same place every time when she returned home.
“She’s got a thing for the sun and moon,” Sinclair said.
Rokov nodded. “Records show that she owned a business called Beyond. Apparently she reads horoscopes and tarot cards for Internet customers.”
Sinclair flipped on the lights in the kitchen. A pot rack filled with copper pans dangled from the ceiling, and a rich maple dinette set filled the corner nook. “Looks like business might have been good.”
“According to the city business license department, she made six figures last year. And the business owns three top-of-the-line computers, a scanner, and printer.”
Moving through the kitchen into the dining room, they noted the furniture was made of a rich fine-grained wood. A china cabinet was stocked with fine crystal and china. More paintings on the walls featured the sun and moon theme. They rounded a small corner and into the living room filled with a brown leather sofa, two club chairs, a coffee table, and a wide-screen television. An oval Oriental rug pulled the space together.
The magazines on the coffee table were neatly stacked. Rokov picked up a copy of a fashion magazine. Diane had dog-eared the pages of the articles she wanted to read. Not surprisingly, she’d made notes in the margins on the horoscope page. “ JV! Wrong! Too general. Looks like she didn’t have much use for the monthly horoscope column.”
Sinclair picked up another magazine. “She’s done the same here. I guess she was always tracking the competition.”
Other than Diane’s notes in the magazines, the place was eerily put together. Not a pillow was out of place or a picture askew. “She liked things neat.”
Sinclair picked up a picture of Diane and another woman who shared her blue eyes and black hair. “Think this is her sister?”
Rokov glanced at the photo. “Good bet. I’ve got an officer trying to track down next of kin.”
Walking through a victim’s home always left Rokov feeling like the interloper. A week ago, Diane had been alive and well and sitting on this couch, watching TV, eating a snack, and marking up her magazines. Now she lay in the morgue, a Y-incision on her chest, waiting for next of kin to claim her. “Let’s have a look at the back two rooms.”
The first room, listed as the unit’s den, was set up as a bedroom. A twin bed, covered in a silk comforter, hugged one wall. Beside the bed stood a nightstand with a pair of glasses, a half glass of water, and a bottle of sedatives. Pink slippers peeked out from under the bed. The room’s small closet was crammed full of her clothes and shoes.
Rokov picked up the pill bottle made out to Diane Young, prescribed by a Dr. Wexler seven days ago. He opened the bottle. Only three pills remained. “She’s taken more than her share in the last week.”
“What or who could have stressed her?”
“That might be the million-dollar question.”
The next room, considered the master bedroom, had been set up as an office. The walls were covered with astrological charts, stars, moons, and inspirational quotes. In the center of it all was a circular desk equipped with three top-of-the-line laptops. In the corner was a high-capacity printer and fax machine and next to it a shredder. A lush purple carpet warmed the floor, and a pale plum coated the walls.
“So she’s all about tradition in the other rooms, but here it looks a little like a mystic’s shop.”
“That’s what she was for lack of a better description.” He sat down in Diane’s chair and glanced at the blotter covered with jotted notes. Most of the notes were restaurant names and numbers. “Most of these places offer takeout. I bet she almost never cooked.”
“Welcome to my world.”
Rokov shook his head as he clicked on the computer. The screen popped up and immediately requested a password. “Looks like we’ll have to wait for the computer guys to do their thing.”
Rokov heard the squeak of the front door and immediately
“She’s got a thing for the sun and moon,” Sinclair said.
Rokov nodded. “Records show that she owned a business called Beyond. Apparently she reads horoscopes and tarot cards for Internet customers.”
Sinclair flipped on the lights in the kitchen. A pot rack filled with copper pans dangled from the ceiling, and a rich maple dinette set filled the corner nook. “Looks like business might have been good.”
“According to the city business license department, she made six figures last year. And the business owns three top-of-the-line computers, a scanner, and printer.”
Moving through the kitchen into the dining room, they noted the furniture was made of a rich fine-grained wood. A china cabinet was stocked with fine crystal and china. More paintings on the walls featured the sun and moon theme. They rounded a small corner and into the living room filled with a brown leather sofa, two club chairs, a coffee table, and a wide-screen television. An oval Oriental rug pulled the space together.
The magazines on the coffee table were neatly stacked. Rokov picked up a copy of a fashion magazine. Diane had dog-eared the pages of the articles she wanted to read. Not surprisingly, she’d made notes in the margins on the horoscope page. “ JV! Wrong! Too general. Looks like she didn’t have much use for the monthly horoscope column.”
Sinclair picked up another magazine. “She’s done the same here. I guess she was always tracking the competition.”
Other than Diane’s notes in the magazines, the place was eerily put together. Not a pillow was out of place or a picture askew. “She liked things neat.”
Sinclair picked up a picture of Diane and another woman who shared her blue eyes and black hair. “Think this is her sister?”
Rokov glanced at the photo. “Good bet. I’ve got an officer trying to track down next of kin.”
Walking through a victim’s home always left Rokov feeling like the interloper. A week ago, Diane had been alive and well and sitting on this couch, watching TV, eating a snack, and marking up her magazines. Now she lay in the morgue, a Y-incision on her chest, waiting for next of kin to claim her. “Let’s have a look at the back two rooms.”
The first room, listed as the unit’s den, was set up as a bedroom. A twin bed, covered in a silk comforter, hugged one wall. Beside the bed stood a nightstand with a pair of glasses, a half glass of water, and a bottle of sedatives. Pink slippers peeked out from under the bed. The room’s small closet was crammed full of her clothes and shoes.
Rokov picked up the pill bottle made out to Diane Young, prescribed by a Dr. Wexler seven days ago. He opened the bottle. Only three pills remained. “She’s taken more than her share in the last week.”
“What or who could have stressed her?”
“That might be the million-dollar question.”
The next room, considered the master bedroom, had been set up as an office. The walls were covered with astrological charts, stars, moons, and inspirational quotes. In the center of it all was a circular desk equipped with three top-of-the-line laptops. In the corner was a high-capacity printer and fax machine and next to it a shredder. A lush purple carpet warmed the floor, and a pale plum coated the walls.
“So she’s all about tradition in the other rooms, but here it looks a little like a mystic’s shop.”
“That’s what she was for lack of a better description.” He sat down in Diane’s chair and glanced at the blotter covered with jotted notes. Most of the notes were restaurant names and numbers. “Most of these places offer takeout. I bet she almost never cooked.”
“Welcome to my world.”
Rokov shook his head as he clicked on the computer. The screen popped up and immediately requested a password. “Looks like we’ll have to wait for the computer guys to do their thing.”
Rokov heard the squeak of the front door and immediately
Similar Books
