“There’s no evidence in Partridge’s file of his ever using an accomplice.” Mahler shook his head. “We’re just guessing.” He turned to Rivas. “I read the files you gave me on local guys with similar assaults. None stood out, but let’s keep them for when we know more.”

“Autopsy results on Jane Doe.” Coyle looked again at his screen. “Had a full meal before she died: lamb, maitake mushrooms, Yellow Finn potatoes, and green beans.”

“What kind of food is that?” Frames looked over Coyle’s shoulder at the screen.

“Expensive,” Mahler said.

“She also had a fair amount of wine.” Coyle continued reading. “Blood alcohol was point-o-eight. Traces of OxyContin in her respiratory tract, and she also tested for quetiapine, whatever that is.”

“Treatment for bipolar.” Everyone looked at Frames, and he shrugged. “I got a nephew on the stuff.”

“Might explain the old cut marks,” Eden said.

Mahler paced in front of the whiteboard. “Any evidence this was an overdose?”

“No, the level was consistent with a small dosage.” Coyle bent close to his screen. “Trish says the wine on top of the quetiapine and Oxy wasn’t a great idea, but it’s not what killed her. Something else, too. She had soap on her face.”

“She washed her face after dinner,” Eden said.

“Trish said it looks like someone washed her face. The makeup was reapplied, but by someone who wasn’t very good at it.”

Frames grimaced. “Okay, that’s just creepy.”

“And just to make things more confusing…” Coyle paused for dramatic effect, “a gunshot residue test on the victim’s right hand shows she fired a gun recently.”

“Now you’re just making things up,” Frames said.

Coyle shook his head. “No, I’m serious. On the plus side, we know the Mercedes is from San Francisco. We’re collecting information on each registered owner.”

“Have the uniforms help you with that.” Mahler turned to Eden. “Where are we on the identity of Jane Doe?”

“Cipriani and Pace did all the follow-up last night.” Eden looked at her laptop. “Two callers came in and looked at a photo, but neither identified the victim. We got a guy coming in this morning. Craig Lerner. Runs a local ad agency called Lerner and Meier. He says the description sounds like his graphic artist. She didn’t show up for work Tuesday. He’s coming in at nine. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Let Steve do it. Get going on the homicide case files Daniel gave you.”

While the others worked at their desks, Mahler turned to the whiteboard. Someone had written across the top “72 Hours = Thursday 11 p.m. 43 Hours Before Next Victim.” He looked at the photo of Jane Doe, her eyes closed, a perfect stillness in her face.

Chapter Twelve

(WEDNESDAY, 4:54 A.M.)