The Celebutantes by Antonio Pagliarulo Page A

said. “He’s not in the biker outfit.”
    Madison cupped a hand over her mouth. Tears streamed along her fingers. “The poor guy,” she whispered. “He probably died of fear before he even hit the ground. The adrenaline must’ve shot through him and totally wrecked his heart.”
    Lex nodded. “I know. He might’ve been sleazy, but this is a horrible way to go. But I don’t think he died in midair, Madison. The fall was too quick. He died instantly from the blunt trauma of hitting concrete at a million miles an hour.”
    â€œRight,” Park said. “But the cause of death is from internal hemorrhaging. Every organ in his body is oozing right now, not just his brain.”
    â€œAnd look at his right ankle,” Madison said. “It’s all blue and broken. Isn’t that multiple combustion?”
    â€œMultiple
contusions,
” Park corrected her. She pointed down to the front of the body. “But look very closely. Do you see what I’m seeing?”
    â€œAll I see is white T-shirt and blood,” Madison said.
    â€œMe too,” Lex agreed.
    â€œLook closer,” Park urged them. “Pretend the bloodstains aren’t there. Look right in the middle of the shirt. Do you see it?”
    Lex leaned forward, cradling the magic purse against her chest. She squinted and cupped her hand over her eyes. “Oh, shit!” she said a few seconds later. “It’s a handprint.”
    Park smiled. “Bingo.”
    â€œMove over,” Madison said. She pushed Lex to the side and assumed the same position. Then she righted herself, and her eyes went wide.
    The faint outline was there, darker in certain spots than others. At first glance it looked like a simple, light water stain pressed into the white fabric. But on closer examination, it totally resembled a handprint. Or the first three fingers of a handprint.
    â€œI see it,” Madison said quietly. “But…couldn’t
he
have made that himself? What if it’s
his
handprint we’re staring at?”
    Park shot her a suspicious look. “What if it isn’t?”
    â€œIt’s definitely not a simple stain,” Lex said. “Look at how dark the upper tip of the imprint is. If it was water, it would have dried by now.”
    â€œI have to agree with you there.” Park reached for her cell, flipped it open, and snapped three pics.
    â€œSo you’re saying that he was pushed just because of that little mark?” Madison asked incredulously. “That handprint could be anything. Maybe it’s not water, but what if it’s something that just dried there?”
    â€œLike what?” Park asked in return.
    â€œLike…” Madison’s voice trailed off.
    â€œLike an oil-based moisturizer?” Lex said suddenly. “I hate them—they always leave stains.”
    â€œBoth of you are taking this too far,” Madison countered. “You can’t make that kind of assessment until his shirt has been examined forensically.”
    Park dropped the cell into her purse. She examined the body more closely. She noted its position, its slackness. Then her eyes caught something suspicious, and she felt her pulse quicken. “Look at his hands.”
    Madison blinked. “His hands?”
    â€œYep,” Park said firmly. “I don’t like what I’m seeing here.”
    Lex squatted down beside the body, her heels just missing pools of blood. She looked at Elijah’s right hand, then his left. She gasped. “His palms are
scraped,
” she said fiercely. “And two of the fingernails on his left hand are broken.”
    â€œEvidence that he tried desperately to hold on to the ledge after he was pushed,” Park deduced.
    â€œOr evidence that he got scared and tried to hang on to the ledge in the last moments before he committed suicide.” Madison folded her arms across her chest. “Like maybe he