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sparse. Nothing personal.”
    “Minimalist. I’ve been in my apartment for nearly four years and it looks pretty much like this.”
    “That’s because you work twelve-hour days.”
    “Or maybe because I’m orderly.”
    Lucy put on her gloves and opened the medicine cabinet. She found two prescriptions, one for birth control pills, one for Valium. The Valium had been refilled two weeks ago, but at sight Lucy didn’t think more than one or two were missing. The birth control pills came in a six-month supply. The box was in a drawer. There were two months left.
    Wendy kept her extensive makeup collection in two drawers, well-organized with separate trays for each type of product—eye shadow, lipstick, brushes, mascara. A cosmetics bag in the bottom drawer had a complete but minimal set of supplies.
    Her toilet paper was stacked in neat rows under her sink. Feminine products were in separate trays. There were no extraneous boxes, each drawer was lined and clean. The shampoo, conditioner, and soap were lined up in the shower, labels facing out, perfectly symmetrical.
    “She’s severely OCD,” Lucy said to herself. Lucy wasn’t a slob like her sister Carina, but she wasn’t this anal about her personal space. She lived in tidy clutter. Living like this would drive her as batty as living in a mess.
    “Did you say something?” Noah asked as he stepped into the bathroom.
    “I think I know the victim a bit better.” She pointed out some of the personality traits. “Meticulous to the point of sociopathic.”
    “Sociopathic?” Noah questioned.
    “A disorder. Not crazy or psychopathic, but she has some definite neuroses.”
    “I like it.”
    “Do you keep your drawer this neat?” She opened the makeup drawer.
    “No, that’s a little extreme, even for a military boy like me.”
    “Anything on the computer?” she asked, stepping into the bedroom.
    “Not yet. We can’t find her cell phone and she has no landline. A purse was hanging in the closet with a wallet, but no driver’s license. Her car—a late-model Camaro—is in the garage. The keys we recovered at the crime scene match the car and the apartment.”
    “There was no personal identification on the body, correct?”
    “Nothing found so far.”
    “I always take my ID and phone when I run.”
    “The only thing the canvass found was a small can of Mace and keys. Could have fallen out of her pocket during the attack.”
    “Or she tried to stop her attacker, but couldn’t get to it fast enough.” Mace was a great defensive tool, but only with proper training. Not only did the potential victim need to know how to use the spray effectively, but she should also have advanced self-defense training to learn to be more aware of her surroundings and potential threats. Lucy, who was hyperaware of what went on around her, was sometimes guilty of complacency while running. It was easy to get lulled by the comfortable rhythm of a steady pace.
    “The crime scene didn’t feel like a robbery,” Noah said.
    “Did you find anything in the drawers or closet?”
    Noah averted his eyes, but Lucy picked up on the subtle tension and looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Clothing, personal items. There was an overnight bag in the closet packed with marital aids.”
    It took Lucy a second to realize what Noah meant. “You mean sex toys?”
    He nodded.
    “Why are you acting surprised?” She hoped he wasn’t walking on eggshells because of her. “Wendy James was an attractive twenty-five-year-old woman having an affair. It’s reasonable to assume she had an active sex life.”
    She walked out of the bedroom, realizing she wasn’t comfortable talking about sex toys with Noah. Murder, sexual assault, forensics, psychology—no problem. But Lucy couldn’t joke about sex like many cops did. She blamed her past, and wished she could just be normal. Or at least act normal. Put on a show, pretend she was just like everyone else.
    But she wasn’t. While she was certainly