“Garrote?”
The tech said, “Looks like something thin and strong, like a wire.”
“Or a guitar string. Any musicians at the wedding?”
Milo said, “A maniac into real death metal, downstairs? I should be so lucky. Nah, just a deejay.”
I said, “A bit more pressure and we’d have a near decapitation.”
Both of them looked at me. “No insight, just an observation.” But I wondered about the precise exertion of force.
I turned to the tech. “Strangulation but she didn’t evacuate?”
The tech said, “She actually did a bit—there’s a little mess under the dress but she’s wearing a body shaper and it held stuff in.”
She lifted the dress, pointed to the girl’s inner thigh. The suggestions of a stain where the pantyhose met the shaper. “Not much from what I can see but we’ll know more when she gets to the crypt.”
She shrugged. “She doesn’t look like she needs a shaper. Maybe she’s a body perfectionist, didn’t eat much beforehand ’cause she wanted to rock the dress and that’s why there’s not a whole lot of feces. Or she’s just not a big evacuator, some people aren’t.”
Hearing the woman discussed that way, seeing her exposed, made my throat ache. I turned away and waited until the red dress was dropped back into place. “What makes you figure an hour ago?”
Milo said, “Leanza Cardell—girl who found her—said she was cold, so at least an hour.”
The tech said, “Liver temp fits one to three hours, but you know how that is, this ain’t TV.”
I said, “When did the celebration start?”
Milo said, “Ceremony was at a Unitarian church in the Valley at five. Reception was called for seven but you know traffic, my guess would be seven thirty, eightish but I’ll confirm.”
“It couldn’t have happened too early, with the rooms being used for the wedding party. So maybe closer to nine.”
He thought about that. “Good point.”
The tech nodded.
I said, “C.I.’s are gone already. Easy I.D. or none?”
Milo shook his head. “Zip. She’s dressed for the wedding but Leanza doesn’t know her and she claims to know everyone from the bride’s side. Which is most of the crowd. I took a screen shot of her face, sent it to the Three Musketeers. Once you agree, they’ll start showing it to the guests and the staff.”
“Why wouldn’t I agree?”
“I dunno, maybe you had some psychological thing in mind.” He looked at the dead woman. “Poor thing—this is different, no? Talk about crowd control issues.”
I said, “At least there are no kids. Not that I noticed downstairs.”
“You know,” he said, “that’s true.”
“Time to go for it.”
“Hundred suspects,” he muttered as he sent a text to Reed, Binchy, and Bogomil.
I said, “How many people on the staff?”
He checked his notepad. “Three bartenders, three cooks doubling as servers—which was just bringing chow from the trailer to the table. Three cocktail waitresses, two cleanup guys, the deejay, the photographer. Except for the cooks and the janitors, none of them are in uniform so they can’t be distinguished from guests.”
I said, “Per the invitation: Everyone has to look hot.”
The tech said, “She certainly followed instructions.” Smoothing the hem of the red dress, she stood. Five feet tall, maybe ninety pounds. Perfect for working in a cramped space.
I said, “I don’t see a purse.”
Milo said, “Nada.”
The tech said, “The shoes probably won’t help I.D. her, they look like a new model, you can get them anywhere. But the dress, maybe. If it’s vintage, you could be dealing with upscale resale boutiques. On the other hand, there’s online, so maybe not.”
“You know your fashion, huh?”
“Sister wants to be a designer. She’s obsessed.”
“Maybe she can help with the age of the dress.”
“She’s sixteen, Lieutenant. My parents already hate that I do this, I was supposed to be a dentist. If I get Linda involved, they’ll accuse me of being a bad influence.”
Milo said, “Hey, that can be fun.”
She grinned.
He edged closer to the corpse. “Dress doesn’t look like it’s been worn much.”
The tech smiled. “Something nice and expensive, people tend to take care of it, Lieutenant. Could even be one of those runway things, worn once, then resold. The discount is huge.”
“Killer couture,” he said, shaking his head. “Thanks for all the input. Very helpful, CSI…Cho.”
“Peggy,” said the tech. She sighed. “For some reason this one seems especially sad to me. She took so much care to look her best.”
I said, “Trying to impress someone.”
Milo said, “Also easier to crash the party. If that’s how it shakes out.”
I said, “If she was a crasher, how would she know to come up here? Unless she’s been here before. At another function. Or back when it was a club.”
He eyed the body. “A dancer? Why not, nothing about her says she wouldn’ta been qualified. It’s worth checking out if nothing downstairs pans out. God forbid.”
Peggy Cho remasked. “If you don’t mind, Lieutenant, I’m going to start printing the room. Place is gross. If my parents really understood what I do, they wouldn’t let me in the house.”
CHAPTER
3
Milo and I checked the other upstairs rooms. The first two were crammed with piles of female clothing, tubes, bottles, and jars of cosmetics, bobby pins, clips, hair dryers, curlers, and equipment I couldn’t identify. The smallest space—probably a former closet—was a jumble of casual menswear that smelled like a locker room.
In all three rooms, windows were pebbled, painted shut, too small for an adult to crawl through.
Milo said, “Bad guy walked in just like anyone else.”
I said, “How many points of access are there?”
“Front door, the rear where you came in, and on the north side where you drive through, there’s what used to be a kitchen entry but is now used for storage. Next you’re going to tell me you didn’t notice any cameras and I’m going to nod my head mournfully. Place looks like no one takes care of it. Any other inspirations from what you’ve seen so far?”
“She could be a guest from the groom’s side.”
“Easy enough to check, not many people on his side.”
“He from out of town?”
“Nope, local. They both are.”
I said, “But it’s her big day.”
“From the few minutes I spent with them, all their days together are gonna be like that—want to meet the lucky couple?”
* * *
—
Before we descended the stairs, he put his phone on speaker, called Alicia Bogomil, and asked her to bring the bride and groom through the storage room and out to the north side of the building.
She said, “Got it, Loo.”
“Any luck with an I.D.?”
“Not with my people, no one claims to know her.”
“Claims,” he said. “You’re sensing evasiveness?”
“Nope,” said Alicia. “No one seems squirrelly, the opposite, everyone’s kinda numb, reminds me of when I worked a big fatal apartment fire in Albuquerque. Speaking of the bride, she seems pretty fragile. Emotionally speaking. I noticed you with Dr. Delaware. Good call, El Tee.”
* * *
—
We left the building through the front door. Up close the signage was even shabbier, the stucco on the windowless front flaking off in patches. Hard to imagine this place as a church.
We turned right to the service driveway. Alicia stood midway up the wall, a few feet away from the couple of the moment.
From a distance, bride and groom were figurines lifted from a cake. They held hands and watched us, shrinking back like cornered prey.