JT clamped his jaw shut so firmly Dez thought his teeth were going to crack.
The chief’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them. “We called in for a shitload of backup. If Diviny and Natalie come up dry, we’ll start a proper search of the woods, and our people are already checking the buildings.”
Dez pointed to the gables of a whitewashed Victorian barely visible beyond the Grove. “At least let us check Doc’s old house.”
“I thought it was empty,” said Goss.
“It’s up for sale, yes, but it’s not empty,” corrected Dez. “Doc’s sister, April, and her two little kids, Tommy and Gail, have been living there while her divorce is being finalized. Been there two weeks. We didn’t get a chance to check on them, so let us—”
“No,” Goss said firmly. “I’ll send someone else. You go work on that report. Give me something that doesn’t sound like science-fucking-fiction.”
Dez turned away to keep the hurt she was feeling from showing. JT sighed heavily. They watched officers Ken Gunther and Dana Howard vanish into a path that wound through the Grove to the old Hartnup house. Without turning, Dez said, “This was a righteous shooting, Chief.”
When the chief did not answer, Dez turned and locked eyes with him for several silent seconds. Gradually, the stern line of Goss’s mouth softened a little and he sighed. “Christ, I hope so, Dez.”
JT said, “Are we going to need a lawyer?”
Goss sighed. “Not with me. But the state’s going to come in on this, no question about it. Talk to the union rep, get their lawyers on standby.”
They turned suddenly as the forensic officer, Scott, came hurrying out of the mortuary, waving a clipboard at them. As he closed in on them he said, “JT, Dez … what happened to the third body?”
JT and Dez stared blankly at him.
“Which third body?” asked Goss.
“The dead one,” said Scott.
“You trying to be funny?” barked JT.
“No,” said Scott, “I mean the body from the morgue. The one that Doc Hartnup was here to work on. What happened to it?”
JT shook his head. “There were no bodies in the cold room or the prep room. Doc might have been here to do paperwork or—”
“No,” Scott cut in, “there was definitely a body.” He tapped the papers on the clipboard with a fingernail. “It was on the log. Came in a little over two hours ago. Doc signed for it himself.”
“There were footprints of a third person,” JT said slowly. “Somebody must have come in and moved the body.”
“Footprints I saw were bare feet,” said Scott. “That’s kind of weird.”
“Everything’s kind of weird today,” JT said under his breath. “Question is why someone — bare feet or not — would come in, kill Doc Hartnup, attack the cleaning lady, and then carry off a corpse.”
Scott sucked his teeth. “Maybe this was all about stealing the body. Someone breaks in to do that and didn’t know Doc was there. Might have been opportunistic.”
“Doc’s car’s parked right outside,” said Goss.
“Yeah, but Doc could have arrived after the perp was inside. Ditto for the cleaning lady.”
“Which brings us back to why someone would want to steal a corpse,” said JT. “And it might have been more than one person. Corpses are heavy as hell.”
“Yeah, dead weight,” joked Scott. No one laughed. He cleared his throat and said, “Seems like an obvious motive to me.”
“Not to me,” growled Goss.
“Are you kidding? Celebrity corpses are hot,” Scott said, gesturing with the clipboard, “especially one like this?”
The word “celebrity” hung in the air for a moment, and then Dez snatched the clipboard out of Scott’s hand. She scanned the form and gasped.
Goss and JT read over her shoulder. The top sheet was a standard mortuary receiving order for the transfer of a body from a prison to a local funeral home. However, it was attached to a signed and notarized confidentiality agreement from the warden of the State Correctional Institution at Rockview. It was couched in complex legalese that promised fines, loss of business license and criminal prosecution if Dr. Lee Hartnup broke the seal of secrecy to reveal the name of the deceased prisoner entrusted to his care.
Standing there under the harsh morning light, they read the name.
Dez was unable to speak. Goss just stared at the paper, mouthing the name silently.
JT whispered, “Holy mother of God…”
The name of the deceased was Homer Gibbon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“This is Magic Marti at the mike with the latest on the storm. Despite heavy winds, the storm front is slowing down and looks like it’s going to park right on the Maryland-Pennsylvania border, with Stebbins County taking the brunt of it. They’re calling for torrential rains and strong winds, along with severe flooding. And here’s a twist … even though this is a November storm, warm air masses from the south are bringing significant lightning, and so far there have been several serious strikes. Air traffic is being diverted around the storm. So, let’s settle back and listen to some appropriate tunes. First up we have Bob Dylan with ‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.’”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Billy Trout was totally jazzed about the story. Or stories, as it would probably turn out. There was the short-term exclusive — Homer Gibbon, the killer comes home. That was gold, particularly since the only previous hometown for the serial killer had been a series of foster homes in the Pittsburgh metropolitan area. Nobody — no- fucking-body — knew about his connection to Stebbins. Nobody knew he had an Aunt Selma.
And, Trout thought as he gathered up his field gear into his laptop case, how cool was the name “Selma”? Selma Elsbeth Conroy. Aunt Selma. It was tailor-made for a news story, and perfect for Hollywood. Which was the second story. Trout had promised himself that if there was even a scrap of meat on this bone he’d turn it into a box office feast. Fuck Lifetime … He was going to pitch this to someone huge. Scorsese. De Palma. Maybe Sam Raimi. Get Helen Mirren to play Aunt Selma. Maybe work in a hint of incest and get Kate Winslett to play Selma as a younger woman.
The thing was writing itself.
For the first time in weeks he felt like getting up and coming to work had some purpose. He was so excited that he wished he could call Dez Fox and share the news with her, but … that would be a bad move. The last time they broke up, Dez had made it abundantly clear that she would rather be eaten by rats than hear from Trout again. It didn’t matter that the breakup was her fault.
Trout understood it because he understood Dez. He understood it every time they broke up, and every time they got back together. Dez was damaged goods and probably always would be. She had a heart of gold — Trout knew that for certain — but it was surrounded by barbed wire and land mines.
He glanced at the pictures of her that were pinned to the inside walls of his cubicle. Dez in tight jeans and a halter, wildflowers in her hair, laughing at something Trout had said while he took her picture. Dez graduating from the police academy. Dez sitting along on the dock behind Trout’s house, her arms wrapped around her knees, her
