Page 17 of The Bridesmaid
I swallow. ‘If I were to compile a working theory,’ I say, ‘the attacker landed a blow to her head that left Simone too dazed to defend herself. Maybe from the side. She has injuries to the outside shoulders, suggesting a wild kind of attack, where maybe the weapon missed the head. This blow, here at the front, smashing her temple. That’s the blow that would have likely killed her. Then one at the base of the skull, and another at the side.’ I frown, taking more in. ‘The bruising,’ I decide. ‘Something quite odd about how consistent it is. That would suggest someone quite calculated. Measured. There’s an almost workmanlike quality to how they’ve been administered to all sides of the body with similar force. The sheer volume of injuries points to someone out of control. But … the power with which they’re administered suggests the opposite.’
I glance at Mark. He’s looking straight ahead, and the coffee in his hands is shaking.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘You get used to this stuff in my line of work. I know you knew her too …’
‘Actually, I didn’t,’ says Mark. ‘Not in any meaningful way.’
‘You didn’t know your own bridesmaid?’
He shakes his head slowly. ‘I know it sounds crazy. Adrianna’s wedding is a showpiece for the Kensington empire, so the bridesmaids were chosen by Leopold on the basis of who could most benefit the business. Simone was Leopold’s lawyer. We barely knew her. But … it’s still just horrible.’
My mouth is turned firmly downwards. ‘I agree. It doesn’t look like a crime of passion. Those three head blows are almost identical in size and heft. And look how they ring the head. Front, back, side. Like the work of someone making a considered job.’
‘Taller than her?’ Mark looks thoughtful. ‘A man?’
‘Depends on the length of the bar. But they would have had to be relatively strong. It takes up to several hundred pounds of pressure to crack the average skull. Whatever she was hit with was most likely heavy, and brought down with considerable force.’
I think some more. ‘The dresses,’ I say. ‘How did three wedding dresses get inside the ballroom?’
‘The dresses are Adrianna’s,’ says Mark. ‘Or … they were.’ His eyes cloud.
‘All of them?’
‘It’s a three-day event,’ explains Mark. ‘And some of the days, she’ll need outfit changes. One dress for the ceremony, another for the reception. Then one for each party afterwards. Five in total.’ He opens his hands as if this made perfect sense.
‘Fivewedding dresses?’ I can’t really keep the contempt out of my voice. There are people starving in the world, for chrissakes.
A half smile pulls at Mark’s mouth. ‘Not you too,’ he says. ‘You sound like Detective Ortiz.’
‘Sounds like we have similar politics.’
Mark is growing on me. His detached demeanor seems less cold now. Maybe his somewhat robotic manner was a defense mechanism. A stress reaction, to the crime scene.
‘Look,’ he says. ‘I appreciate how it looks on the outside, but a wedding on this scale is its own ecosystem. You have to think about it more like a business merger.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘It’s really a chance for Leopold Kensington to cement potentially lucrative allegiances. Every choice his daughter makes could have major ramifications for certain businesses. Dri didn’t just go out and pick out five fifty-thousand-dollar designer dresses because she thought they looked pretty.’
‘Those dresses cost fifty thousand dollarseach?’ My eyes glue back to the hanging gowns. How sad and cheap they look, dirtied with blood. Although … they’re not sagging out of shape, are they? I pay close attention to how they hang.
‘Between twenty and fifty thousand,’ agrees Mark. ‘But you’re missing the point. The point is the whole wedding. The dresses, the flowers, the cake, the venue. Even the engagement ring. It’s all a very carefully curated brand. Whether she likes it or not, Adrianna is part of the Kensington empire. And the entire business is based on a certain luxury lifestyle. If any small part of that slips, if her wedding is seen as … unaspirational … or, God forbid, cheap … Leopold Kensington looks weak. Or tasteless. And the nightclubs lose money.’
I think some more. Scan back to the facts. Make the decision to tell Mark what I’ve seen, as I blow on my coffee again. The remains.Simone’sremains. The slackness of the facial muscles wasn’t what I would expect to see on a day-old corpse.
‘The body temperature,’ I murmur. ‘That’s … odd.’
‘Odd, how?’
‘Yesterday was hot, right?’ I say. ‘Same as today.’
‘Right.’
I nod. ‘Did you say the detective working this case was Ortiz?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I need to give her a call. There’s something about this scene the police have missed.’
