Day Eleven, Chapter Eleven
Right to business: Lindsay and Conklin head over to the Dowling’s house to meet up with Jacobi and check out the new murder scene. Jacobi appears in pretty bad shape, even for an overworked police captain. I mean, every time she talks to this guy on the phone, he sounds like “someone had walked over his grave” or has a “strangled sound in his voice.” Maybe he has cancer.
“His face was sagging from stress. His eyelids drooped and he looked almost older tonight than he had when we’d both taken bullets on Larkin Street.”
Well, he is, technically, older now. But still. Lindsay & Conklin head upstairs to check out the Dowling’s palatial bedroom. The bed is “the size of Catalina” and the room has “more tassels…than backstage at the Mitchell Brothers’ Girls, Girls, Girls!!! review.” (I had to look that one up.) There are “broken knickknacks” by the open window and Lindsay can still smell gunpowder. (Bullshit.) Casey Dowling’s dead, naked body lies on the floor.
(Charlie Clapper, director of the Crime Scene Unit) flapped his hand toward me and Conklin in greeting and said, “Frickin’ shame, a beautiful woman like this.”
Barf. How cliche is that? I’m shocked, actually, that Lindsay, a card-carrying member of the “Women’s Murder Club”, doesn’t ask, “If she were ugly, Charlie, would it still be a frickin’ shame?” I’m disappointed in you, James.
“When (Marcus Dowling) came into the room, his wife was lying there. That table and the bric-a-brac were broken on the floor, and the window was open.”
Wait, the burgler broke the whatnots, the knickknacks, AND the bric-a-brac? You maniac!
Lindsay gets the facts from Charlie: window cut with a glass cutter, safe not damaged (so maybe was already open), no bullet casings at the scene. Charlie thinks it odd that an “organized, fastidious” professional cat burgler would carry a gun. Lindsay starts to become suspicious.
“What made a cat burgler fire on a naked woman?”
Indeed, Detective. Indeed. Especially a “beautiful woman”, right Charlie?
Go to Day Twelve.