“Monday morning she drives to work. Security camera in the parking garage shows her arriving at 8:53 a.m. Her boss, Craig Lerner, and the admin confirm she’s in the office all day. Lobby camera shows her leaving the building about noon and returning ten minutes later with some takeout. Admin says no one visits her all day, but she does receive phone calls. We’re still processing calls received on the office line, but she could also have taken calls on her cell, which we never found. Martin’s also going to go through her office hard drive to look for emails. Then at 5:40 p.m., the office lobby camera shows her leaving the building.”

“So she leaves out the front door, not to the parking garage to her own car?” Mahler asked.

Rivas nodded. “That’s right. Someone picked her up or she walked downtown. In any case, she left her car in the garage.”

Coyle looked at his laptop. “Trish says the bruising around the cut on the back of the victim’s head indicates that wound was made not by a weapon but by striking a sharp surface, probably post-mortem, after she was strangled. By the way, she also says the cause of death was compression of the larynx and fracturing of the hyoid bone by manual strangulation. The area and angle of the attack indicate it was administered from the front of the victim. No evidence of ligature marks, indicating no use of a rope or cord.” Coyle looked up at Mahler. “So the cause of death is different from the girls two years ago.”

Mahler looked back at Coyle for a moment. Then he walked across the room and leaned against the far wall. “Daniel, check to see if the victim’s car has been towed to our garage. Martin, when you go through the victim’s hard drives, look for anything on this boyfriend with the silver Jaguar. If she’s doing freelance work for him, there’s bound to be files with a name.”

Mahler turned to leave and then called back for Frames. “Come on, hot shot. Let’s see if your favorite suspect has a lawyer.”

Chapter Nineteen

(i)

(WEDNESDAY, 5:37 P.M.)

Eden stood in front of the apartment door as a woman opened it just wide enough to peer out.

“Detective Somers, Santa Rosa Police Department.” Eden held up her badge. “Does Irwin Partridge live here?”

The woman gripped the door. “This is Win’s place, but he’s not here right now.” She was short, with unevenly bleached hair. A thin scar traced a line above her left eyebrow.

Eden nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Lorin Albright. I’m his girlfriend. What do you want?”

“Just routine. May I ask you a few questions about Mr. Partridge?”

“You have any papers that let you come in here if I don’t want you to?”

“Papers? You mean a warrant? No, I’m not here to search your house.”