Lena had her pen out, but she wasn’t writing.
He said, “It’s garbage pick-up day. Make sure we talk to the crew. I want to know if they saw anything suspicious.”
Lena looked back toward the street, then at the forest. “The victim tripped, Chief. Her head hit a giant rock. There’s blood all over it. Why do we need witnesses?”
“Were you there when it happened? Is that exactly what you saw?”
Lena had no immediate answer. Jeffrey started walking across the field. Lena had to jog to keep up with him. She had been on the force for three and a half years, but she was smart and most of the time, she listened, so he went out of his way to teach her.
He said, “I want you to remember this, because it’s important. This young woman has a family. She’s got parents, siblings, friends. We are going to have to tell them that she’s dead. They need to know we did a thorough job investigating the cause of her death. You treat every case as a homicide until you know it’s not.”
Lena’s pen was finally moving. She was transcribing every word. He saw her underline homicide twice. “I’ll check the incident reports and follow up on the garbage truck.”
“What’s the victim’s name?”
“She didn’t have ID, but Matt’s at the college asking around.”
“Good.” Of the detectives on the force, Matt Hogan was the most compassionate. There were some solid men on patrol, too. Jeffrey had gotten lucky with most of the legacy hires. Only a few were dead weight, and they would be gone by the end of the year. After four years of proving he could do this job, Jeffrey felt he had earned the benefit of tossing the bad apples.
“Chief.” Frank stood in the middle of the field. He was twenty years Jeffrey’s senior with the physical presence of an asthmatic walrus. Frank had passed on the job of chief when the position had opened. He wasn’t one for politics, and he knew his limitations. Jeffrey was certain the detective had his back so long as it related to the job. He wasn’t so sure about the other areas of his life.
“Brock—” Frank coughed around the cigarette in his mouth. “Brock just got here. He’s on his way to the body. She’s that-a-way, about two hundred feet over the hill.”
Dan Brock was the county coroner. His full-time job was at the funeral home. Jeffrey had found him to be competent, but Brock’s father had dropped dead of a heart attack two days ago. The senior Brock had been found at the bottom of the stairs, which hadn’t surprised Jeffrey. The man was a closet drinker. He’d reeked of alcohol.
Jeffrey asked, “Do you think Brock’s up to this?”
“He’s still torn up, poor fella. He was real close to his daddy.” For unknown reasons, Frank started grinning. “I think we’ll be okay.”
Jeffrey turned to see the reason behind Frank’s glee.
Sara Linton was walking through the vacant lot. She was wearing dark sunglasses. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She was dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt and matching short skirt.
“Oh great,” Lena mumbled. “Tennis Barbie to the rescue.”
Jeffrey gave Lena a look of warning. Around the time of his divorce, he’d made the mistake of complaining about Sara in front of Lena. She had taken carte blanche on the insults since then.
He told her, “Make sure Brock isn’t lost in the woods. Tell him Sara is here.”
Lena reluctantly trotted off.
Frank stubbed his cigarette out on his shoe as Sara walked across the field.
Jeffrey allowed himself the pleasure of watching her. Objectively, she was beautiful. Her legs were long and lean. She had a certain grace to her movements. She was the smartest woman he had ever met in a long line of incredibly intelligent women. After their divorce, he had persuaded himself that she hated him. Only recently had he realized that what Sara felt for him was worse than hate. She was deeply disappointed.
On a good day, Jeffrey could admit that he was disappointed, too.
Frank said, “I could punch you in the nuts for the rest of my life and it still wouldn’t be punishment enough for what you did.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Jeffrey patted Frank’s shoulder in a non-appreciative way. Sara’s family was as entrenched in the community as the university. Frank played cards with her father. His wife volunteered with Sara’s mother. Jeffrey could’ve decapitated the high school mascot and gotten less grief.
“Good to see ya, sweetpea.” Frank let Sara kiss his cheek. “Did you just get back from Atlanta?”
“I decided to stay the night. Hi.” Sara spun the last word like a volley into Jeffrey’s face. “Mama told me about the body. She thought Brock might need help.”
Jeffrey was mindful that Frank was not giving them any privacy. He was also mindful that it was Tuesday morning. Sara would normally be getting ready for work right now. “It’s a little early for tennis.”
“I played yesterday. This way?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She followed the trail into the forest.
Frank walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Jeffrey. “Sara just drove down from Atlanta, but she’s wearing the same clothes she was wearing yesterday. I wonder what that means?”
Jeffrey tasted metal from the fillings in his teeth.
Frank called to Sara, “How’s Parker doing? Did you go up in his plane again?”
The metal turned to blood.
Sara hadn’t answered, so Frank told Jeffrey, “Parker used to be a Navy fighter pilot. Real Top Gun type. He’s a lawyer now. Drives a Maserati. Eddie told me all about him.”
Jeffrey could imagine Sara’s father merrily relaying the information over a hand of cards, secure in the knowledge that Frank would do his part to poke Jeffrey with the details.
Frank laughed again. Then he coughed because his lungs were full of tar.
Jeffrey tried to put them all
