Screw synesthesia.
“She’d had sex before she died?” he said.
“Yes. I checked for that, as I said when I saw you at the crime scene. But I was really looking for an assault, considering that she was murdered. I went over her entire body. I checked for the usual finger pad bruising on her arms, legs, and neck, suction bites, especially on her breasts, petechiae in the eyes and palate, bruising to the inner lips and behind the ears, all places typically impacted by a sexual assault. I used swabs and a Foley balloon catheter to check her vagina. The physical structure of that part of the anatomy makes detection of an attack difficult, so I also used a colposcope and an ultraviolet light to do my exam. All the results came back pretty much negative for a sexual assault.”
“And since you found no firm evidence of sexual assault, you proceeded no further on that line?”
“That’s right. No assault meant no sex at all, at least in my mind.” Jacobs looked embarrassed. “I should not have made that assumption. But I suppose I was influenced by her violent death. You never see consensual sex end that way. At least I haven’t.”
“She was also found dressed—in her underwear—but still dressed. Perps who commit sexual assaults don’t usually take the time to re-dress their victims unless it’s some sort of ritual killing.”
“I guess that influenced me, too. And none of the clothing was torn or damaged, except by the knife strikes. In a sexual assault the attacker always tears some of the clothing, particularly the underwear, to show his aggression and dominance. But once you texted I dug a little deeper. There were the smallest of signs around her vagina, just a bit of swelling. There was no tissue damage, or bruising, the sort of thing you see with pretty much every sexual assault. And when I went back and looked again, there was also very slight evidence of a vaginal lubricant.”
“So the encounter was planned?”
“Apparently.”
“Did the man use a condom?”
“He must have. There was no evidence of sperm in the vagina. I certainly checked for that.”
“I think the condom was flushed, not that it would have mattered. She lived alone. And I think they both must have showered afterward. And then the judge put on the clothing she was later found wearing. There were damp towels and washcloths in the laundry bin in the bathroom.”
“I guess that would make sense.”
“Can you still get a DNA match?”
“I hope so from other detritus left behind when people have sex, even with a shower. And there should be plenty of it on the sheets, which we have here, and I can also examine the towels and washcloths. Do you have someone to match it to?”
Decker pointed to Draymont’s body, which was lying on the other table. “That guy right there.”
Jacobs’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay, while I admit I missed the consensual sex piece, I never thought she would be sleeping with her bodyguard. But I guess it happens.”
“Do you have Draymont’s personal effects?”
She led him to a locked cabinet and opened it. Inside were a number of labelled plastic evidence bags.
“Clothes, shoes, wallet, other personal items.”
Decker examined each one carefully. He already knew about the suit and watch and shoes. He opened the billfold. Inside were three credit cards, one a personal platinum Amex.
“Thanks.”
“Her son came by to identify her,” Jacobs volunteered.
Decker shot her a glance. “Tyler came? Not his father?”
“He said his father couldn’t bring himself to come.”
“Damn. How did that go?”
“I covered her right up to her neck, so he couldn’t see…”
“Yeah.”
“He cried. But he handled it pretty well, actually. Better than I would have.”
“Life’s a bitch sometimes,” murmured Decker. “What about prints? Any luck?”
“We didn’t find any we couldn’t match. We found lots of Tyler’s prints, but none in his mother’s bedroom. And none of Barry Davidson’s.” She picked up her iPad and scrolled down. “We found several from the neighbor, Doris Kline. Prints from a maid service Cummins used. Some others we determined were tied to service companies, HVAC, plumbing, and other ones like that. Andrews had them checked out and all had alibis.”
“But not Doris Kline, right?” Jacobs looked up. Decker continued, “She lives alone. She found the bodies. She was home that night.”