CHAPTER SIX
The flight to New York was quick and eventless—just the sort of flight Miles preferred. After checking out a rental car and meandering through New York City traffic, they reached the apartment building where Diana Rothschild had been killed.
Miles stepped out of the car and looked up at the building.
Forty stories of glass and steel, the kind of address that required seven figures just to get your foot in the door.
A doorman in a pristine uniform stood at the entrance, and through the glass doors, Miles could see a lobby with marble floors and modern art on the walls.
Vic locked the car and joined him on the sidewalk. "Nice place to die."
"Nice place to live, too," Miles said. "If you can afford it."
They walked through the large double doors at the front of the building and found a local detective waiting for them. She was maybe forty, with dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and sharp green eyes. She wore a gray blazer and dark slacks, and when she shook Miles's hand, her grip was firm.
“Detective Miranda Linhart,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Agent Sterling, and this is Agent Stone. Pleased to meet you.”
"I certainly appreciate you getting here so fast."
"What do we have?" Miles asked.
Linhart gestured for them to follow her inside the nearest elevator. As they waited, she said, "Diane Rothschild, a fifty-two-year-old widow. She used to work in private equity. She was found by her assistant this morning when she didn't answer the door for their standing breakfast meeting."
They rode the elevator up to the eighth floor and quickly made their way into the penthouse.
It was exactly what Miles expected from someone in private equity.
High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows with views of Manhattan, modern furniture that probably cost more than most people's cars.
Everything tasteful, everything expensive.
"The body is in the bedroom," Linhart said. "Fair warning…it's unusual."
“Yeah, we’ve seen the photos,” Miles said.
And while that was true, it still didn’t fully prepare Miles for what was waiting for them.
Diane Rothschild lay on her bed, positioned with an almost peaceful quality.
Her hands were folded across her stomach in a staged, peaceful manner.
But the peaceful look stopped when he looked at her face.
Her lips were parted slightly, and even from several feet away, he could see the metallic sheen coating the inside of her mouth.
It caught the light from the windows, creating an unnatural gleam.
"Jesus," Vic said quietly.
Miles stepped closer, careful not to disturb anything. The ME had already been here, so the scene had been processed, but he still maintained his distance.
"The medical examiner said it's platinum," Linhart explained. "Coating the inside of her throat, her trachea, her bronchial tubes. Everything that allows air to pass into the lungs. She essentially suffocated."
"How?" Vic asked.
"That's where it gets technical." Linhart pulled out her phone and consulted her notes.
"The ME said it's electroplating—a term I only just learned this morning.
Someone used an electric current to deposit platinum onto the tissue.
It's a process used in manufacturing, jewelry-making, that kind of thing. "
Miles moved to the side of the bed, studying Rothschild's face more carefully. The platinum was thorough, complete. This wasn't a sloppy job. Whoever had done this had taken their time.
"Walk me through the timeline," he said.
"Her assistant arrived at eight this morning. They always had breakfast together on Thursdays. When Rothschild didn't answer, she used her key. Found her like this and called 911 immediately."
"Time of death?" Vic asked.
"The ME estimates between midnight and three AM. We'll know more after the autopsy."
Miles looked around the bedroom. He could see no signs of struggle. The sheets weren't disturbed beyond what you'd expect from someone sleeping. A glass of water sat on the nightstand, undisturbed.
"She was sedated," he said.
Linhart nodded. "The ME thinks so, too. We're running a full toxicology panel as soon as the body gets to the morgue."
"Tell me about the electroplating process," Vic said, looking at Miles.
He turned away from the body, organizing his thoughts.
"Electroplating uses an electric current to reduce metal cations from a solution and coat an object with a thin layer of metal.
In jewelry making, it's how you get that smooth, even finish on pieces.
You need the metal solution, an electrical source, and the object you're plating. "
"But this is tissue," Vic said. "Living tissue."
"Was living," Miles corrected. "And that's what makes this so sophisticated. You'd need to understand the chemistry, the electrical engineering, and how to apply it to organic material. This isn't something you learn from a YouTube video."
He walked slowly around the bed, taking in every detail. "You'd need to sedate her, position her, then introduce the platinum solution into her airways while applying the current. It would take time. Precision. Complete control of the situation."
"How long?" Linhart asked.
"I'm not certain. An hour at minimum, possibly more depending on the thickness of the plating and the method used. This isn’t exactly typical."
Vic was looking at the nightstand. "No signs of forced entry?"
"None," Linhart confirmed. "Building security shows no unauthorized access. Either she let him in, or he had a key."
"Or he bypassed security entirely," Miles said. "We'll need to review all the footage."
He moved away from the bed, studying the rest of the room. A dresser with a jewelry box sitting on top, its lid open. A closet door ajar. A sitting area by the windows with two chairs and a small table.
"Show me the jewelry," he said.
Linhart led them to the dresser. The jewelry box was large, made of dark wood with multiple drawers and compartments.
But it was what lay on the dresser surface that caught Miles's attention.
He'd seen it in the photos, but it seemed almost sinister and meant as a warning now that he was standing right in front of it.
Six pieces of platinum jewelry had been arranged in a careful line. A necklace. Two bracelets. A pair of earrings. A ring with a sizable stone.
"He laid these out on purpose," Miles said.
"The assistant confirmed they're all Rothschild's pieces," Linhart said. "She recognized them. But they're normally kept in the box."
Miles leaned closer without touching anything.
Each piece caught the light, the platinum gleaming with that distinctive white-silver color that distinguished it from regular silver.
“It’s a statement," he said. "Like the manifesto the other disciples have left behind… just visual instead of written."
"What's he saying?" Vic asked.
Miles studied the arrangement. "That's what we need to figure out. But platinum jewelry is expensive. Exclusive. It says something about status, wealth, luxury."
He turned back to Linhart. "What do we know about Rothschild. What was she like?"
"By all accounts, successful but quiet. Widowed for about fifteen years now after her husband died of a heart attack.
No children. She pretty much dedicated her life to her work.
The neighbors say she was pleasant but private.
Kept to herself mostly. She was a big deal in Manhattan social circles…
on the boards of three major charities. Most of her money was inherited from her father's real estate empire. She was photographed at last night's gala wearing some of the jewelry that’s been laid out.”
"So, the killer could have seen the photos and targeted her based on that."
"Or they were at the gala themselves. Could be someone in her social circle."
"And she had a lot of this?" Miles asked, gesturing to the jewelry.
"Come see."
Linhart opened the jewelry box fully to reveal dozens more pieces. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, earrings. Not all of it was platinum, but a significant portion was. The collection was extensive, probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.
"She had a thing for platinum specifically?" Vic asked.
"According to the assistant, yes. She preferred it over gold because she believed it was more refined."
Miles felt the pieces clicking together in his mind. The use of platinum was a no-brainer here. "So, he chose her because of the jewelry. She collects platinum, displays wealth through it, and he kills her with the very thing she values."
"That's pretty symbolic," Vic said.
"Everything about these killings is symbolic. Kane taught his disciples that the elements mean something. That they're not just murder weapons but messages about society, about decay, about what's wrong with the world."
He looked back at the bed, at Diane Rothschild's platinum-coated airways, at the jewelry laid out like offerings. "This killer sees platinum jewelry as evidence of something. Excess, maybe. Vanity. The kind of wealth and status that he thinks is destroying society."
"So, he plates her airways with platinum," Vic said. "Makes her choke on what she values."
"Twisted, but yes. That’s my guess."
Linhart was watching them both carefully. "You really think this is connected to Kane? To the other elemental killings?"
"The methodology matches," Miles said. "The symbolism, the precision, the way the element is used as both weapon and message. Yes, I think this is one of Kane's disciples."
"Even though Kane is in prison?"
"Especially because Kane is in prison,” Vic said. “His followers are still out there, still believing in his philosophy. They're not going to stop just because their teacher is locked up."
Miles took one more look around the room, committing every detail to memory. "We need to speak with building security," he said. "The initial report we got said the footage had already been studied?"
“That’s right,” Linhart said. “I’m pretty sure they still have it pulled up, waiting for you.”
"Good." Miles moved toward the door. "And we need the full toxicology report as soon as it's ready. I want to know exactly what he used to sedate her and when it was administered."
"The ME said they'd rush it. Even the mere idea that this would be part of the Elementalist case has everyone on edge. This is currently the top priority for quite a few departments."
Vic had pulled out her phone and was typing notes. "What about background on Rothschild? Financial records, social connections, enemies?"
"We're pulling together everything we can find," Linhart said. "But initial interviews suggest she didn't have enemies. She was successful but not controversial. Kept her head down, made her money, lived quietly."
"Then he didn't choose her because of who she was personally," Miles said. "He chose her because of what she represented. The platinum jewelry, the wealth, the status. She fit his victim profile."
They reached the door, and Miles paused. "Who else has been in here since the body was found?"
"The ME's team, crime scene techs, my partner, and I. That's it. We kept it locked down once we realized how unusual this was."
"Keep it that way until we're done processing everything. We may want another sweep once we've talked to security."
Linhart nodded. "Whatever you need."
They thanked Linhart for the assist and stepped back out into the hallway. The door to Rothschild's penthouse closed behind them with a soft click as they made their way back to the elevators, heading downstairs to speak with security.