Someone hadn’t been fighting her here. They had been punishing her. I moved to the center of the stain. There were four distinct scuff marks on the floor around the blood pool. Boot marks, heavy treads. I placed my own boot next to one. It was a match for size, maybe a size 11 or 12. But there wasn’t just one set. There were scuffs at the head, scuffs at the arms, scuffs at the legs.
They had pinned her. Seven sons, I muttered, the bile rising in my throat. And one father. I could see it now, the geometry of the violence. It wasn’t a fight. It was an execution that stopped just short of death. I stood up, my breathing getting heavy. I needed proof. The police, Detective Miller, clearly wasn’t going to look for it.
Victor probablemente le había comprado al departamento una nueva flota de cruceros hace años. Si quería justicia, tenía que encontrar lo que se pagaba a los policías para ignorar. Miré alrededor de la habitación. ¿Por qué aquí? ¿Por qué el comedor? Tessa era inteligente. Más inteligente que yo, más inteligente que sus hermanos. Ella sabía quién era su familia. Me lo había dicho una vez antes de que me desplegara.
