DD Warren 00 - The 7th Month

wide.
    D.D. ignored him, focusing on Alex instead. “Is there something we can do for you, Dr. Wilson?”
    “I’m afraid I have some questions for Mr. Bilger.”
    D.D. immediately turned toward the movie producer. She’d taken a couple of steps away from the table, moving into the center of the space. Between her, Alex, and Joe, they had Bilger pinned against the far wall, against the built-in sofa. He hit it with the back of his knees, and sank down, seeming to resign himself to the inevitable.
    “How tall are you, Mr. Bilger?” Alex asked sternly.
    “Um, five ten.”
    “Please stand up.”
    “Fine, fine, five eight and a half.”
    “May I see your hands, Mr. Bilger?”
    “But, but—”
    “Your hands, Mr. Bilger.”
    Wide-eyed, Don Bilger held out his hands. Alex didn’t make any move to touch them, just appeared to study them.
    “I see you have a ring on your right ring finger. Oval, with two small diamonds.”
    “Signet ring. A gift . . .” Bilger couldn’t seem to pull himself together. His breathing had escalated, his chest rising and falling in a series of nervous pants.
    “Are you familiar with cast-off, Mr. Bilger?”
    “Wh-wh-what?”
    “When a murder weapon, moving at a certain speed and trajectory comes to a sudden stop, for example at the top arc of an attacker’s swing, any liquid, say blood, will continue the initial speed and trajectory as it flies from the murder weapon onto a stationary object, such as the ceiling, floors, walls, or furniture at the murder scene.”
    “Messy,” Bilger mumbled.
    “Indeed. Murder is a messy business, especially when it involves a baseball bat caving in a grown man’s skull. Which, for the record, results in cast-off of both blood and brains.”
    Bilger, still not breathing well, turned a distinct shade of green.
    Interestingly enough, so did D.D.
    “Now,” Alex continued crisply, “while blood and brains are messy, they’re also very useful to a crime scene expert. Did you know that each blood droplet formed by cast-off contains a distinct head and distinct tail, much like the shape of sperm? The sharper tail end always points back to the origin of the stain, meaning by studying the size and direction of the blood droplets, an expert such as myself can determine many things about both the attack and the attacker.”
    Alex paused, peered down at Bilger, who was now nearly cowering on the sofa.
    “Yes,” Alex said softly, as if speaking to himself. “A height of five eight and a half would be exactly correct for the murderer of Samuel Chaibongsai.”
    “But, but—” Bilger protested weakly.
    “Of course, a crime scene as brutal and graphic as a man bludgeoned to death yields many types of blood evidence. In addition to droplets of cast-off, there were several large, distinct areas of bloodstain. Including an imprint against the wall, as if the murderer brushed against it . . . with the back of his bloody hand, which was wearing a single flat-topped ring studded with two small diamonds.”
    Alex suddenly stepped forward, grabbing Bilger’s hand. “How long did it take you to get the blood out, Mr. Bilger? Soak it in jewelry cleaner, or just a quick rinse? Because blood is a very tricky substance, and I bet you didn’t get it all. Somewhere, embedded around one of those tiny, tiny little vanity diamonds, is enough of Samuel Chaibongsai’s blood to put you away for life.”
    “But I didn’t, but I didn’t—” Bilger moaned.
    “We know about your contact with Chernkoff,” D.D. boomed, jerking Bilger’s attention to her. Her stomach ached now. She rubbed it unconsciously, as she continued to speak: “How much did he offer you, Donnie? How much money was Samuel Chaibongsai’s life worth? One million, two million dollars?”
    “You don’t understand . . .”
    “I know, I know,” D.D. continued. “You’re a good guy, you’d never do such a thing. But then you were at Foxwoods, had a little run of bad luck.”
    Donnie’s head whipped up. She thought his eyes were going to bulge out of his head with surprise. He stared at her slack-jawed, a drowning man, finally realizing he was beyond the reach of a life rope, and going under quickly.
    “I screwed up,” he whispered.
    D.D. again: “How bad, Donnie? Tell me. Give me something to work with, and maybe I can do something for you.”
    “Three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars,” Bilger whispered.
    “You lost three hundred and