Shadow Waltz by Amy Patricia Meade

queried.
    â€œCan’t say for certain, you understand,” Heller responded with more than a hint of New England guardedness. “I have to take some tests yet, but my first guess would be loss of blood. Mind you that’s just a guess at this point.”
    Jameson nodded. “Loss of blood from the severed limbs.”
    â€œFrom the severed limbs? No. The loss of her hands and feet had nothing to do with it—mind you, again, this is all hypothetical until I get back to the lab—but I’d say it was the beating that did her in. Internal bleeding.”
    Jameson was incredulous. “You’re joking. I’d have thought the, um, ‘amputations’ would have caused more blood loss than the beating.”
    â€œOh, they would have,” Dr. Heller replied matter-of-factly as he removed his spectacles and placed them into the breast pocket of his brown suit jacket, “had she been alive when they occurred.”
    â€œWhat? You mean … ?”
    Heller nodded. “The hands and feet were cut off after she was dead.”
    â€œAfter,” the detective repeated in disbelief.
    â€œLet me get this straight,” Noonan cut in. “Someone beat this girl to death and then …”
    â€œGot himself a saw,” Heller confirmed.
    Noonan’s normally ruddy complexion turned a faint shade of green. “What kinda nutcase would do such a thing? It wasn’t enough he bashed her face in, he had to hack her up too.”
    â€œProbably didn’t want the body to be identified,” Jameson surmised.
    Heller’s brow furrowed. “With all due respect, Detective, that doesn’t quite fit with what I see here.”
    â€œWhat do you see here?”
    â€œWell this is all off the record, of course.”
    â€œYes, Joe. Yes, I know it’s all off the record,” Jameson exclaimed impatiently. “Just tell me what you see.”
    â€œWell, let’s assume for a minute that you’re the murderer trying to hide the identity of the victim. You’d make her face unrecognizable, naturally. And then you’d remove any chance of fingerprints being traced, correct?”
    â€œIf I thought the victim had fingerprints on file somewhere, yes.”
    â€œMmm,” Heller grunted in agreement. “How long would you wait to do it?”
    â€œHuh?” Jameson and Noonan replied in unison.
    â€œHow long after the murder would you wait to remove the fingerprints or, in this case, hands?”
    â€œI wouldn’t wait,” Jameson answered. “I’d do it right away.”
    â€œExactly, but waiting is exactly what this fellow did. There’s no sign of any bleeding from those wounds, meaning he waited for the blood of the victim to coagulate before going about his job. What’s more, some of those cuts seem fresher than others.”
    â€œCare to explain what that means?” Jameson prodded.
    â€œIn English,” Noonan added.
    â€œIt means that the murderer cut off a hand one day, a foot the next, and so forth.”
    â€œJeez,” Noonan remarked with disgust.
    â€œNow you see why I don’t think identity was the motive here.” Heller frowned. “No, gentlemen, if you ask me, either this guy enjoyed what he was doing, or his plan was to dispose of the body—one piece at a time.”

Eight
    Marjorie ran to her bedroom closet and started pulling dresses from their hangers. “Oh no, not that,” she muttered to herself before tossing the dress aside. “Oh, that has a small spot on the collar.” Another garment went sailing onto the bedroom floor.
    Creighton stood in her bedroom doorway. “Darling, Mrs. Patterson loves you regardless of what you’re wearing.”
    â€œMrs. Patterson? I was changing so that we could continue our investigation.” Marjorie pulled off her stockings and rummaged through a dresser drawer for a fresh pair.
    â€œDarling,” Creighton