CHAPTER ELEVEN
Detective Van Castiglione wasn’t in a good mood. Of course, being called to a murder scene at four in the morning tended to have that effect.
As he waited for his partner to arrive, he stared down at the victim.
Her name was Sarah Winters, and it looked like her last few moments had been rough.
She was lying on her back on the floor of her kitchen.
Her throat was slit clean across, and blood from the gaping wound had settled into her long blonde hair.
The medical examiner, who had already been here for fifteen minutes, pointed out several red spots on her chest that looked like small burn marks.
“What are those?” Castiglione asked.
Castiglione chuckled darkly to himself. Even the M.E. knew about his partner's penchant for late arrivals. He had a brief internal debate about whether he should wait for the guy to show up before asking more questions. But he was tired, grumpy, and impatient, so he pressed ahead.
“He’ll be here when he gets here but I’m pressing ahead,” he grumbled. “Can you give me an approximate time of death?”
“Very approximate,” she said. “Looking at the blood that pooled around her on the floor, I’d say more than a couple of hours ago but less than eight.”
“So sometime between 8 P.M. and 2 A.M.?”
“Again, that timing is super rough until we run more tests, but I’d say that’s a solid range.”
Castiglione looked around.
“Who found the body again?” he asked the assembled officers.
A nervous-looking cop in his mid-twenties stepped forward.
"Her younger brother," the young man answered.
"I was first on the scene after the 911 call.
Apparently, he lives in Florida but was staying here for the week.
He said he was out partying with some old high school friends and got back a little after 3 A.M. He walked into the kitchen to get a late-night snack and found his sister like this. "
“Where is he now?
“In the guest bedroom,” the officer said.
“Has he been questioned beyond that?”
“No, just the basics. We wanted to leave him to you. Besides, he’s pretty messed up.”
“Messed up how? Upset?” Castiglione asked.
“That too. But he’s also very drunk.”
“Wonderful,” Castiglione groaned.
He glanced at his phone again. His partner said he'd be here by 3:45, and it was currently 4:03 A.M. Castiglione decided to have a seat in the living room.
There was no point in questioning the brother by himself.
He'd just end up having to repeat everything later.
Besides, if the guy was really that drunk, he probably wouldn't be very coherent anyway.
Castiglione settled into the couch and called Carver to rip him a new one. After all, there was no reason to be this late. This wasn’t L.A. It was the middle of the night and there was no traffic at this hour in San Diego.
While he waited for the call to connect, he went through his mental rolodex, trying to recall if he’d ever encountered a murder where the victim was tased and then had their throat cut. He couldn’t think of one. This was a first.