His testimony gave the victim her life back and lost him his scholarship.
Troy stood a bit taller, nodding his thanks to Dr. Howard. “It just seemed like the right thing to do, and no,” he said, eyeing the scene, “this is definitely my last day.”
“Should I get you a room or would you like to concentrate on what’s in front of us?”
Troy kicked at a shell with the toe of his boot.
“Jonathan, you just hate it when you’re not the center of attention,” Dr. Howard said.
Captain Rand pointed to the corpse. “Speaking of center of attention, what the hell do we have here?”
Squinting from the morning sun, Troy eyeballed the bizarre image in front of him.
Sitting by the nearest post of the volleyball net was a whitewashed, wooden chair. In the chair sat a woman—a dead woman of indiscriminate age due to the layers of paint, wearing a couture, coral-colored, cocktail dress. Her legs were crossed and could be seen starting just below the knee-length hemline. Her hair was a dark brown with a hint of eggplant at the tips. It rested on her shoulders like a soft halo and glistened from the morning sun. The ensemble had been completed with painted fingernails, jewelry, and open-toed, high-heeled shoes. The dress appeared brand new except for the tear or cut that ran lengthwise from the collar to a point just below the victim’s sternum. Unfortunately, the cut didn’t stop with the fabric. The victim’s chest was sliced open and the incision went straight through her tissues and bone. The woman’s ribs had been separated and clamped open, exposing her heart.
And then…there was the frame.
A gilded picture frame hung over the victim’s neck, staged to surround the open chest with the heart dead center.
Sick, Troy thought. This is exactly the type of shit that makes me know my decision was the right one. He pulled out his smartphone and proceeded to take pictures of the body, the scene, and the surrounding area.
He was experiencing sensory overload and the pictures would enable him to give whoever was going to take over this case the same visual he was having.
Quincy, noticing Troy’s expression, muttered, “I’ve never had to strip paint off a body before.”
“Judging from the paint, I assume our victim is female?” Rand stated.
“That, the clothing and the breast development,” Troy added.
Dr. Howard smirked. “Are you sure this has to be your last day? You would make a great replacement for Jonathan.”
“Eat me,” Rand said.
Dr. Howard shot him a deadpan expression. “Buy me lunch at 2:00. I’ll have more information for you at that time.”
Captain Rand nodded and a brisk wind blew off the water. “The smell of that paint is making me sick,” he said as he waved his hand in front of his face in an attempt to dissipate the fumes. “Lunch sounds like a plan,” he added. Turning away from the body, he began to head back up the beach.
“Captain, do you mind if I stay at the scene a while longer?”
“Mind? I insist. I am a man short as of tomorrow. I need you on this case until the clock strikes midnight.” Rand scratched his head and walked back toward his car, mumbling, “I will never understand why a young man with such potential would leave the FDLE to go back to some podunk town.”
“Podunk town?” Dr. Howard said. “Where you headed?”
“The Keys. I grew up there,” Troy answered. “The police chief’s position has been vacant for the past eight months, and after a lot of soul searching I’ve decided to take it.”
He thought of Sin and the argument they had over the phone when he’d told her of his plans. They had become close after the case they had worked together where they took down an international slave ring and a corrupt politician. Unfortunately, her job as a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation didn’t give them a lot of time to cultivate a deeper relationship. She was out of the country most of the time working directly for the Director of the agency: Frank Graham. On the flip side, when she was in town, their chemistry was so hot it was damn near combustible.
She had helped him get the job with the FDLE and didn’t understand his decision. She, like the chief, couldn’t understand why anyone would want to go back to Tumbleboat to live.
As much as Troy missed her, he was glad she was somewhere on assignment.
Taking in the scene, he couldn’t help but wonder what Sin would think.
“So, Doc,” he said, “what are your first impressions?”
“Call me Quincy,” Dr. Howard said. “All my friends do.”
“Quincy it is.”
“First impressions?” Quincy repeated Troy’s question. “My first impression is that we are dealing with a nut job. Other than that, I don’t have a clue. I’m a man of science, and I let the facts dictate my impressions. How about you? Any thoughts?”
Troy shook his head. “Nah,” he said. Sin’s last words to him flooded his mind. He looked at Quincy and said, “I’m just a small town cop trying to find my way back home.”
Quincy seemed a little perplexed and placed his hand on Troy’s shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind a word of advice from an old man because I’m going to give it either way.”
“Be my guest.”
“This isn’t Oz, son. Home is where you make it.”
Troy was silent until one of Quincy’s assistant’s came running up to him. “What do you want to do with the envelope, Doc?”
“Envelope? What envelope?” Troy was back in the moment.
“We found an envelope taped to the chair, a linen envelope of fine quality. If I had to guess, I would say it was handmade stationary.”
“What was on the inside?”
Quincy shrugged. “Don’t know. I don’t want to take the chance of opening it and destroying possible evidence. I’ll open it
