Ethan took a deep breath and bent down to examine the bodies. The tips of the man's fingers were scraped raw, the nails ripped, like he'd been fighting for his life.
But no bullet hole, or stab wound, or blunt force trauma.
He dipped a gloved finger in the spreading pool of water, brought the damp tip of it to his lips.
"This is salty."
He pressed gently against the man's chest. Water bubbled from his mouth.
Same with the baby.
"You know what, Raymond? I think he drowned. Kid too."
"I guess that explains why they're both soaking wet."
"I guess." Ethan stood up again. Headed to the bathroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was small but immaculate. Black and white hexagonal tiles covered the floor. A white marble pedestal supported an etched-glass sink and a starkly expensive faucet. The toilet was a high-end Japanese model with a built-in bidet. And the glass-walled shower contained a variety of controls for the enormous "tropical rain" shower head.
How the other one percent live.
He ambled into the kitchen. Everything was tidied away. No sign of any food preparation, never mind for fish. The stainless-steel sink was bone dry and smelled faintly of bleach.
Like the living room, the apartment's one bedroom looked out over the lake. He stepped over to the plate glass window and peered through its half-closed, vertical blinds. People were sunning themselves on the stretch of beach below. A couple of distant sailboats made white triangles on the water. The bed, with its rumpled covers, struck the only discordant note in the room. Like the others, the rest of it was immaculately tidy. Jennifer Okoro, by the looks of it, had decided to fall unconscious on top of the bed.
Ethan found himself pursing his lips.
Raymond had a point when he said it would be difficult to fake out the EMTs. But still. It was a suspiciously convenient place for a collapse. He gave the room a second look. Apart from a dead mosquito on the corner of the bed, there was nothing else. It was a big one, though, its legs bent in the awkward angle of its kind, clearly visible against the white bedsheet.
Serves you right. Blood-sucking little bastard.
Ethan returned to the living room, filtering out the dead bodies as he looked around. A small, sectional couch, undoubtedly expensive. Minimalist wooden dining table and matching chairs. Gigantic high-tech TV, professionally hung from the wall.
He frowned.
"Look at that," he said, nodding at each wall in turn.
"Home decorating project gone wrong, you think?" Raymond asked. "Or he couldn't decide where to hang the TV."
Raymond chuckled at that.
There were a number of holes drilled into the living-room walls. All the walls. A couple of them might conceivably have been for a TV, but the other positions would have been ridiculous from the get-go. There was plaster dust on the floor beneath them.
"Another thing that doesn't make sense," he muttered.
"What's that?"
"The TV's professionally mounted. It's been there forever. Dead guy had his priorities, I'm guessing. But these holes are new. You can see where the dust from the drill has fallen on the floor."
"So?"
"So, it doesn't take a genius to see the Okoros are neatniks. Why'd they not clean up after themselves? And if this guy was in the middle of some job when he was whacked, where are the tools? And where are the speakers or whatever he was thinking of mounting?"
"You telling me the perp came into the apartment with a dead fish; dropped it on the floor; drilled some random holes..." Raymond paused to take a breath. "Then drowned the adult vic and his baby and left, taking his tools with him?"
