She sighed as she thought over her day, reviewing the body in the water line hole and what she’d observed so far. Her pale eyes narrowed. It was going to be a tricky case, and she badly wanted to help solve it. In the months since graduation, most of her cases had been cut and dried. This was the first real murder she’d been asked to investigate. It was exciting and sad, all at once.
She got up, pulled out her computer, and started making notes.
* * *
The following morning, Nemara arrived at the sheriff’s office in Benton at eight thirty sharp. But this time she was wearing jeans and a simple gray sweatshirt with a denim jacket. Her feet were in boots instead of spiky high heels. Her hair, as wild as it was, framed her face like a halo, and it was really pretty. Gil studied her with more interest than he’d felt the day before. It was as if she’d shed her skin, like his pet, and become someone, something, else.
“Good morning,” she said to Gil. “Do you have time to go to the morgue and then the coroner’s office with me?”
He nodded. “It was on my agenda for today,” he said, pulling out his cell phone to show her the reminder app.
She laughed. He was surprised at how pretty it sounded when she did. She looked up at him with sparkling gray eyes that just matched her sweatshirt. She pulled out her own cell phone and showed him an identical app. Beside its icon were half a dozen weather apps, some earthquake and volcano apps, and a celestial events program.
“Well!” he said, surprised. He pulled up his home screen and showed her several that matched her own.
“A kindred spirit,” she said, and then flushed a little.
He grinned. “I have air traffic bands and police bands on mine, as well as fire and state police and emergency services.”
“I don’t have those, but I’m learning Chinese on an app . . .”
He whistled shortly. “Me too.”
Her eyes sparkled wildly. “Ni hao ma,” she said. “Wo shi Chunguo sheashung. Renshi Ni hen gaoxing.”
He bowed. “Wo ye hen gaoxing renshi ni.”
The sheriff was standing in the doorway gaping at them. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.
They both turned toward him at the same time. “Chinese,” Gil said.
“We’re studying it online,” Nemara said.
“Well!” Jeff shook his head. “I guess I might try Spanish or French, but I’d be terrified to try and learn such a complicated language as Chinese. Trying to remember all those characters . . . !”
“It’s not as hard as you might think,” Nemara said. “And it’s fun. There’s this app called Duolingo. You can do quests with friends, follow other people.” She cleared her throat. “It’s sort of nice if you don’t have a social life.”
Jeff shook his head. “Then it would be perfect for me,” he said with a sigh.
Jane, hearing him, laughed softly. “Me too,” she confessed, and then flushed and moved away.
“Well, we’ll be off to the morgue,” Gil told Jeff.
“Good luck,” Jeff said.
“Damn! I forgot to tell you. I know who it is!” Gil exclaimed.
Jeff was all eyes. “Already?”
“It was Judge Garrett, the judge of probate court,” Jeff said. “She told me that a man named Marley Douglas disappeared twelve years ago . . .”
Jeff put his hand over his eyes. “Damn! I should have remembered that! Mr. Douglas had been a Boy Scout leader when I was a kid,” he said. “We all loved him. He was such a sweet man. Yes, he just vanished. Nobody knew where he was. He was on his way home from church at the time.”
“His shoes were missing,” Nemara commented. “It indicates, to me at least, that he was probably someplace where he felt comfortable enough to take them off. Somewhere inside, out of the rain.”
Jeff sighed. “We never found that out,” he said. “Our sheriff at the time talked to everybody who knew him. The mayor was one of his best friends.” He grimaced. “This will hit him hard, if it is Marley. They went fishing together in the summer.”
“Tough luck,” Gil agreed. “It will take a little more legwork to ascertain his true identity, but it’s a start.”
“It is. Thank God for Judge Garrett’s excellent memory,” Jeff said, smiling.
“And I’ll put an amen to that!” Gil chuckled.
* * *
The morgue was free. So was the medical examiner, a local surgeon. The three of them, gowned and masked, went into the autopsy room where the skeletal remains were laid out on a metal table.
“Such a sad way to end a life, in a hole beside a water line,” the surgeon said. He was at least fifty, and he had kind eyes. “I knew him, you know. He was a fine man. Everyone dies, but I wish he hadn’t ended in a ditch.”
“So do I,” Gil said quietly. “If you knew him, I may have some questions for you in a day or two.”
“I’ll be around. No problem.”
“Thanks.”
The autopsy began. Gil collected evidence in bags while Nemara went over the skeleton with quiet expertise.
“See this?” she asked, indicating the back of the skull. “It indicates perhaps a fall onto a hard surface rather than being struck with a blunt object.”
“Yes, it does,” the medical examiner agreed, having seen his share of bodies resulting from both sorts of encounters.
“The socks you bagged, Deputy Barnes, may give some idea of where he was, especially if there were carpet fibers or some sort of material on them that could be identified,” she remarked.
“I sent them off to the FBI lab along with a paper wrapper.” Gil hesitated. “I wasn’t being insulting, about not sending them to the state crime lab. It’s just that the FBI lab—”
“No need to apologize for that,” she interrupted with a smile. “I would have done the same thing. A cold case like this needs all the expertise you can find. Poor man,” she added, studying the body. “What a sad and lonely way to die.”
“There are worse ways,” he replied quietly.
She only nodded. She studied the remains for any breaks or fractures, but found none. There was a curious depression in the joint of the shoulder, as if a thin, blunt object had been pushed rather severely into the victim. Considering the depth of the depression, it would likely have gone through flesh very quickly. And the depression was charred.
“Look at this,” Nemara said, intent on the wound. “This went through both flesh and bone, and the depression is charred.”
“Ouch,” Gil said under his breath. “That would have been immensely painful.”
“Yes, it would.” She frowned. “What sort of weapon would have made such a wound?” she asked Gil, remembering he was ex-military.
“I don’t know of a weapon that would leave such a mark. It isn’t a gunshot wound.”
“No,” the medical examiner seconded. “There would have been bone fracture, with the burn. It indicates a close-quarter wound. A gunshot at close enough range to leave charring would have shattered the bones.”
“A fire poker,” Nemara said, her eyes still fixed on the wound. “One that had been left in the flames for some reason.”