Chapter 10
"Toxicology report came back on Eden," Brenda said.
"She had a mix of alcohol, cocaine, and heroin in her system along with some allergy medication. But get this. That baggie was almost pure fentanyl. Enough to kill a herd of elephants. Judging by the tox report, she hadn’t dipped into it yet.
If she had, she'd have been dead before the bullet hit her skull.”
I lifted a surprised brow. “So, she wasn’t clean.”
Brenda stifled a chuckle. “No. She was anything but clean.”
"What would she be doing with pure fentanyl?"
"That's your job to figure out. I just give you the data. The forensic guys were able to pull a partial print from the glassine. Not in the database.”
"Anyone else's prints on the bag?"
"Fragments. Nothing solid. A lot of people have handled that bag.
" She paused. "Now let's get to the gun. Eden’s fingerprints are on the trigger. Palm print on the grip, as to be expected with a suicide. But her prints are not on the shell casing found on the deck or any of the cartridges in the magazine. Now it would be hard to imagine that she loaded the pistol while wearing gloves, intending to shoot herself. I’m going to stick with my initial impression that she didn't kill herself.
But I have to acknowledge there is another remote possibility. "
"Which is?”
"Highly unlikely, but she could have come across with her left hand and used her thumb to pull the trigger. It would be odd indeed, but there was spatter on her left hand. That would explain why there isn’t backspatter or gunpowder residue on her right hand.”
"Who handles a weapon like that?"
"Somebody who doesn't handle a weapon often," Brenda suggested. “But her left thumb print is not on the trigger.”
"I'm sticking with the theory that someone killed her,” I said. “What about the angle of the gunshot?”
"It's consistent with suicide. But the lack of spatter and residue suggests otherwise. It's just highly unlikely.”
I thanked her for the info, dragged myself out of bed, then went through my morning routine. I fixed breakfast, and JD and I chowed down on the sky deck, enjoying the morning sun.
Since Eden had been kicked off the platform, all her prior content was unavailable. We looked up her live feed on Instabook and watched the replay.
Eden made a tearful declaration to the camera.
“First of all, I want to apologize to my father and to you.
I've said some mean and hurtful things over the last few months that were untrue.
I should never have said those things, and I regret saying them.
I've been under a tremendous amount of stress lately," she said, blotting her weepy eyes with a tissue.
"I just got so mad at the constant efforts to destroy and discredit my work.
I love my fans, I love what I do, and I should be able to do that without all the hate and negativity.
I responded poorly, and I take responsibility for that.
I just want to reiterate, I have always followed the proper procedure and documentation for every performer I have appeared with.
I can assure you there has been no impropriety, and I think when the smoke clears, that will be proven.
Still, I'm not optimistic that I will get my account back.
I can't tell you how devastating that is.
I've worked so hard, and I feel like I've got nothing to show for it.
I just don't see the point anymore." She burst into tears.
Her chest heaved with jerking sobs. "I'm sorry. "
She cut the feed.
That was the last time anyone saw or heard from Eden online.
I exchanged a glance with Jack.
"What do you make of that?” he asked.
I shrugged. "She was upset.”
"You think she was telling the truth, or was she under some kind of duress?"
"She definitely looked like she was on the verge of a meltdown.”
I forwarded the link to Isabella and asked her to take a look at it. We didn't have the budget to keep a behavioral analyst on staff at the county. Isabella had plenty of contacts, and I knew she’d find someone credible to evaluate the clip.
My phone buzzed with a call from the sheriff. "I need you and that nitwit to get down here ASAP.”
"What's going on?”
"We've got another one.”