Ire rankling her, she doused that fire. “Despite that, those men don’t know my name, who I’m working for, and have nothing to track back to me.”
“Don’t underestimate the people of this county, Agent. They are more observant than what’s good for them. All it takes is one good description of you and any reaction you might have had, and the whole of the county will know there’s a stranger in their midst carrying a badge. If your guy is the one laid up in our morgue, then we don’t have anything to worry about. If he’s not . . . ”
Damn him for calling her out like this. Here she couldn’t understand how Boyce could be such an ass to the man, and Hamilton went and flew his colors bright and loud, making it perfectly clear why her ex-partner took issue with the sheriff. Pushing to her feet—which stirred the sheriff from his chair, as well—Liza rammed her portfolio under her arm.
“Well, guess I’ll just take my leave and pay a visit to the coroner. I tried to do this peaceably, but that doesn’t appear to be possible. Afternoon, Sheriff.” She about-faced and took one step forward.
Great. She didn’t even know how to get the sheriff’s department without asking directions. How was she going to find the morgue alone? Where was the morgue, anyway? In small towns like Eider, didn’t they use funeral homes? Damn it, this was going to take a ton of phone calls.
“Agent Bartholomew, wait.”
She spun back. “What?”
“I wasn’t trying to question your process.”
“No, you felt the need to embarrass me. And frankly, I can’t for the life of me fathom why I bothered to expose myself like that in defense of you, a fellow LEO. But then, perhaps you prefer to be run through the mud by every voting citizen in this county.”
Hamilton’s handsome features scrunched. “You defended me?”
“In a way. You’re surprised?”
“Yeah, I am, and from an FBI agent t’ boot.”
“We’re not all horrible people out to make the average law enforcement officer look like uneducated hacks.”
“I’m grateful for that. Truly.” He skirted around his desk. And was that a limp in his step? “Why don’t we head over to the hospital and have a chat with Doc Drummond, see what he’s learned so far, and you can view the body.”
The morgue was in the hospital. Of course. Dr. Jasper Drummond was the county coroner, too. Liza hated getting lost, but that was her lot in life. Wait, was he offering to go with her? “Don’t you have a phone call to make?”
“I’ll call him later.” Hamilton’s limp seemed to disappear as he strode for the door. “Why don’t you ride with me?”
Liza lost all motor skills. “What? Why?”
“It’ll be faster that way. And I bet my good hat that you’ll be coming back here anyway.”
True and true. But ride with him? Couldn’t they just take her car? Yet, was she willing to show him how little she knew of his town and county that she couldn’t even navigate her way from point A to point B without getting lost? Woo hoo, look at her. The great FBI agent who couldn’t find her way out of a cereal box.
She held out a hand. “Lead the way.”
So much for not giving Ripley a heads up that she was here. Damn it! Riding around with the sheriff was going to put a huge red arrow sign over her head. If word of a new girl in town hadn’t spread already, it was going to burn the place to the ground now. And Ripley would be long gone, again.
Chapter Four
The drive to the hospital wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant, either. Shane took peeks at Agent Bartholomew, who stared out the window, seeming to study the landscape intently. She didn’t engage him in conversation or even pay much attention to him at all. By her stiff body posture, he gathered she wasn’t in a chatting mood.
He didn’t mean to embarrass her. It wasn’t like he made a point to chew up FBI agents and spit ’em out. Hell, he’d never had an objection to the agency until Boyce Hunt blew into his town four years ago and made a right big ass of himself. It was Boyce Hunt that Shane had taken issue with, until the day that southern asshole turned his life around and married Cassy Rivers.
Damn it to hell. All Shane had done was point out a huge flaw in Bartholomew’s plan. Apparently this woman was a different bolt of fabric type of woman than what he was used to dealing with.
He parked his truck two rows away from the entrance, and before he could utter a word of apology, again, Agent Bartholomew bailed out of the cab like a horde of yellow jackets were on her tail. Speaking of which, that tail was angled just right for him to get an eyeful. Jerking his gaze back to the front, he shook his head. I’m such a dumbass.
Easing out of the truck, he winced. Why, oh why, did he sleep on the floor last night? He reached back inside and from the center console, grabbed a bottle of aspirin. Good for his aches and his heart. Dry swallowing the recommended amount plus one, he tossed the bottle onto the seat and then played catch up with the agent.
She still beat him to the doors. “Are you doing okay?”
“It’s called getting old, Agent Bartholomew.”
“Just call me Liza. Agent Bartholomew is a mouthful. And if I want to at least try to keep up my ‘secretive’ status, you can’t call me agent.”
Giving a nod, he gestured for her to enter first. The hospital doors glided open like something out of a Star Wars movie. All that was missing on the other side were the droids and marching Storm Troopers. Instead, Gladys Higgins, the friendly “retired” greeter, peered over the top of her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
Shane’s belly quivered at that all-knowing look she gave him, and he removed his Resistol. Mrs. Higgins had been his sixth-grade English teacher, and to this day he couldn’t shake that feeling of her zeroing in on him after she caught him doing God knows what to disrupt her class.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff.” That piercing gaze redirected to the woman at Shane’s side.
“Miz Higgins.” He sidled up to the horseshoe counter and pasted on his “I’ve never done a wrong one day of my life” smile. “How’s Mr. Higgins?”
Her attention returned to him. “Golfing as usual. His addiction to it is why I’m here and not tending to my grandbabies.” Her eyes sparkled, making her statement a bald-face lie.
They both knew she hadn’t taken to retirement. When she wasn’t substituting at the school, she was here at the hospital or helping at the community center with the after-school programs. Gladys Higgins lived to serve people of all ages.
“Well, I’m sure he misses you while he’s out there teeing up.”
Her derisive snort sent a chuckle rumbling in Shane’s chest.
“Who’s your lady friend?”
Liza thrust her hand over the counter. “Liza Bartholomew. I work for the state.”
Well, not an all-out lie but close enough. Good way to deflect interest off of her.
Mrs. Higgins took the proffered hand with a quirked eyebrow. Shoot, the hospital’s gatekeeper was impressed. “I guess you’ll be needing one of our special badges?”
“That I would.” Liza beamed.
“Now you tell me straight, Sheriff, am I hearing correct, that your department found Gene Avery dead in the water this morning?”
“Miz Higgins, you know I can’t tell you anything about an open investigation.”
That narrowed gaze was enough to pierce daggers through his soul. “Shane Hamilton, I’ve known you all your life, and your momma was a close friend of mine. You know good and well that keeping secrets in this town is a losing battle.”
“And my job as sheriff is to curtail that kind of talk and pay respect to the next of kin. Now, I’ll have none of that gossiping coming from one of my favorite teachers.”
Pursing her lips, she eyeballed him, probably hoping he’d crack under the intense pressure of her scrutiny, but he held strong. Gladys Higgins might be a tough old bird, but she couldn’t hold a candle to some of the broncs he rode hell-bent to leather to stick it for eight nor any
of those piss and vinegar officers who were turning him into a fighting machine.
“Dr. Drummond said to send you on down when you arrived.” She handed him a special badge that he and his deputies were to wear when they visited the hospital in an official capacity, something that had become an all-too-often occurrence, which gave demand to have the dang things made. She then gave another badge to Liza.
Shane pinned the laminated card with a generic gold shield to the collar of his jacket. “Give everyone my best regards.”
“Keep up your good work. Everyone in the Higgins family will keep on voting for you. We will not stand to lose one of my best behaved students as sheriff.”
He rapped his knuckles against the countertop. “Now I know you’re lying to me, Miz Higgins. I was your worst behaved student.” Holding up his hat in salute, he rounded the counter and headed for the elevator.
“Nice meeting you, Ms. Bartholomew.”
“A joy to meet you, too, Mrs. Higgins.”
Shane eased his pace for Liza to catch up. The woman moved with the grace of an athlete. Was she a runner?
She chuckled, a low, husky sound at odds with her feminine qualities. “You’re surrounded on all sides by dictatorial women, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say they’re dictatorial, just . . . well, protective.”
“And you’re not bothered by that? A man?”
At the elevator bay, he stopped and faced Liza. There wasn’t a twitch of mocking in her features, so she was being serious. “No, I’m not. All of my life I’ve grown up with women who had to survive insurmountable odds, who raised their daughters to be the same. And in my adult life, I’ve encountered numerous women who were thrown some pretty shitty cards their way, but they moved past it. I guess that makes me a damn smart man to realize the significance you ladies bring to any situation.”
A flush deepened the tawny tone of her skin to a red-brown. Liza blinked, turning her head as the elevator dinged its arrival. “Guess that does.”
The doors slid open. Shane and Liza took a few steps back as a new father bearing the load of flower vases with balloons shouting “It’s a Girl!” and a soft, brown teddy bear exited. He was followed by a nurse pushing a wheelchair with the new mom and her baby. Shane nodded, gave his most award-winning smile, then watched the little entourage roll down the hall.
One life taken, another born. The never-ending circle. How many babies were brought into this world the night Cheyenne’s ended? That familiar ripping in his chest made Shane gasp for breath. Another piece of him torn away at the memory of her death. His gaze swung away from the newly formed family and landed on the woman next to him. Her attention was riveted on the family.
“I never thought to ask, is there a Mr. Bartholomew?”
Her head snapped in his direction. “Why would you have need to ask?”
He shrugged, stepping onto the elevator. “It’s a thought that crossed my mind, and Boyce hasn’t mentioned it.”
Liza joined him, leaning on the wall opposite from him. “I still don’t see how my marital status is of any importance to you. You don’t even know me outside of being an agent.”
“No, I don’t. But if these surprise visits resume, it might be a topic to discuss.” Pressing the button for the basement, Shane copied her stance. “Beam me down, Scotty.”
Her features crinkled. “Isn’t it ‘beam me up, Scotty?’”
“Ahh, but we’re going down.”
With a shake of her head, she bowed it, but not before he glimpsed the smile. Gradually, she lifted her head to look at him again. “No, there is no Mr. Bartholomew.” She held up her left hand, wiggling her fingers. “The ring finger has always stayed empty.”
What a shame. He wasn’t too caught up in his grief not to realize that Liza Bartholomew was a good lookin’ woman with many fine traits. Her single status did beg the question, what kind of baggage was she burdened with? Or was her career a total time suck that didn’t leave her with any chance to consider someone else in her life?
Dr. Jasper Drummond was waiting for them when the elevator spit them out. “Mrs. Higgins paged me when you showed up.”
“She afraid I might get lost?”
Drummond’s mouth cocked sideways. The good doc was a few years younger than Shane, but you couldn’t tell it by the gray spreading through the man’s hair. And like Shane, Drummond was as single as a good-lookin’ guy could be. There had been speculation that Drummond wasn’t into women, since the unmarried nurses who’d tripped all over themselves to get his attention had failed. Shane was of the mind that Drummond had his right to privacy just like everyone else. God knew Shane didn’t want people—he was fairly certain they did already—gossiping on his reasons for being alone.
“She’s doing as I asked. I needed to know that you were here.” Drummond tilted his head as he took in Liza. “Agent Bartholomew, this is a bit of a surprise.”
“I’m more surprised that you remember me. I was barely around you last time.”
Drummond tapped his head. “I never forget a pretty face.” He winked, then beckoned with a curt wave of his hand. “Our latest case has revealed more than I expected.”
Shane gaped at the doc’s back. Had the man just flirted with Liza? There was that husky chuckle again as she followed Drummond. Shaking out of his fog of shock, Shane caught up with them.
They walked the length of hallway to a room that Drummond had set up as an autopsy. Not so long ago, there had been no reason to have a morgue, as most of the unusual deaths—meaning anyone who hadn’t passed away in a hospital or nursing home that wasn’t health-related or due to advanced age—were handled in one of the funeral homes. Then Drummond was voted in as county coroner, and the unusual deaths moved into unexplained suicides and homicides. After some good ole politicking and fund-raising, Drummond managed to find some wiggle room in the hospital budget to get a morgue. The hospital renovated two storage areas in the basement and filled it with the equipment Drummond would need to examine bodies.
The room had gotten more use than the hospital board and the voters of McIntire County were expecting. When talking about the situations that called for autopsy, no matter how Drummond spun it, the people were buying it. The good doc was spending another stint as coroner.
Shane, on the other hand, was feeling like Frankenstein’s monster, avoiding the villagers with their torches and pitchforks.
“What’s the verdict on cause of death?” he asked.
“Well, I’m fairly certain it was the blunt force trauma to the back of the skull that killed him. By the size of the hole—and this is only a guess—it was either by a hammer or a crowbar.”
“Hammer or crowbar? Weapons of convenience?”
“Not the first time someone got angry enough and took it out on a victim with whatever was handy. You know, I read that there was a woman who died of blood loss after she got into a fight with her sister. The sister stabbed the woman in the chest with a ballpoint pen, and neither one thought the injury was bad enough to go to the hospital. Autopsy revealed that the pen managed to nick the aorta, and she bled out in her sleep, never knowing she was dying.”
Shane glanced at Liza, noting the green hue to her face. Oh, this had to be bad for someone who wasn’t normally on the backside of viewing homicide victims. He cleared his throat and eyed Drummond. “Do you have to tell me weird autopsy stories every time I come down here with you?”
“You’re a cop, Shane, these things should fascinate you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not that fascinated.”
“Agent Bartholomew probably is.”
She waggled a hand before pressing it to her mouth. Yeah, not fascinated.
Drummond shrugged and entered the room where Gene Avery’s body, draped with a white sheet, was laid out on the special table. Avery’s clothing had been packaged and sealed and placed in a box sitting on the counter. Shane and Drummond surrounded the table, but Liza hung back near the door, hand pressed over her nose
and mouth.
“Anything to note on the clothing?” Shane asked, averting his gaze. Hopefully, he wouldn’t make her feel more conspicuous.
“Other than the blood, nothing that I noticed. DCI will probably have better luck than I did.” Drummond snapped on a pair of surgical gloves, then adjusted the bright lamp to point directly at the victim’s left side. “You need to be on this side to see it.”
Drummond rolled Avery onto his side. The man’s pale skin was mottled by dark purple bruising.
“Lividity?”
“Mostly. Get the magnifying glass on the counter.”
Shane grabbed the large round glass and held it over the first patch of bruises. The magnification revealed what he couldn’t see at first: circular marks smaller than the size of a dime, less than an inch apart. He moved to another patch of bruising and found the same thing.
“Electric prod?”
“My second educated guess is whoever did this tortured him, or prodded him to the river. But I found no burn marks on his shirt.”
Shane straightened. “His killer had it removed, then put it on afterward?”
“Possibly.” Drummond laid the victim back on the table. “Here’s a real kicker for you. Men like Gene Avery typically wear some type of undershirt beneath their dress shirts. Avery’s is missing.”
“The killer might have kept it,” Liza piped up from her corner.
Shane looked her way. Damn, he’d completely forgotten she was here.
“Maybe the burn marks were on that undershirt, and the killer didn’t want to give himself away,” she added.
“Interesting,” the doc said, jotting something down on a notebook he kept near the table. “I’ll have to take a closer look at that.”
“What about stomach contents?” Shane asked.
Drummond picked up a small tray with three plastic jars, sealed with red tape. “He had a heavy meal, partially digested, so I’d say death was sometime around three or four hours after eating.”
Liar, Liar Page 3