“Here,” he said in his best soothe-the-witness voice. “Why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable and have a talk.”
“I’ve got no place else to go,” the girl sobbed, wiping at her eyes. “I got nothing else.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked convulsively back and forth.
“Okay. It’s okay. We can talk right here. Why don’t you tell me your name?”
“Lacey,” she whispered. “Lacey Henderson.”
“How old are you, Lacey?”
“I’m eighteen.”
He’d confirm that later, but for now it made things easier that she was an adult. “Okay, you’re doing well.” He sat on the floor so he wasn’t looming over her. “Can you tell me what happened tonight?”
“I don’t know what happened!” she wailed. “I don’t know. It can’t be… She can’t be…”
“Hush, easy now. I just want to know your story. You came in here and found her, and called 911. That was good. That was the right thing to do. Why were you here?”
“I live here,” Lacey moaned. “At least I did. Terri was letting me crash with her, y’know?”
“Why were you coming home so late?”
More tears fell. “I was at a party. There was this guy. But then he said I couldn’t stay, so I came home. But the buses are so far apart at night, so it took forever, and now she’s dead!” She snorted loudly into the tissue and hid her face in her hands. Mac was just as glad he’d taken over from his less patient partner. He’d have to work her through it step by step.
He kept his tone soft and low. “What time did you leave the party?”
“I don’t know. Maybe one-thirty? Maybe one. I can’t remember.”
“And what time did you get home?”
“About two? Maybe two-thirty.” She sniffled. “You guys should know. I called right away. I mean, her door was open, and she was just there, naked, and she never would do that, and I could see she was dead and all. God, I just freaked! I screamed and screamed. Joan came over from next door, but she made me call 911 and then she left! She left me alone with that! And there’s blood and, oh, God!”
“It’s okay,” Mac repeated. “You’re doing fine. Did you touch Terri at all, or go in her room?”
“God, no! Why would I do that?”
“Well, to see if she was really dead, or…”
“No!” the girl whimpered. “No, no, no, no, no. I didn’t go near her. I couldn’t.”
“Did you see anyone leaving the apartment or the building as you were coming in?”
“No, nobody.”
“How about earlier today?” Mac asked. “Did you talk to Terri about her plans for the evening? Did she say who she was going to be with?”
“She was going out to a bar.” Lacey sniffed. “She didn’t say which one. I told her I was going to be home late because of the party and she told me that was good, because she was hoping to get lucky. Oh, God, she told me to be careful!”
“Do you know who she was seeing?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think she had someone particular in mind, y’know? She liked to go out and meet guys. She was so friendly. She liked a good time.”
“How often did she bring a strange guy home?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes.” Lacey rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand again. “Maybe once a week or so? She liked to have fun, liked men. They went away friendly, mostly. She didn’t let guys sleep over.”
“Did she have a boyfriend? Someone she dated more than once?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve only known her, like, a month, but I never saw anyone. She used to say she liked a hot dick in bed, but not some slob farting up the place around the breakfast table. I think maybe someone was mean to her once, but she didn’t talk about it. Oh, God! She didn’t…”
Mac waited out another burst of sobbing, murmuring sympathetic noises. When she subsided, he went on, “What time did you see her last, to talk to?”
“After work, around six. We were getting ready to go out. She loaned me this shirt, and helped with my hair. Oh, God, it was like she was my big sister and now she’s dead. Oh, no. Oh, Jesus.” The girl broke down crying again, ignoring Mac’s attempts at comfort.
Mac straightened and walked over to a female officer standing by the door to the apartment. “You take charge of the roommate,” he told her. “Make sure she has a safe place to stay, and get the address and her phone number, email, any and all contacts, because we’ll need to talk to her again once she’s calmed down. While you’re at it, check her driver’s license and make sure she really is eighteen. If she’s a minor, we’ll need to handle it differently.” Mac left the officer crouched down beside Lacey, trying to talk to her, and headed for the bedroom, steeling himself inwardly.
He knew his unease didn’t show on his face. After a decade on the job, he’d learned to look unmoved no matter what he came up against. But even though he could walk onto the bloodiest scene without seeming to turn a hair, he never quite got used to it. Every time, he was shaken by the awareness that the cooling, abused flesh was so recently a living person with thoughts and dreams and hopes for the future. Maybe someone’s loved sister, mother, child, friend, maybe a loner, but always a human being who hadn’t deserved to die.
The murdered dead were his responsibility. Sometimes he felt them hovering at his elbow, waiting for whatever he could give them. Justice perhaps. Meaning. Redemption. The reassurance that although they’d died, their killer was caught and would never hurt anyone else. That in some small way, their death was not in vain and they could rest in peace. That was his job and he was good at it.
Of course, no matter how good you were— and he and Oliver were damned good— no detective could solve them all. Sometimes a case just went cold. Or worse, he might be certain who was guilty and fail to prove it. Those ghosts hovered too, fading over time as hope of justice was lost. At times, their weight was heavy. Mac wondered, as he slipped disposable covers over his shoes and stepped into the small, stuffy bedroom, what kind of case Terri Brand would turn out to be.
Oliver had his sketchpad out, drawing the scene. They would have the official photographs and diagrams, but Oliver liked his own interpretation. He had an uncanny ability to focus on the relevant details in the most chaotic scene.
Which this was not. Nothing in the room looked out of place. Clothes were folded neatly on a chair. The body of the victim lay on the bed, naked but composed. Her arms were outstretched, her feet together, almost in a crucifixion pose. Purple-red mottled her neck, her bloodshot eyes and the color of her face making the cause of death clear. A small patch of blood on her naked chest, at the top of her left breast, presumably marked the stab wound.
Mac went over to look more closely. There wasn’t much blood. The previous victim had been stabbed after her death too. Without a beating heart, bleeding stops.
“Did you get anything out of that hysterical girl?” Oliver asked without turning.
Mac didn’t bother to defend Lacey. “Victim was planning to go out to a bar. She liked to bring men home. Last seen alive here around six. No known boyfriends.”