Kylee stood frozen in front of the white sofa. Her eyes were locked on Dana's face, cataloging the cherry-red lividity pooling at the jawline.
Justice moved past her, his service weapon raised. He sliced the pie around the hallway corner, checking the bedroom and then the kitchen.
"Clear!" Justice shouted, his voice tight.
He holstered his gun and grabbed the radio clipped to his belt. "Dispatch, this is Detective Potts. I need Crime Scene Unit and the ME at my location. We have a 10-54."
Kylee didn't touch the body. The forensic pathologist inside her took over, slamming an iron door down on her grief.
Her eyes began to scan the room like a laser.
On the glass coffee table, less than two feet from Dana's limp hand, sat a half-empty glass of red wine.
Kylee leaned in close. A fine, powdery white residue clung to the rim of the glass.
She straightened up and began to walk a slow circle around the sofa.
Her gaze dropped to the expensive Persian rug.
Right at the edge, near the armrest, the thick fibers of the rug were pressed down. It was a subtle indentation, but it was fresh. Someone had stood there recently.
Kylee reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out a small, tactical UV flashlight.
She crouched down and clicked it on.
Under the purple glow, the faint outline of a muddy footprint appeared on the rug.
Kylee used her fingers to estimate the length. It was large. A men's dress shoe, probably a size eleven and a half.
Justice walked back into the living room. He followed the beam of her UV light and saw the footprint. His jaw tightened.
Kylee stood up and walked straight to the entryway. She pulled open the tall shoe cabinet.
Rows of stilettos, flats, and running shoes stared back at her. All women's. There was absolutely no trace of a man living in this apartment.
The heavy footsteps of the CSU team echoed in the hallway. A technician carrying a metal kit walked in, immediately raising a camera to photograph the scene.
Kylee stepped back, pressing her shoulders against the wall to avoid contaminating the area. Her eyes never stopped moving.
A CSU tech knelt by the sofa. He wedged a pair of long tweezers deep into the crevice between the leather cushions.
He pulled out a heavy, metallic object.
He dropped it into a clear plastic evidence bag. It was a custom, matte-black Zippo lighter.
Kylee stared at the bag. "Dana has severe asthma," she said, her voice flat and loud in the busy room. "She has never smoked a day in her life."
Justice walked over and took the bag from the tech. He held it up to the light.
Engraved on the bottom of the lighter were two letters: D.C.
Kylee's mind raced through Dana's recent social circle. A name clicked into place.
"Darius Cash," Kylee said. "The tech billionaire. He's been aggressively pursuing her for the last month."
Justice pulled out his phone. "Hey, run a background and current location on Darius Cash," he barked to the precinct operator.
Another tech walked out of the master bedroom holding a large paper evidence bag.
"Found these shoved in the back of her closet," the tech said.
He pulled out a pair of men's handcrafted Italian leather shoes. The deep treads were packed with dry, chalky red clay, an exact geological match for the soil found near the Palisades.
Kylee looked at the tread pattern. It was a perfect match for the footprint on the rug.
She recognized the distinct red stitching on the welt. "Those are from a bespoke workshop in Milan. They only take top-tier VIP clients."
Justice hung up his phone. He looked at Kylee, his expression grim. "Darius Cash is one of their biggest clients."
The illusion of a quiet suicide shattered completely.
The wine glass. The lighter. The shoes. It was a staged scene, clumsily put together by someone who thought their wealth made them invisible.
Kylee looked back at Dana's peaceful face. A cold, physical rage began to burn in the pit of her stomach.
She turned to Justice. "I want the autopsy. I need to open her up and find the exact cause of death."
Justice's face hardened. He stepped directly in front of her, using his broad chest to block her view of the body.
He shook his head. "No."
