Setting down her bag, Maggie opened it and took out a fresh pair of latex gloves, which she pulled onto her hands. She laid some white paper on the carpet next to Franklin Gardner’s body and used it to kneel on.

The victim’s eyes were open-blank and staring. He appeared lifeless but Maggie checked for a pulse anyway. Finding none, she reached into the bag again for the little recorder she used at crime scenes and attached the microphone so she could record with her hands free. After switching it on, she began speaking. “Victim has been identified by housekeeper Miriam Hobart as Franklin Gardner. No family verification at this point. Victim is male, Caucasian, approximately fifty years of age and appears physically fit. Victim has blue eyes, black hair and darkly tanned skin. No physical exam yet, but there are…” Maggie stopped to count, “seven spots of blood on the front of his robe in the chest area. I’m now going to open the robe.”

She was just beginning to untie the knotted sash that kept the robe closed when she heard Josh Benton’s voice in the doorway.

“So how’s it going?” he asked, and walked over to her and the victim.

Maggie gulped and turned off the recorder. She lifted her face and looked at Detective Benton. “I’m really just getting started.”

Detective Josh Benton’s gray eyes rested on the face of the woman examining the dead body of the man lying on the carpet, dropped to her photo ID and then returned to her face. He could hardly believe his own eyes.

“My God, Maggie Sutter! What are you doing here? Wait, erase that. It’s obvious what you’re doing here, but how come…I mean, how long…how come you never contacted me and let me know you were in the department?”

Maggie felt her face get warm. “We passed each other once in a hallway and you…you didn’t recognize me.”

“Well, hell, why didn’t you yell at me, or trip me, or something?” Josh kept looking at her, seeing small differences between the Maggie Sutter he’d known years ago and the extremely attractive woman she was today.

“I could hardly do that,” Maggie murmured, almost feverish from the thorough inspection she was getting.

“Didn’t your hair used to be redder?”

“It got darker over the years.”

“So, is Tim still living in California?”

His question about Maggie’s older brother startled her. They had a corpse on their hands-a suspected homicide victim-and Benton was choosing this morning to talk about her family? No way, she thought, and ignored the question completely.

“I was just beginning a prelim on the victim,” she repeated flatly. “Shall I continue or do you want to take over?” She would accede to his wishes. He was her superior in the department, if not her boss. And, of course, for this case he would be her boss. It grated that he wasn’t even embarrassed about not recognizing her that day. Obviously he’d been a more sensitive person ten years ago when he and Tim had been best friends.

“Go ahead with what you were doing. I want to take a look around the room. It hasn’t yet been dusted for prints, so everyone needs to be extremely cautious about touching anything without gloves.” He glanced at her hands. “I see you’re up to speed.”

Maggie lowered her eyes and wondered cynically if he even trusted her to investigate a crime scene at all. To be honest, he just barely resembled the earnest young cop he’d been when she’d had that painful crush on him ten years ago. Not in looks. He was still outrageously handsome, maybe even better looking, but that was about it. Back then she had seen him as the most wonderful, the handsomest, greatest guy ever born. She remembered him as being kind and sweet and nice to everyone. Obviously her opinion had been severely distorted by teenage idol worship.

Wearing latex gloves, Josh strolled around the room peering at various objects while keeping an eye on Maggie. He still could hardly believe that she was here, at a crime scene and working on his team. It just seemed so off-the-wall to him. When, exactly, had she become interested in investigative law enforcement?

Maggie opened Gardner ’s robe and talked into the miniature microphone near her mouth about the wounds on his chest.

“Seven small…very small puncture wounds. An ice pick perhaps. Do people still use ice picks in their homes, considering the variety of ice-makers on the market? Note. Check the bar.”

Josh heard her and walked over to the elegantly carved wood bar with its six leather-covered stools, went behind it and took a rather admiring inventory of the many bottles of expensive liquor that were displayed on lighted shelves. He located a built-in refrigerator, another one strictly for bottles of wine and also a large automatic ice-maker. He was about to give up on Maggie’s ice pick theory-at least for the moment-when he opened a door and saw a collection of antique ice picks in a glass case. Each one was held in place by a small leather strap, and there were no empty spaces, no empty straps.

Maggie was examining the back of the victim’s head, which bore a serious scalp depression and possible skull split that had to be the cause of the blood on the carpet.

She looked over to Benton who asked dryly, “Was he killed twice?”

Maggie gasped. “What?”

Josh could tell that he’d shocked her. “Maggie, when you’ve done this for twelve years, like I have, that soft heart of yours will be considerably harder.”

“I hope not,” she said passionately. “I’m done with my prelim. Do you want to check the body before I call down to the lobby for the photographer? I’d like some photos of the carpet under the body.”

“Yes, I want a look at him.”

Maggie got to her feet and Josh took her place. He looked at the victim’s hands and fingernails. “Good manicure,” he remarked. Then he checked the man’s feet, legs and groin area. “He has some bruising…rather odd shapes…on his face. Also some signs of struggle, defensive bruises, on his forearms and hands. The medical examiner will have to determine cause of death in an autopsy, ’cause from where I sit, it could have been caused by the chest wounds or the crushing blow to his head when he fell and hit that coffee table.”

“What?” Maggie easily found the culprit table and flushed to the roots of her hair. She should have seen the blood on the corner of that table the minute she entered the study. Benton hadn’t missed it and she had. Damn! Was she so discombobulated over working with him that her brain wasn’t functioning with its usual efficiency?

Josh got up. “Call down for Jack and also the fingerprint team. I want everything in this room dusted for prints, especially the bar area. Also, there’s a collection of antique ice picks in a special cabinet behind the bar. I want them individually bagged and tested for evidence. You can handle that at the crime lab. You stay with the body until I say it’s ready for the morgue. I’ve checked out most of the apartment, and I’m going to finish that before leaving.”

Maggie tried to hide the humiliation she felt over missing something so obvious as blood on the sharp corner of that coffee table. She lifted her chin and said, “I would estimate his death to have occurred around four hours ago. Do you agree?”

“Agreed,” Josh stated and strode from the room.

Maggie dug out her cell phone and dialed Jack’s number. “I’m ready for those photos, Jack. And if the lab people are down there to do the prints, ask them to come up with you. Orders from Benton.”

“Will do.”

The body had been taken away and most of the police officers had gone. The sun was up, weak and pale, not even warming the area enough to create fog. Maggie stood at a wall of windows in a gorgeous sitting room and looked out at an incredible view of Lake Michigan. Her own body ached; she hadn’t slept enough and she had a full day of work ahead of her.