tearing. He thinks the sex was bought and paid for. Just a hooker and her john. Business as usual.”
“How cozy.” Wilder snapped his phone back on his belt.
“Looks like the john changed the name of the game at the end of playtime. He was standing behind her when he strangled her. Finger bruising on the front of the throat, thumb bruising in back. He probably boinked her from behind, but he’s not a backdoor kind of man.”
“A backdoor kind of man?”
“You do know, Wilder, that a backdoor man isn’t just a guy who’s having an affair with a married woman?” She watched his jaw go lax. He didn’t know. She could have some fun with this. “Back in your day—the olden days, maybe, but now it means a guy who prefers anal sex.”
Wilder’s face turned strawberry red. “You sure about that?” “I’m sure. No anal penetration, according to Hoff.”
“Christ, why don’t things just stay the way they were?”
“What would be the fun in that?”
Kennedy laughed all the way to her car. Wilder didn’t.
When they got there she got serious. “Preliminary tox screens will be back tomorrow. There were no needle marks or other marks on the body except for the bruising around the neck. And the crime lab called. The fingerprints on the photo of Liz Clayton were Hershey’s. His and some kid’s down in the mailroom were the only clear prints on the envelope.”
Wilder’s color was back to normal. “The way the whole place was carrying on around Hershey’s desk, I’m impressed that only two people left prints.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve got officers still out there knocking on doors. Who knows? We might get lucky. Maybe they’ll find something useful.”
Kennedy nodded. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
“Somebody must’ve seen something when the murders were going down. It’s not like this area is quiet. People roam around at all times of the day and night.”
“According to Ms. Trixy Truelove of Trixy’s Toy Box fame, there were plenty of people around when Liz Clayton was murdered,” Kennedy reminded him.
“No, she said the people were there after she found the body. They probably came running when they heard the sirens coming.”
Smiling, Wilder stood next to the Mustang while Kennedy got in and closed the door. “Trixy’s Toy Box. Ever shop there, Kenny?”
She shot him a look. “Aren’t you the funny guy?”
“I try.”
“Seriously, Wilder, I’m sure a witness or two exists out there. We just need to convince them to remember that fact.” She took a piece of grape taffy from the bag in her jacket pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. She held out the bag to Wilder.
“No thanks. I’m cutting back on sweets.” He grimaced. “Plus I hate that shit.”
“I know. More for me.” She smiled wickedly, tucking the bag of taffy back in the inside pocket of her jacket.
“How do you stay so damn thin eating the crap you eat? Are you secretly exercising or something?”
“Not unless you call active avoidance of exercise an exercise.” “Nah, I wouldn’t say that qualifies.”
She turned her key and the Mustang’s engine roared to life. “I’ll catch you back at the department, Wilder.”
“Okay, see you there. Hopefully it won’t take long to figure out where the BEFORE photo was taken. Then we can trace the vic’s movements, maybe get an ID.”
She watched Wilder walk to his car with envy. Not because he was a good man, a good cop, or the man who’d taught her so much. Not because he was a link to her father and told her wonderful stories about him. Not because he was happily married to a wonderful woman Kennedy adored. Nope.
She envied him because he was a man with a car that had air conditioning. One that would cool off in less than five minutes.
In five minutes, Kennedy would still
“How cozy.” Wilder snapped his phone back on his belt.
“Looks like the john changed the name of the game at the end of playtime. He was standing behind her when he strangled her. Finger bruising on the front of the throat, thumb bruising in back. He probably boinked her from behind, but he’s not a backdoor kind of man.”
“A backdoor kind of man?”
“You do know, Wilder, that a backdoor man isn’t just a guy who’s having an affair with a married woman?” She watched his jaw go lax. He didn’t know. She could have some fun with this. “Back in your day—the olden days, maybe, but now it means a guy who prefers anal sex.”
Wilder’s face turned strawberry red. “You sure about that?” “I’m sure. No anal penetration, according to Hoff.”
“Christ, why don’t things just stay the way they were?”
“What would be the fun in that?”
Kennedy laughed all the way to her car. Wilder didn’t.
When they got there she got serious. “Preliminary tox screens will be back tomorrow. There were no needle marks or other marks on the body except for the bruising around the neck. And the crime lab called. The fingerprints on the photo of Liz Clayton were Hershey’s. His and some kid’s down in the mailroom were the only clear prints on the envelope.”
Wilder’s color was back to normal. “The way the whole place was carrying on around Hershey’s desk, I’m impressed that only two people left prints.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve got officers still out there knocking on doors. Who knows? We might get lucky. Maybe they’ll find something useful.”
Kennedy nodded. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
“Somebody must’ve seen something when the murders were going down. It’s not like this area is quiet. People roam around at all times of the day and night.”
“According to Ms. Trixy Truelove of Trixy’s Toy Box fame, there were plenty of people around when Liz Clayton was murdered,” Kennedy reminded him.
“No, she said the people were there after she found the body. They probably came running when they heard the sirens coming.”
Smiling, Wilder stood next to the Mustang while Kennedy got in and closed the door. “Trixy’s Toy Box. Ever shop there, Kenny?”
She shot him a look. “Aren’t you the funny guy?”
“I try.”
“Seriously, Wilder, I’m sure a witness or two exists out there. We just need to convince them to remember that fact.” She took a piece of grape taffy from the bag in her jacket pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. She held out the bag to Wilder.
“No thanks. I’m cutting back on sweets.” He grimaced. “Plus I hate that shit.”
“I know. More for me.” She smiled wickedly, tucking the bag of taffy back in the inside pocket of her jacket.
“How do you stay so damn thin eating the crap you eat? Are you secretly exercising or something?”
“Not unless you call active avoidance of exercise an exercise.” “Nah, I wouldn’t say that qualifies.”
She turned her key and the Mustang’s engine roared to life. “I’ll catch you back at the department, Wilder.”
“Okay, see you there. Hopefully it won’t take long to figure out where the BEFORE photo was taken. Then we can trace the vic’s movements, maybe get an ID.”
She watched Wilder walk to his car with envy. Not because he was a good man, a good cop, or the man who’d taught her so much. Not because he was a link to her father and told her wonderful stories about him. Not because he was happily married to a wonderful woman Kennedy adored. Nope.
She envied him because he was a man with a car that had air conditioning. One that would cool off in less than five minutes.
In five minutes, Kennedy would still
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