“I’ll get it,” Gerde said. “You know, I get the strangest cases here. All these awful car crashes that turn out to be from some guy having a heart attack while he’s driving. So he ends up airborne and takes out three or four other people. We had an Internet murder not so long ago. And husbands don’t just shoot their wives around here, either. They strangle and bludgeon and decapitate them.”

He kept talking as he headed to a distant corner where clothing dried from hangers over a shallow basin. The garments were separated by sheets of plastic, to insure that trace evidence and body fluids from one weren’t inadvertently transferred to another. I was covering the second autopsy table with a sterile sheet when Teun McGovern was shown in by a morgue assistant.

“Thought I’d check by before heading out to the scene,” she said.

She was dressed in BDUs and boots, and carrying a manila envelope. McGovern did not bother with gown or gloves as she slowly surveyed the carnage.

“Good Lord,” she said.

I helped Gerde spread out a pair of pajamas on top of the table I had just covered. Tops and bottoms reeked of dirty smoke and were so sooty and saturated with blood that I could not tell their color. The cotton fabric was cut and punctured front and back.

“She came in clothed in these?” I wanted to make sure.

“Yes,” Gerde replied. “Everything buttoned and snapped. And I have to wonder if possibly some of the blood is his. In a fight like this, I wouldn’t be surprised if he cut himself.”

I smiled at him. “Someone taught you well,” I said.

“Some lady in Richmond,” he answered.

“At a glance this would seem domestic.” It was Benton who spoke. “She’s home in her pajamas, perhaps late at night. A classic case of overkill, such as you often find in homicides where the two people had a relationship. But what’s a little unusual”—he stepped closer to the table—“is her face. Other than this one cut here.” He pointed. “There doesn’t appear to be any injury. Typically, when the assailant has a relationship with the victim, he directs much of his violence at the face, because the face is the person.”

“The cut to her face is shallower than the others,” I noted, gently spreading open the wound with my gloved fingers. “Deepest at her jaw, and then tapering off as it travels up her cheek.”

I stepped back and looked at the pajamas again.

“It’s interesting that none of the buttons or snaps are missing,” I said. “And no tears, such as you might expect after a struggle like this when the assailant grabs the victim and tries to control her.”

“I think control is the important word here,” Benton said.

“Or lack of it,” said McGovern.