Chapter 2 #2
Pierce agreed. “And it’s not over yet.”
Jamison gave a curt nod as he headed toward the rec room. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Will you contact Augustin?” he asked, referencing Pierce’s most recent partner, Sol Augustin. “I think she’s out of town.”
“Coming back tomorrow morning, but I’ll loop her in.”
“Good.” Jamison seemed satisfied. “Let’s roll.”
Pierce was already on his way outside, Nikki in lockstep.
“Billy Huber?” Nikki said once they were in the car. She remembered the name from when she’d written about a single-car accident that had taken Linda-Sue Huber’s life. Nikki had been a reporter for the Savannah Sentinel at the time. “His wife died, what? Six, maybe seven years ago?”
“Around eight, I think.” Pierce’s headlights cut through the night. “Something like that.”
He was wrapped in concentration, and she saw his face in profile, illuminated by the dash lights. In her mind, he was still startlingly handsome. Not a Hollywood he-man, but tall and lanky, with thick dark hair and light brown eyes that could glint gold when he was angry.
Of course, they were often at odds over her career.
Though she was now a freelance journalist and author and no longer worked shifts at the newspaper’s office, she was always interested in her husband’s cases, and that caused friction between them.
That said, they never grew tired of each other.
Theirs was not one of those steady, by-the-book, everything-on-a-schedule marriages, but it worked.
Sometimes their fights were mercurial, but their relationship was never, ever dull.
The truth was that Nikki was in love with Pierce now as much as she’d been when she’d first set eyes on him.
Now his eyebrows were drawn together, his jaw set in granite, beard shadow evident. As she studied him, she felt a little thrill. Silly, she supposed, after all these years, but there it was.
As he drove, the illumination from the headlights of approaching cars washing over them, Pierce placed a call to his partner.
When Sol Augustin didn’t pick up, he left a message and turned deeper into the low country, where traffic thinned and the woods deepened.
Pierce was on his phone several times during the drive, each conversation short and clipped, while Nikki continually checked hers, searching for information on William Huber and his deceased wife.
“This must be the place,” Pierce said, spying an overgrown lane.
Tree branches formed a canopy overhead, weeds and vines created hazards in the ruts of the drive, and through the brush, Nikki saw the pulsating lights of emergency vehicles.
They rounded a final corner to a clearing where several police cars were parked.
Portable lights illuminated an area littered with debris from last night’s storm, the ground already covered by junk of every shape and size.
Under the artificial illumination, old washers and refrigerators, tools and equipment, televisions and rusting car parts were visible.
Nikki even recognized the front end of an ancient Studebaker, tires included, like the one she remembered her grandfather driving before she’d entered elementary school.
A hoarder’s dream.
A fire marshal’s nightmare.
“Look at this,” she whispered, taking it all in and noticing the fire truck and EMT vehicles idling, drivers at the wheels.
In the middle of it all, surrounded by men and women in uniform, some with flashlights, was the body of a bearded man in jeans and a sweatshirt, lying supine, the back of his head impaled on the blade of a rusted garden tiller.
A fallen ladder lay nearby, resting on what appeared to be part of a Whac-A-Mole display.
“Billy Huber?” Nikki asked, focusing on the dead body.
“I assume.” Pierce had cut the engine of his Jeep and was opening the driver’s side door. He paused, his eyes finding hers. “Stay put.”
“I—”
“I mean it, Nikki.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
He paused for just a second, his lips tight as conversation and the sound of a barking dog drifted into the car.
“Just don’t order me around,” she insisted. “Okay? I said I’d wait, and I will.”
“Remember. This is police business.”
“Got it.” From the corner of one eye, Nikki saw the source of the noise, a shaggy shepherd, pacing on the porch and barking like crazy. “Is that dog limping?” she asked, turning to look at the animal, who was separated from the barnyard by a wire fence.
“Don’t know.” Pierce slammed the car door shut and picked his way around an unruly stack of tires and over the patchy, unmown grass to the area where several officers had collected.
A bit stung by his harsh tone, Nikki eyed the scene through the windshield but couldn’t hear the conversation he was having with the other cops.
She was trying to tamp down her irritation and keep her emotions under rein.
Pierce wasn’t being high-handed, she told herself.
He was doing his job. But yeah, he could whittle down his authoritative attitude by more than a few notches.
She’d never been one to take orders. He knew that. But he also knew that the last time she’d disobeyed him, the consequences had been traumatic. Deadly. She bit her lip. But the word disobeyed stuck in her craw. He was a partner, her husband …
And a homicide detective who’d lost his partner.
Because of you, that nasty voice in her head reminded her.
There was a lot of emotional baggage involved in that particular incident. A lot. She counted herself lucky that she was still married.
She absently rubbed her abdomen and watched as the emergency vehicles drove away. No need for the EMTs to stick around, nor the fire department. Billy Huber was obviously dead. And had been for a while, she guessed, noting the dried blood on his body and the tiller’s blade.
She scanned the area, turned on the AC, and lowered the passenger door window, letting in a warm breeze that brought with it the scent of pine and earth and something she couldn’t quite name.
Death.
That was it.
This whole place appeared as if it were dying.
From the looks of it, Billy Huber had toppled from the ladder, stripping off a gutter that lay near him. And he’d had the bad luck to fall onto the blades. Except that the police were suspicious that a crime had been committed.
She wondered about it, as she stared at the blood crusted in the victim’s matted hair.
Had someone intentionally knocked Billy off the ladder, then rammed his head into the sharp, spiky disks that reminded her of ninja stars?
But who would do this to him? And why? Was it really murder?
Or just an awful accident? She squinted at the dead body while vaguely aware of the still-barking dog.
It was hard to see, but it looked as if he’d somehow injured his neck, too. Wasn’t that blood at the base of his throat? Some kind of cut?
If only she could get a better view …
Over the barking, she heard one burly deputy ask Pierce, “Possibly an accident? You think he fell and hit his head?”
Pierce wasn’t convinced. “If so, he was pretty unlucky.”
“Was he? If ya ask me, ya fall off a ladder into this mess of a yard, and nine times outta ten yer gonna hit somethin’. Take a look around. Have you ever seen so much shit scattered in a yard? Mother of God, this place is a pigsty. So much goddamned crap. You’d think my ex lived here!”
A woman cop nearby said, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.
” She was tall and lean, athletic, her brown hair brushing her shoulders, her face pale in the harsh light.
Nikki thought she recognized her, had met her at some of the station functions—maybe last year’s Christmas party.
Her name was Liz something … what was it?
Martin? No. Maddox. Liz Maddox. Yeah, that was it.
“If you say so.” The big man was clearly skeptical.
“I’ve seen your desk, Swanson,” she replied with a huff. “You got no call to judge.”
Oh, right, Ron Swanson. He was a deputy, Nikki thought. She’d heard his name before, but had never met him. She made a mental note and wished to high heaven she could hear more. If she could just take a peek around …
“Goddamn! Can someone shut that fuckin’ mutt up!” It was Swanson again, and he was glaring at the porch, where the dog continued its incessant barking.
She could help with the shepherd. She was good with dogs.
No!
She’d promised Pierce.
She fought a mental battle, but her fingers strayed to the door handle.
She wouldn’t be hindering but helping, she reasoned.
“I swear if that damned cur don’t stop that infernal racket,” Swanson declared, “I’ll take care of him myself!”
“I’ll call animal control.” Maddox was reaching for her cell phone, and Nikki clicked open the Jeep’s door to step outside as Pierce, ignoring the bickering and racket, crouched down for a better look at the body.
Nikki slipped outside, closing the Jeep’s door softly so that the interior light winked off.
“Don’t call animal control,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the barking and chatter of conversation.
“I’ve got this,” and she started for the fenced area around the house.
She caught a glimpse of her husband’s tightened lips before he gave a quick shake of his head.
Ignoring his silent warning, she slipped through the gate just as she heard Swanson say, “Hey! What the fuck is this? Jesus, it’s got a number carved into it—Looks like a six or …
well, maybe a nine, depending on which is end is up. ”
“It’s a rock, Swanson. For Crissakes, look at all this junk,” his partner said, waving an arm at the piles of trash only made worse by the broken tree branches littering the area. “One damned rock in acres of this crap, and that’s what you focus on?”
Nikki shot a look at Swanson, who was holding up a stone in his gloved hand. “It was next to the body. Kinda tucked under it. Maybe dropped out of the guy’s pocket. And look at it. Shiny. Probably polished. Like a big agate.”
“Okay.” Maddox was unmoved.