2
Evan paced as the medical examiner looked over the body in the trunk. He’d tried calling Sophia at Blossom Bounty, her florist shop downtown, but the employee who answered said Sophia had the day off and hadn’t heard from her. Worried, Evan had called and asked Detective Noelle Marshall to go to the woman’s home. He felt as if he’d had too much caffeine. Every nerve twanged in his limbs, wanting him to hunt down Sophia.
Rod’s daughter had been like a sister to Evan for a long time. At one point they’d tried to date but discovered they made better friends. He was close to her twelve-year-old son, Zack, whose asshole father, Charlie Graham, currently sat in prison, partly thanks to Evan.
Evan had still been a county deputy when he arrested Charlie.
He crossed his fingers that Detective Marshall would locate Sophia. He would hate to have someone else inform her of her father’s death, but at the moment he couldn’t leave the scene. He knew Detective Marshall would handle it with compassion.
“I hate flies.” Dr. Natasha Lockhart shuddered as she leaned into the trunk, conducting her exam of Rod McLeod. “ Hate them. I prefer maggots over flies any day. At least you can see where they’re going. Damned flies are all over the place.” She waved an arm at the dozen near her head. “Get off me!”
Evan held back his surprise as he watched. He’d seen the medical examiner stoically assess horrendous situations and never shudder or speak so vehemently. Occasionally he had wondered what type of scene would push a medical examiner’s buttons. Like him, they had to compartmentalize when faced with horrors, and the examiners he’d worked with had always presented a calm front no matter what was before them.
Today I discovered that flies push Natasha’s buttons.
Once Dr. Lockhart had arrived on scene, she’d taken one look at the fly-covered trunk and put on every piece of personal protective equipment in her kit, including a papery head covering that resembled a shower cap. At previous crime scenes, Evan had only seen her in gloves and booties.
Today is different in several ways.
Over the past hour, Moon’s Junkyard had become a magnet for police. It seemed as if every member of law enforcement in the county had made an appearance. Even if it was their day off.
One of their own had been taken down.
Evan had given orders for everyone to stay behind the front gate if they hadn’t been assigned to the case. Twice he’d gone out to the gravel parking lot to get something out of his SUV. The lot was packed with vehicles from multiple divisions, and law enforcement milled around, their restless energy and frustration clouding the air like a heavy smog.
The deadly crime had stoked a need to be around their fellow officers and swap stories about Rod. To talk and to see each other. To come together to mourn in their own way. Faces were grim; tears were present. For some, venting was a coping mechanism. Evan had heard a few low mutters about making sure that Rod’s killer never made it to prison.
He hated to hear the talk, but he understood they were letting off steam so they didn’t explode. But the steam came out as ugly words.
“Find the asshole,” Evan had been ordered several times as he passed the crowd. He’d nodded and made eye contact with several people but hadn’t stopped to talk.
He had a job to do.
Evan waved a group of flies off Dr. Lockhart’s back. “What do you think, Natasha?”
She didn’t answer, continuing to gently poke and prod the body. The petite doctor moved to the side of the car and stretched over the fender to push Rod’s shoulder forward to get a look at his back. Evan stepped up, placed one hand behind Rod’s shoulder and his other on the victim’s middle back, and rolled him forward slightly. It was more difficult than he’d expected. The trunk was cramped; Rod had been a tall man. His knees were pulled up almost to his stomach, his feet pressing against one side of the trunk and his head against the other.
The flesh was soft; rigor mortis had come and gone. Evan locked his emotions behind a door in his brain and held Rod in place for the medical examiner. He studied the body and swallowed hard as he scanned for indicators to help determine the time of death. Decomposition had clearly started. It appeared the body had suffered numerous cuts, which the flies crawled in and out of. It was bloated, and the skin had a greenish-gray marbling, but he didn’t see the leakage of bodily fluids that could indicate a later stage of decay.
“Fucking flies!” Natasha angrily waved her arm again, and Evan froze as he got a glimpse of her red eyes and tears. He’d never seen her cry over a victim.
It’s not the flies upsetting her. It’s Rod.
Her anger at the flies was a cover. She wasn’t cursing at them; she was cursing about Rod’s murder.
“You were close to him,” Evan stated.
Natasha sniffed behind her mask and face shield but didn’t look up from palpating Rod’s back. “Yes.”
Evan waited to see if she’d say more. She remained quiet, her gaze never leaving the victim.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “He was special to me too.”
“I know,” she said. “He told me you were the best detective he’d ever trained.”
Her words pierced his heart, and he blinked rapidly. Evan knew his hard work had earned Rod’s respect and approval, but Natasha’s statement took it to another level. He blew out a breath. “Thank you for telling me.”
A bit of guilt touched him because he couldn’t reciprocate. He’d never seen an indication or even heard that Natasha and Rod were tight. He thought for a moment and estimated the age difference to be twenty years—maybe twenty-five.
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, apparently reading his mind. “I’ll fill you in later. It’s not relevant at the moment.” She cleared her throat. “He’s been moved,” she said in a tone that belonged in a lecture hall. “The lividity pattern on his back does not match his current position. I estimate he was put in the trunk sometime overnight—probably early this morning.” She stepped back, and Evan allowed the body to return to its original position.
“So maybe a day or two since his death?”
“Depends on the type of environment he was kept in.” She removed her gloves and laid them on the body. “If that bullet hole wasn’t the cause of death, it certainly made sure he was dead. I’ll know more after his autopsy. In an ideal world, I’d have you move the car with the body still inside to a controlled environment to start my full exam.” She glared at the dozens of broken-down cars blocking in the Camry. “That doesn’t seem possible here, so I’ll stick around to supervise the removal of the body. I trust them, but an extra pair of eyes won’t hurt.” She moved a few steps away, pulled the protective equipment off her head, and gave a nod to the evidence team, which had been impatiently waiting for her to finish. “I’m always thorough, but I’ll be doubly thorough with this one.” She frowned. “That sounded like I don’t give my best to every case.”
“I knew what you meant,” said Evan. “I’d had a similar thought about my investigation.” He studied the small woman. Sweat soaked her hairline and her posture was stiff. “Maybe someone else should handle his autopsy?”
“No,” she snapped, her eyes instantly angry. But then she stilled, emotions flickering across her face. “I see your point, but it won’t make a difference in my job.”
Am I too close to Rod to lead the investigation?
Like Natasha, Evan didn’t think so. Besides, all the detectives had known Rod.
“Natasha, do you have any idea of who would do this? When did you last talk to Rod?”
Sad amusement touched her eyes. “Starting already, Detective?”
Evan noted she didn’t use his first name as she usually did. “I started the moment I got the call. Your insight could be helpful.”
She sighed. “Sorry about that. I’m a little punchy. My brain has been in overdrive analyzing everything he’s ever said to me, but honestly nothing has jumped out. I know of nothing helpful now.”
“I’ll need an interview.”
“Just tell me when.”
“Soon. I’ll probably talk to his daughter, Sophia, first.”
“She’s been notified?”
“I sent Detective Marshall to do it in person.” Evan looked back at the body, his guilt surging again. But he couldn’t be everywhere at once. Rod had said those exact words to him numerous times before Evan had become better at delegating. Rod’s guidance had made him a good detective. He sent a mental thank-you toward the remains.
That’s not Rod. He’s with Ellen now.
He pictured Rod and his wife in their usual spot on the porch of their home, welcoming Evan for dinner. He’d had dozens of meals—maybe hundreds—with them and Sophia over the last decade. Ellen had passed two years ago after a long battle with cancer, her health one of the reasons Rod had retired. Her big heart and sense of humor had made her a treasure.
“Say hello to Ellen for me,” Evan murmured. “Tell her I promise to find who did this.”
Time to get to work.
His phone rang with a call from Detective Noelle Marshall. “Bolton,” he answered.
“Evan, I’m at Sophia McLeod’s home.” Noelle’s voice was tight. “I don’t know what happened here, but it doesn’t look good. Sophia’s gone, and there’re signs of a struggle. Forced entry. Broken glass. Lotta blood.”
Evan froze. “Cordon off the scene.”
“Already done. I called for some assistance and—”
“Is the blood fresh?”
Could it possibly be Rod’s murder scene?
He’d already sent two officers to check Rod’s home and secure it until he could arrive. They’d reported that all appeared normal at the house except that Rod’s truck wasn’t in the garage. Evan had immediately sent out a BOLO for the vehicle.
“It’s dried,” said Noelle. “But I’ve got a gut feeling it didn’t happen that long ago.”
It has to be related.
“Any sign of her son, Zack?”
“No. But there’s no vehicle here. Maybe they’re out somewhere.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Evan said. “I’m wrapping it up here.” He ended the call, his mind racing.
“What happened?” asked Natasha.
“Not sure. Sounds like someone broke into Sophia McLeod’s home. There’re signs of a struggle and a lot of blood, but she and her son aren’t there.” He glanced at the forensics tech who was taking more photos. Processing the scene would take them hours. There was no point in him watching over their shoulders. Everyone would be extra-thorough today.
Before Natasha had arrived, Evan had conducted a more extensive interview with the junkyard owner, and he currently had a copy of four days’ worth of gate camera footage in his pocket. “I don’t think there’s much more for me to do here at the moment,” he told Natasha. “I want to get over there.”
“Go. I’m staying for a while.” Natasha waved him off. “Hopefully I won’t see you later today.” She winced at her words. It was a typical parting joke that both MEs and law enforcement used, meaning they didn’t want to need the other person’s services any more that day. Evan knew Natasha had said it without thinking, but then she had recalled he was headed to a scene where she might be needed again.
“Crossing my fingers,” said Evan, and he left to work his way out of the automotive jungle.
Sophia and Zack have to be okay.