“Preliminary report came back this morning.” Medina stretched over to his own desk, picked up a file, and handed it to Pryce. He finished his bagel and coffee while Pryce read through the report.

“Time of death was estimated between nine p.m. Saturday night and one a.m. Sunday morning,” Pryce said. “Cause of death was cardiac tamponade, resulting from penetration of the pericardium.” He noticed Medina’s confused expression. “A stab wound to the heart,” he explained. “That was the fatal one. She’d been stabbed eleven times in total. She had a broken nose and contusions to her left cheekbone. Severed finger defending herself. The report also says she had sex shortly before she died.”

“You think he raped her?”

Pryce scanned the relevant paragraph and shook his head. “There were no signs of bruising or tearing around the vagina, indicating the sex was consensual. No traces of semen. They used a condom.”

“Wasn’t found at the scene,” Medina said. “Probably flushed down the john.”

Pryce let out a heavy sigh. “The report also says she was pregnant. Around three months.”

“Aw, shit. But why bother with a condom?”

“Maybe she didn’t know she was already pregnant. Or this guy wasn’t the father. It’s not just pregnancy young women need to protect themselves against these days.”

“I guess.”

“So what are we looking at here?” Pryce asked. “Amy Ong goes on a date, and things go better than expected; they decide to carry on the party at the Dreamz Motel, they have a few drinks, do the deed—and then what?”

“Could be this guy is into rough stuff?” Medina offered. “Slapped her around a bit while they were doing the business, she didn’t like it, things got out of hand?”

“Maybe. But she was wearing underwear and a bathrobe when she was found, so she was most likely killed after they’d finished having sex.”

“Okay. He wanted round two. She didn’t. It turned ugly. Or maybe he was the baby’s daddy and didn’t take the news too good.”

“Maybe,” Pryce said again. He ran his hands down his face, rubbed his eyes. “Or maybe this was no ordinary date.”

Medina looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“The roommate says she had no idea where Amy Ong was going or who she was meeting. Does that not strike you as weird?”

“I guess. But what do I know about what women talk to each other about?”

“Exactly.” Pryce looked around the squad room. He spotted Silvia Rodriguez, a detective two, over by the filing cabinets. “Hey, Silvia,” he called. “You got a minute?”

Rodriguez was a petite brunette, a couple of years younger than Pryce, who had gained her cop’s badge in her midtwenties after finishing law school and having a change of heart over her choice of career.