Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set) Blake Banner (ereader iphone txt) 📖

groin that were consistent with forced intercourse, the bruising and scratches around her legs and hips, and above all the fact that she was being choked. It was all consistent with rape.”

“But the only person who was with her was the guy who turned up after Fernando. Who we assume was Cyril. She let him in…”

“I’m pretty sure it was Cyril, and I hope we will find out for sure a little later tonight.”

“How?”

“One thing at a time. Keep going. Let’s assume for the sake of the argument that it was Cyril.”

I turned right into East Tremont, where the traffic was not so heavy, and we moved at a steady twenty miles per hour toward Silver Street. Dehan sighed.

“OK, for the sake of the argument. We know from Xara, the hooker that Cyril used to visit, that he could not achieve an erection. So how could he rape Sue without one?”

“But you yourself said that he might be able to with Sue.”

“If she was nice and loving to him! But to rape her?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Sex is not an act of love, Dehan. We have discussed this before. It is strictly an act of procreation. It is a very intimate act, so it lends itself to loving feelings, but at its core it is an act of domination and subjugation, where one animal inseminates another.”

“Jesus, Stone!”

“Don’t get personal, Dehan. This is a murder investigation. We deal in brutal truths. What we may bring to the bedroom, or the kitchen table, is our personal business. But murder, rape and sex are intimately connected at the organic level. You know that.”

“I guess…”

“So it follows that violence and domination can be just as sexually arousing as love and affection.”

“So you think Cyril raped and murdered Sue? It doesn’t make much sense, Stone. What about leaving his job and his house? Handing in his notice? The trip to Geneva? His suicide? There is a whole pattern of behavior there that is not consistent with his raping and murdering her.”

“No. Again, it is not consistent with your view of how and why he would rape kill her. It’s different. You are trying to make Cyril Browne behave like Carmen Dehan. You have to ask yourself, what motivates Cyril Browne?”

She was very quiet while I turned up Silver Street and crossed the Williamsbridge Road. Five minutes later, we were pulling off Seminole Avenue and parking outside the Van Etten Building. She opened the door and a blast of icy air entered the car and made me shudder. “OK,” she said, “so what motivated Cyril Browne?”

“His mother,” I said.

I climbed out and we made our way unsteadily toward the entrance. “But surely,” she said, holding onto my arm and trying not to pull me over, “if Sue was like his mother, that would be an overpowering reason not to kill her!”

“Things may become a little clearer for both of us in a moment, Dehan.”

We found Frank at the autopsy table. On the table was Fernando, looking a little yellow, with small purple patches all over his body. He was face down now, but I didn’t enquire as to how they had stopped his insides from moving outside in the process. What I could see was a large, ugly wound at about the height of his fifth intercostals. It was about one and a half inches long and the edges had inflamed and curled up like labia. Frank didn’t bother with greetings. He pointed at the wound and said, “That’s what killed him. He probably used a kitchen knife, judging by the shape of the wound: it is deltoid, slightly wider on one side than the other, two inches long and about six inches in depth. Probably had it concealed in his sleeve. Interesting thing…”

He led us around the table so we could see the left side of Fernando’s neck, and pointed to a purple bruise in the shape of two closed brackets. I said, “A love bite?”

“Mh-hm,” he nodded. “The saliva was still wet and abundant, which, given this weather, is hardly surprising. Nothing dries in this. Our house is full of wet washing, even with the dryer. I have sent it off for DNA profiling.”

Dehan frowned. “You sent your washing for DNA profiling?”

“The saliva, Carmen. Try to keep up. This killer has either never watched CSI or just doesn’t give a damn about being caught.”

I glanced at Dehan. “Remind you of anything?”

Frank answered. “Your Sue Benedict case. But the two murders are quite different. The gutting was postmortem, as you had surmised. He bled out quickly and copiously from the wound in his back, which had pierced his heart. With Sue Benedict, the killing was strangulation, from the front, during rape. And the post mortem mutilation was a frenzy of stabbing. Plus, she was obviously killed by a man. This murder, and the post mortem mutilation, were brutal, but cool and calculated, and could well have been committed by a woman. Probably were, I would say.”

Dehan scratched her head. “Why?”

“Well, amongst other things, because there are traces of lipstick on his neck, around the love bite. I know in our modern, rainbow society men also wear lipstick, but in my experience, statistically, it is more likely to be worn by a woman.”

I asked, “What about the blood on his hand?”

“Not his. Look…”

He showed me his right hand. There were no cuts. But there were bruises on the inside of his index and middle fingers. I nodded. “That’s what I thought,” I said.

Dehan swore softly. “An earring. He had her face cupped in his hands. She stabbed him in the heart. He went into spasm and tore her earring from her ear.”

“Assuming,” I said, “and we are assuming, that it’s a woman. If there is one thing that defines this case,