Grave Intent Read Free Page A

go exaggerating, now,” Chandu replied. “I’m just a freelance informant.”
    “Admit it. You’re getting off on it.”
    “On what?”
    “Being in Homicide.”
    “The last time I was here, I was questioned about the murder of a pimp. They suspected me of being a henchman for the Russian mob—not to mention what they said about me being a debt collector. So to answer your question: no .”
    Jan changed the subject. “Are we all here?” he said.
    “We are,” Max answered, turning his laptop around. The screen showed Zoe over in Forensics, in the pathology lab. She had her long hair pinned up and wore a white lab coat. Her eyebrows were perfectly plucked on her flawless face, and her dark-brown eyes blazed with mystery even through her thick safety glasses. Chandu lamented that she swung the other way.
    “Well, I see the Three Stooges are back together,” she said.
    “Glasses don’t work on you,” Chandu said, taking a chair across from the laptop.
    “Shut it, Mr. T.”
    “Ah, my little honey. I’ve missed you.”
    “Well, the feeling is decidedly not mutual. And don’t call me your little honey.”
    “I really hate to break up this heartwarming reunion,” Jan said, “but it seems we’ve been assigned a murder case—and it’s a pretty unusual one.”
    “That’s what I hear,” Chandu said.
    “From who?”
    “Your bosom buddy, Patrick Stein.”
    “Patrick?” Jan asked in confusion. “How did you . . . and he—”
    “Long story,” Chandu said. “I’ll tell you later. So, why is this case so unusual?”
    Jan pointed to a whiteboard propped on an easel. “Our victim is Dr. Bernhard Valburg. Fifty-three years old. A lung specialist with his own practice. Two days ago he’s at the cemetery to tend to his wife’s grave site. There he discovers an empty grave and a wood cross with his name on it.”
    “Whoa, that’s macabre, man, real macabre,” Max remarked.
    “It gets better. The wood cross has the day he dies on it. That’s too much for Bernhard Valburg, so he calls police emergency.”
    “And you guys didn’t protect him?” the young hacker asked.
    “Now we know better, but at the time it just looked like some kind of sick prank. The woman at the call desk suggested he come in to the station and talk to an officer about the incident. But he never showed.”
    “Why didn’t you follow up?” Chandu asked.
    “You have no idea how many prank calls and nut jobs call that number. Saturday nights, all hell breaks loose in Berlin. Patrols are on calls nonstop. Plus, you can’t go putting every victim of a sick joke under police protection.”
    “But this joker was getting serious.”
    “No one could have known that.”
    Jan pointed to a photo of an elegant home with a landscaped garden, a spotless white garage, and a footpath laid with bright marble slabs.
    “The crime scene, presumably his home on Dorenstrasse. We found his blood on the floor of his living room.” He turned to Zoe. “How far along are you with the autopsy?”
    “We’re not quite finished, but I’m getting the gist of it.” Zoe took off her safety glasses. “Bernhard Valburg was beaten to death. We’re working on determining the murder weapon, but I’m betting it was a hammer. A blow smashed the top of his skull and penetrated deep into his brain. Blood at the crime scene included brain mass, which tells us the victim was murdered at home. He died immediately.”
    “There is one other small matter,” Zoe continued. “The victim had his eyes gouged out.”
    “His eyes gouged out?” Jan asked. “Why in the hell would someone do that?”
    “No idea. Why don’t you swing by and ask the dead guy.”
    “Gouged out with what?” Chandu asked.
    “When you’re dealing with vitreous bodies, it’s tough to say. I’m guessing a screwdriver or something similar.”
    “Anything else out of the ordinary?”
    “Not externally. Still running tests for alcohol, drugs, poison—all that fun stuff.”
    “Now