Free Plea of Insanity by Jilliane Hoffman Page B

hit an eight-foot ceiling. I don’t know how much you know about bloodstain pattern interpretation, but a hell of a lot of force is needed on impact to generate that type of distal trajectory. The spray pattern starts here and travels up,’ he said, moving over to the bloody mattress and motioning to the wall next to the nightstand, ‘indicating Jennifer Marquette was lying flat when she was first struck. The shower of drops on the ceiling are satellite spatters, most likely the result of an arterial spurt when he hit the aorta or jugular. She was probably sleeping when it happened.’
    Probably sleeping . ‘What was the actual cause of death?’ Julia asked softly, still staring at the mattress. The stain impression was only on one side of the king-size bed, in the general shape of a person. She didn’t need crime-scene photos to see Jennifer Marquette’s beautiful, twisted face, her eyes, open and vacant, staring dully up at the ceiling. Even if they were closed when she took her last breath, Julia already knew many of the macabre secrets death held in store. One of which was once the heart stops beating and the body shuts down, the eyelids involuntarily opened back up, staying that way until a mortician finally superglued them down in the basement of some funeral home.
    We’re so sorry.
    So very sorry, Julia.
    You shouldn’t have to see her this way.
    Not you …
    She shut her eyes tight against the horror that lay right there in front of her, but even in darkness she could still see the bright yellow rosebuds and delicate pink ribbon that trimmed the nightgown’s sleeve, the pool of glossy red blood that slowly, surely seeped across the floor. And her eyes, those beautiful deep-green eyes, open and forever terrified …
    ‘Blunt force to the head with an unknown object and multiple stab wounds,’ Rick replied.
    ‘Thirty-seven in all,’ said a deep voice behind Julia, pulling her thoughts off the bed, and making her jump in her skin for the second time that morning. Julia turned to a scruffy-faced guy in his mid-thirties, a white dress shirt and Tommy Bahama swordfish tie paired with old jeans and new Nikes. With light-blue eyes, dark-blond hair that definitely went past his collar, and well-tanned skin, he looked a little like a surfer who reluctantly had had to get a real job. A gold detective’s badge hung around his neck.
    ‘Just the man we were looking for,’ Rick said. ‘Julia, Detective John Latarrino, Miami-Dade Homicide. Lat, this is Julia Valenciano. She’s a prosecutor in our office. She’ll be working this with me.’
    Latarrino nodded. ‘Nice to meet you.’
    ‘She’s already met Steve Brill downstairs.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Latarrino replied.
    ‘I was just showing her the scene. This is our first stop. Anything new?’
    ‘Just got the preliminary autopsy report back this morning. Speaking of which, what happened to you last night, Bellido?’
    ‘I had another engagement. One I couldn’t get out of. I called over this morning, but Neilson wasn’t in yet. I talked to Torie. She gave me a brief rundown.’ Rick looked at Julia and explained the players. ‘Joe Neilson’s the Chief Medical Examiner. He did the autopsies late yesterday. Torie’s Neilson’s assistant.’
    ‘So you know most of it, then,’ Lat said. ‘Blunt trauma to the head probably knocked her unconscious. At least that’s what we’re hoping. Impact on the side of the skull slammed her brain against the other side, resulting in a large hematoma and massive bleeding. Counted thirty-seven stab wounds to the chest and neck. At least three went through to the mattress.’
    ‘That’s one angry sonofabitch,’ said Rick with a low whistle, running a hand through his hair.
    ‘Angry is probably an understatement. As you said, one hit the aorta, another the jugular and that was it.’ Latarrino shook his head. ‘Jennifer Marquette celebrated her thirty-second birthday just last week. Boys found a couple of old