Whiplash by Catherine Coulter

dental work wasn't American and called a dentist friend of mine who'd served a tour of duty abroad. He came over and immediately recognized the dentistry as German. We started searching through the middle-aged males who'd come into the country from Germany during the past three days, and Blauvelt popped up right away. The German BND helped us access his digital X-rays, and they were a match."
    Sherlock said, "Good work, Bowie. Dr. Franks, have you done a tox screen on him? Any drugs on board?"
    Dr. Franks said, "No, not a single aspirin in his system. That's a bit of a ha-ha since he worked for a drug company. Now, I have learned a number of interesting things about him. First, his stomach contents revealed that Helmut ate a lovely dinner about three hours before his death-oyster and caviar appetizers followed by stuffed venison, julienned potatoes and carrots and radicchio, accompanied by red wine. There's only one restaurant in our immediate vicinity that serves all that stuff under one roof."
    She gave them a big smile.
    Bowie said, "That would be Chez Pierre in Monmouth, ten miles west of Stone Bridge. I was hoping Helmut dined with his killer."
    Dr. Franks lowered the pale green sheet.
    "Now look at this." They stared down at an inflamed, five-inch scar low on his abdomen. "Helmut Blauvelt's bosses didn't even give him a chance to heal from an appendectomy before they shipped him over here. I'd say his appendix didn't come out more than five days ago."
    Sherlock said, "I wonder what was so urgent that it couldn't wait another week or so?"
    "There was obviously something he had to fix," Bowie said, "something he had to fix immediately. Tell them what else you have, Ella."
    Dr. Franks said, "Helmut didn't die in situ, there wasn't enough blood. I found threads of wool on his skin, which means that whoever killed him stripped him, then wrapped him in a blanket and moved him."
    Bowie said, "Which means the killer hauled him out and dumped him in those thick bushes in Van Wie Park, took all his clothes, his shoes, anything that identified him."
    Sherlock said, "Herr Blauvelt is good-sized. I can see a strong woman bashing him, but carrying all that dead weight? Not likely. But I don't get it-why didn't the killer simply bury him deep in the woods, where he wouldn't be found, if keeping his identity a secret was so important?"
    They all pondered that. Bowie said, "Maybe he didn't have the time or the opportunity. When we get him, we'll ask."
    Savich said, "I wonder what the killer did with his clothes."
    "I've still got agents out looking. Nothing yet."
    "Any clue where he was staying?"
    "Not so far. Agents are checking all the hotels, inns, and motels within a ten-mile radius. So far, nothing on Helmut Blauvelt checking in anywhere. Of course, he could have used an alias, a fake credit card. Or he could have been staying with someone, maybe the same person who killed him. And that means starting interviews with all the Schiffer Hartwin executives."
    Savich said, "Yeah, it sounds reasonable he might have been staying with the big muckety-mucks here in Stone Bridge. You've spoken to the CEO, Caskie Royal?"
    Bowie nodded. "Which brings up the break-in of Caskie Royal's office late last night. Some coincidence, huh? Well, it turns out Royal showed up while the thief was there. The commotion alerted the guard, and he was the one who called the cops, not Royal. I wonder if Royal would have called at all since he wasn't alone. His production manager, Carla Alvarez, was with him. To work, he told me. The guard, when I spoke to him, didn't say a word about it, stayed stone-faced. I haven't spoken yet to Alvarez, but I've seen a picture. I'd guess they were there to visit his sofa.
    "Royal was insistent when I spoke to him this morning that nothing was missing, and that he has no idea who it was. He claims his arrival must have thwarted the thief from taking anything."
    "I wonder who broke into his office," Sherlock said. "Was it