves held books—the real deal—photos, little trinkets, and into a home office/sitting room, with more of the same. There was a deep cushioned chair with tiny purple flowers against a cream background, and a footstool that matched. Beside it was a desk, with a mini-comp and desk screen. And the shipping box. A sharp-edged letter opener with a smooth white handle lay beside it. The fake wood box, identical to the one delivered to Abner, sat beside both.
The body lay on the floor, with what had expelled from it staining the cream-colored carpet.
The golden egg lay a couple of feet away, likely rolling or bouncing there after the victim dropped it.
“You know, you get jaded,” Junta began. “You’ve got to get some hard or you couldn’t face this, do what you have to do, every day. But I’m a mom, too, and I can’t imagine walking in and finding my daughter like this.”
Junta let out another breath. “So. We’ll stand by.”
Eve sealed up, then stayed where she was another moment to scan the scene. Fabric shades on the window—raised—but the window closed.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the victim taking the package at the front door, walking into what appeared to be her home office space. She placed the package on the desk, got the opener. Dug through the packing for the box. Set it down, opened it, took out the egg.
And opening that, released the agent and went down. From the placement and position of the body, she hadn’t tried to get to the window as Abner had. But then, he’d been a doctor, likely had a few seconds to understand what was happening.
This one never saw it coming.
Eve moved to her, avoided what she could of the fluids, did the official ID. And noted the same burns on the thumbs.
“Victim is identified as Elise Duran of this address. Age forty-four, Caucasian. Married to Jay Duran, age forty-six. Two sons, Eli, sixteen, Simon, fourteen.”
She took out her gauges. “TOD is established at ten-oh-two. The mother entered at approximately eleven—security feed to verify—so the agent dissipated within that time frame, as specialty team has tested and cleared the mother.
“No visible signs of physical trauma, no signs of struggle. She opened the egg, which we have intact, released the agent. Succumbed. ME to verify.”
Did you know Kent Abner? Eve wondered. Two kids, maybe he was their doctor.
What’s the connection?
She called for a dead wagon, flagged the body for Morris, added a note on COD.
“Dallas.” Peabody came to the doorway. “I got the feed. The package arrived at n
ine-fifty-four—male delivery guy in an Allied uniform. No other activity, in or out, until a woman—late sixties, early seventies—rang the bell at eleven-oh-three. She waited, then took a swipe out of her purse, used it. She had a bag—Village Bakery and Sweets, and a second bag from First Page Books. She carried them in. Next activity, the MTs—she let them in—at eleven-eighteen.”
“Okay. It’s the same, has to be the same. Another bogus name and address on the shipping box, same cheap box inside that, same cheap gold egg inside that.
“Same result. Contact Allied, get the name of the delivery guy for this route. Let’s find out where it was dropped off. It’s going to be a drop-off kiosk again. Why change pattern?”
“She had teenagers. Maybe Abner was their doctor.”
“Yeah, same thought. We’ll check that. Let’s talk to the mother. She’s Catherine Fitzwalter. We’ll run them both, and the spouse, but let’s talk to her first.”
She stepped out, gave Junta the go. “Morgue’s notified,” she added. “You can let them in if we’re still back with the wit.”
“It’s a really nice house,” Peabody said, keeping her voice low. “Ult clean and tidy and all, but it’s not fussy or rigid. She had to be expecting guests because she’s got fancy plates and napkins set out on the dining room table.”
Eve saw that for herself as they passed into the open kitchen area. Ult clean and tidy there, too. With two bakery boxes on the kitchen island. A cup of coffee—half-full—beside them.