Page 2 of Dirty Liars

Making a small incision near his liver, I inserted a thermometer to get an accurate core-temperature reading. “Body temp confirms that timeline. So around midnight to 1 a.m.”

“That tracks with their check-in time,” Cole said, flipping through his notebook. “Manager says they arrived just after midnight.”

I completed my examination of the scene around the victim, bagging his hands to preserve any trace evidence, and carefully checking under his fingernails. No defensive wounds. No signs of a struggle. The kill had been quick, efficient.

“Any weapons?” I asked, looking around the room.

“Found a 9mm halfway kicked under the bed,” Jack said.

“Maybe the guy put up a fight,” Cole said.

“The shot was fired at close range based on the powder stippling,” Jack said. “If he tried to fight it wasn’t for long. Let’s check on the bride.”

We moved through the spacious living area of the villa, past the untouched champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries on the coffee table. Two suitcases sat just inside the front door, still packed. The sliding glass doors to the deck overlooking the Potomac were unlocked, the curtains billowing slightly in the morning breeze.

The second bedroom was at the opposite end of the villa. When we stepped inside, the contrast with the master bedroom was jarring. Where the husband’s death had been neat and precise, this room told a different story.

The bride—Chloe Vasilios according to Cole’s notes—lay on the floor beside a rumpled bed. She was in a half state of undress, a designer evening gown pooled around her waist, the bodice unzipped and hanging loose. One shoe remained on her foot, the other tossed near the bathroom door. Her blond hair was matted with blood, spread around her head like a twisted halo.

“Multiple gunshot wounds,” I said, crouching beside her. “One to the center of the forehead, execution style. Additional shots to the chest, throat, and—” I paused, noting the pattern of wounds on her lower body. “Two shots to the pelvic region.”

“Overkill,” Jack said, his voice tight. “First shot would have been fatal. The rest were making a statement.”

“Or ensuring she was dead,” Cole suggested.

“No,” I disagreed, gesturing to the wound pattern. “Look at the precision of the groupings. The forehead shot, then the throat, followed by the three chest shots center mass. The pelvic shots are next. This wasn’t panic or ensuring death. This was almost ritualistic. Very purposeful.”

I pulled out my measuring calipers from my kit and carefully examined each wound.

“These entry wounds are significantly smaller than the husband’s. Different caliber weapon.”

“That’s not good,” Jack said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Two killers,” Cole said.

Jack crouched beside me, his eyes scanning the scene. “The carpet is soaked with blood under her, but there’s minimal spatter. First shot was likely to the head, an instant kill. The rest were postmortem.”

I nodded, carefully turning her head to examine the entry wound in her forehead. “The bullet is still inside. No exit wound.” I looked closer at her face, wiping away some of the blood with a sterile gauze. “Slight powder stippling around the entry wound. Close range, but not contact.”

I continued my examination, checking her hands, which were unmarked. No defensive wounds. No signs she’d struggled against her attacker. I examined her neck, finding slight bruising that was just beginning to form.

“Bruising on the throat,” I said. “Premortem based on the coloration. Someone may have restrained her before shooting.”

“Why the separate rooms?” Jack asked.

“Maybe she was using this room to change,” I said, noticing a small carry-on suitcase open and spilled out onto the floor.

“If it was me I’d eliminate the biggest threat first, which would be the husband,” Jack said. “Maybe sexual assault was the goal. Guy who offs the husband gets excited and drops his gun. Other killer forces bride into this room at gunpoint and she’s uncooperative, hence the bruising on her throat. She’s half undressed, but something made them pull the trigger. And then keep pulling the trigger.”

I carefully collected fingernail scrapings, hair samples, and swabbed the visible blood for later DNA analysis. I checked for signs of sexual assault but found none. The way her dress was partially removed suggested the beginning of undressing rather than an assault.

“There’s no outward signs of sexual assault,” I said. “Her underwear is still intact. But I’ll be able to check more thoroughly once we’re back in the lab.”

I carefully bagged her hands and feet to preserve any additional evidence.

“We need to check for additional shell casings,” I said, scanning the floor. “None of the bullets passed through.”

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