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Dust Up With The Detective. Danica Winters
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Автор произведения Danica Winters
Жанр Зарубежные детективы
Издательство HarperCollins
Robert was a recluse. If someone had wanted to murder him, hiding him in the mine was a hell of a way to take care of his body. If things had gone another way and his family hadn’t reported him missing, he may never have been found.
She looked over at Jeremy. His head was in his hands and his shoulders were slumped; he looked broken. Guilt flooded her. She should have been more patient with him and his interference in her investigation—he’d only been trying to help. She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded but didn’t look up.
“We’re going to get to the bottom of this. Don’t worry.”
“I just don’t understand it. Robert had problems, but...I never thought...”
She sat down next to him, their legs brushing. Though they barely touched, she hoped that her nearness brought him a small measure of comfort. “You and I both know that no one ever thinks this is going to happen. The only thing we can do for Robert now is to piece together how he ended up where he is.”
Jeremy shifted slightly, like he was recoiling from the words...words he had no doubt said himself many times over.
“Do you know—was Robert left-handed?”
Jeremy nodded. “He could have done this to himself. But you know Robert...knew Robert,” he said, correcting himself. “He wasn’t the kind who’d do this. He was too angry. Too cynical. He lived to prove the world wrong.”
They sat in silence as she watched the firemen pack up their gear and head out. Once in a while Jeremy would move like he was going to stand up, but he would quickly stop and sit back down.
Finally the coroner appeared at the mine’s entrance and, spotting her, made his way over.
“What did you find?” she asked as they both stood up to greet him.
The coroner looked back as two men carried a black bag containing Robert’s body out of the mine and toward the coroner’s van. “You were right about the jacket, but I don’t think he was moved. The lividity didn’t point in that direction.”
“You think it was a suicide?” Jeremy asked.
The coroner shook his head. “The stippling around the bullet’s entrance wound was a little wider than what I normally see in cases of suicide, but it doesn’t rule it out.”
Blake moved to speak but Jeremy interrupted. “What about the spatter?”
“It’s consistent with the body’s presentation, but again, I think the gun was a little farther back at the time it was fired.”
“So it’s possible that he was murdered?” Jeremy asked, his voice filled with anger.
“Right now we know the cause of death is the gunshot wound, but until we get the medical examiner’s findings, I’m ruling the manner of death as undetermined.”
* * *
THERE WAS NOTHING worse than notifying the next of kin...especially when it was your own family. Jeremy had put it off as long as he could, waiting until the next afternoon, but his parents needed to find out before they heard the news from someone else in the small town.
He took a deep breath as he entered the pizza joint. It was full of families, and the roar of Skee-Ball from the game room in the back filled the air.
His family had been coming to this place since he was a kid. Everything from the red-and-white-checkered tablecloths to the hanging stained glass lights was the same. It even smelled the same—yeasty with a hint of garlic and overcooked dough. The place was nostalgic in all the wrong ways.
His parents were sitting at their regular booth, and he made his way over.
“Hiya, Jeremy,” his mom said in an overly chipper voice.
He nodded and sat down next to her.
“Did you talk to Robert?” his father asked.
Maybe it had been an error to meet them in a public place to tell them about Robert’s death, but at least this way they couldn’t start fighting.
He picked up the napkin in front of him and started rolling the paper into little balls. “I saw him.”
“Did you tell him that he needs to call his mother?” she asked, taking a dainty sip of her pop.
“Actually, I couldn’t tell him anything.” He laid the napkin to rest on the table. “Mom, Dad, I have some bad news.”
“Is Robert in trouble again?” his father started. “I tell you, I’m going to have to sell our house to pay for his bail this time. He’s got me about tapped out.”
“He’s not in jail.” Jeremy ran his hands over his face and looked up, across the table at his father. “Robert’s dead.”
His father’s mouth hung open, and his mother turned to stone next to him. He instantly wished he had taken Blake’s offer of coming along to tell his family. Maybe she could have softened the blow. Maybe the news would have been better coming from a woman. Yet, after their kiss, it felt like the only thing she wanted to do was get away from him. No, there was only him to impart the news of his brother’s death.
“We found Robert’s body. It’s on its way to the Missoula Crime Lab for an autopsy. Right now the cause of death is unclear, but we should know soon.”
“You don’t know how he died?” his mother asked in a stunned whisper.
He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “He died instantly from a gunshot wound. Other than that, there’s not much I can say.”
He envisioned Robert’s body slumped over. The gunshot to his head. The blood trickling down his neck, staining his shirt. He tried to blink the images away but failed.
His mother looked across the table at his father. “I told you that you should have gone out there sooner, Glen,” she spat. “If you would have just listened.”
“Veronica, this is hardly the first time Robert hadn’t called us back. If I ran out there every time you wanted to, we’d practically live with him.”
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