Back of Beyond

“I didn’t get the chance. Skeeter was fast for a ghoul.”

“You refused to take a breathalyzer test.”

“It’s my right. I don’t trust those portable things. I took one later here at the station.”

“Hours later,” Bodean said, “after the alcohol in your system had a chance to metabolize. And you still came in a.88. That’s barely sober and it was four hours after the shooting. And the officer on the scene said you smelled like a still.”

“Dougherty wouldn’t know a still if he tripped over it,” Cody said.

“You’re lucky Skeeter was wearing a vest. Your first slug hit him here,” Bodean gestured toward his heart. “The second one was above the armor and really messed up his shoulder. But he should be okay and giving press conferences any time now.”

Instinctively, Cody reached up and touched the compress taped over his right ear where Skeeter’s round had clipped him. The bullet had taken a half inch of his earlobe and the wound bled like crazy until they got it stopped.

After the emergency room docs had bandaged and released him, he’d tried to talk to the coroner, who was upstairs in the same hospital. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to yell at Skeeter or apologize or shoot him again. He didn’t get an opportunity to make the choice because a hospital security officer wouldn’t let him past his desk until visiting hours.

“Why in God’s name was Skeeter wearing a vest and carrying a weapon in the first place?” Cody asked. “He’s the coroner. And he shouldn’t have snuck a reporter into a crime scene just so she could get some photos. That’s not right. He was acting suspiciously.”

“We’d all like to know that and it’ll come out in the investigation,” Tubman said. “He might be in as much trouble as you are or more. But in this instance I’m glad he had the vest or we’d have a homicide investigation going and you’d be in our jail.”

Cody shrugged. “Speaking of homicide,” he said, “I’d still like to help on the Hank Winters murder investigation.”

“It wasn’t a homicide,” Tubman said with force.

“It was,” Cody said.

“Stay away from it,” Tubman said. “Stay away from this office. Stay away from Larry.” He leaned forward on his desk and balled his fists. “And stay the hell away from me.”

The door opened and Edna stuck her head in. “Sheriff, the governor is on the line. He wants a briefing.”

Tubman moaned and sat back. To Cody, he said, “Go away. Go straight out the door and go home. Don’t even talk to anyone. And stay by your phone.”

Before Cody left the room, he ducked behind the sheriff and turned the offending hat over.

* * *

Larry was alone in the detective room, scrolling through digital images of the crime scene Cody had shot two nights before. Although his shoulders tensed when Cody entered the room, he didn’t greet him. And when Cody shut the door behind him, Larry seemed to be studying the screen even more intently than before.

“I’ll be out of here in a minute,” Cody said.

He went to his desk and started filling an empty box he’d grabbed outside the evidence room with his papers, gear, and the nascent murder book he’d begun.

“Next time,” Larry said finally, “go for a head shot.”

“Ha.”

“Man, when you dive in you go deep. I’ll give that to you.”

Cody grunted.

“A gold-wrapped chocolate coin?” Larry laughed.

“It worked, sort of,” Cody said. “If the killer thought he’d left one behind…”

“You know what’s going to happen,” Larry said. “Skeeter knows he’s in trouble, too. So he’s going to try and get out ahead of it with the press and the voters. He’s going to start yapping and paint you in the worst light possible and try to taint the investigation.”

Cody shrugged.

“So, what happened with the sheriff?”

“I’m suspended until they clear me.”

“You are so fucking lucky, Cody. You could have killed the coroner or gotten killed yourself. And I don’t doubt for a second that you were hammered at the time.”

“I was blitzed,” Cody said. “But when I pulled the trigger I felt completely sober. Strange how that happens. Adrenaline trumps alcohol: remember that.”

“Are you over it? The binge, I mean?”

Cody said, “I think so. I’m not promising anything, though.”

“Yeah,” Larry said, finally swiveling around in his chair to face him, “I found out how solid your promises are.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” Cody said, looking out the window at the lawn in front of the Law Enforcement Center. “And I want to thank you again for covering for me.”

“The last time,” Larry said. “Ever.”

“That’s reasonable.”

Larry let a beat pass. Then, “I’m rethinking the Winters death.”

“You are?” For the first time in forty-eight hours, he felt a little nudge of hope.

“Yeah. While you were partying with your old pals yesterday, I was doing police work.”

“And?”

“The preliminary autopsy shows blunt head trauma. Of course, they don’t know yet whether is was pre- or postmortem. I mean, the guy was covered with the beams from his roof that fell on his noggin. But there wasn’t any smoke in his lungs. Meaning he was likely dead before the fire got out of hand. As you know, it’s never the fire that kills ’em. It’s the smoke.”

“Interesting there was no inhalation.”

“And there’s another thing good about all that rain and cold weather,” Larry said. “According to the lab, there had been too much time between the death and the discovery of the body to find out if there was any alcohol in his bloodstream. Plus, the heat of the fire could have literally burned it out. But because the body was kept fairly cool, they’re going to cut his eyes out and test ’em.”

Cody winced. “His eyes?”

Larry read from his notes. “The vitreous humor can be tested. This is the jellylike substance within the eyeball. Alcohol can be detected there and it lags behind the blood level. That is, it reflects the blood level about two hours prior to death. If it is elevated, the ME can say that the victim was likely intoxicated. They can’t get a blood alcohol level, but they can possibly say it was there at the time of death.”

“When will they call you back?”

Larry shrugged. “Soon, I hope. It’s not definitive, but if there’s no smoke in the lungs and no sign of alcohol consumption, it will pretty much kill my accident or suicide theory. Because that means somebody opened a bottle and left it to be found with the body, and somebody opened the door of the stove.”

Nodding, Cody said, “So our killer bashed him in the head, drank or poured out the bottle, and set the place on fire.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Larry said.

“Well,” Cody said, “here’s another jump. Whoever did it knew Hank once had problems with alcohol. Since Hank hadn’t had a drop in five years, they’d have to know Hank’s history. A stranger wouldn’t likely know that, would he?”

Larry started to argue but the edges of his mouth turned down and he nodded. “I see where you’re going. But who would know, besides you?”

Cody didn’t answer. He let Larry figure it out.

“Every other person in your AA group,” Larry said. “You people confess everything to each other.