Trigg threw him a look. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
Goff and Evan stood out of her way while she took shots from both a standing and a crouching position, then she stood and nodded at Evan. He and Goff both squatted down.
“All these entrance wounds and no exits,” Evan mused. “Clearly knife over gun.”
He lifted the man’s jacket and the white undershirt beneath it. Goff whistled as they saw several narrow wounds. Many of them overlapped, making it difficult to count how many there actually were. That would be a job for Danny.
“Overkill,” Trigg said without humor.
“Yeah. Somebody was pissed,” Evan replied.
The man was wearing a runner’s belt; the kind with a zipper all the way across, meant to hold keys, a wallet, and anything else somebody wanted to bring along to the gym or on a run. Evan could see the clear outline of a cell phone.
He unzipped the belt and reached inside, pulled out a Samsung phone. He used an iPhone and wasn’t up on Androids, but it was one of the larger models, probably fairly new. There were three text messages pinned to the screen, all from someone named Karen. The earliest was from just after seven.
7:08 am Hey babe you need to hurry. Softball practice at 8.
7:42 am Where are u?
7:51 am dammit never mind
“Crap,” Evan said quietly. He handed the phone to Goff. “Don’t bag that just yet.”
He reached into the belt and pulled out the only other two items: a ten-dollar bill and a Florida driver’s license. The victim looked somewhat more cheerful in the photo, but it was clearly him. Jake William Bellamy, aged thirty-nine, five-nine and one hundred-fifty pounds. His address was listed as Juniper Avenue. Evan knew that one; it was about half a mile south of the park. He’d looked at a rental there when he’d first moved from Cocoa Beach. Evan noticed the license was a new one, issued just three weeks earlier.
He pulled out his phone and texted the address to himself, then handed the license to Trigg, who dropped it into an evidence bag and started labeling it. Evan reached over to pick up the man’s right wrist, turning it slightly. There was a through and through puncture in the palm, along with a shallow slice. There were other cuts on both wrists and the back of the left hand.
“Guy put up a real fight,” Goff muttered sympathetically.
“Looks like,” Evan replied. “Trigg, make sure you bag his hands. Maybe he scratched the guy.”
He looked up to see her glaring down at him indignantly. “Sorry, Paula. I know I don’t need to tell you how to do your job. Just thinking out loud.”
He looked up at Goff. “Get the number for those text messages, would you, Goff? And see if there were any outgoing calls or texts this morning. Or when the last one was.”
Evan looked up at Paula. “Did you look around for a weapon?”
“We looked within a twenty-five-yard radius, that’s it,” she answered. “Newman and Frye are looking further afield right now.”
“We’ll want to check the water,” Evan said. “Killer could have tossed it from the embankment or the bridge. Any idea how deep this is?”
“No. Probably just enough to be a pain in the butt. It’s murky as hell, too.”
Evan nodded, then straightened up. He looked at Goff.
“No outgoing calls today. No incoming any more recent than just after eleven last night.” Goff looked up from the phone. “Some guy named Roy.”
“Okay, go ahead and bag it,” Evan said. He looked at Paula. “You ready for Danny?”
“I’m never ready for Danny,” she answered.
“I thought you liked the kid,” Evan said.
“I do. I might even invite him over for a barbecue sometime, if it’s okay with his mom,” she said. “But his energy level is a little overwhelming.”
Goff made some sort of indeterminate noise underneath his mustache.
“Understood,” Evan said.
“He can come on,” Paula said with a sigh. She’d taken a few pictures once they’d turned the body over, but they’d rely on Danny’s photographs during autopsy for photo documentation of any wounds.
“I’ll get him,” Goff said.
Evan held up a hand. “I’ll tell him,” he said, standing. “I need to have a—” He caught Trigg’s scowl. “I need to stretch.”
“Yeah, stretch one for me, too,” Paula snapped as he walked away.
Evan had to pass a Sheriff’s Office cruiser on his way to Danny’s van. Deputies Ginny Frances and Frank DuPree were standing at the hood of the cruiser, a donut box between them.
“Hey, boss,” Ginny said, lifting the box. “You want the last donut?”
“Seriously? What kind of stereotypes bring donuts to a crime scene?” Evan asked, trying not to grin.
“The kind that were at Dunkin’ Donuts when they got the call,” DuPree answered.
“What flavor is it?” Evan asked as he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket.
“Glazed,” Ginny answered.
“I’ll pass, but I’ll take it to Danny,” Evan said. He lit up and blew out a puff of smoke as Ginny wrapped the donut in a napkin and handed it to him.
“You get an ID, yet?” Ginny asked.
“Yeah, but I need to get the kid situated before we notify,” Evan answered. “Hopefully, we’ll still get to the family before the press moves in.”
“Channel Four’s down at the corner already,” DuPree said.
“I saw,” Evan said. The news van was several hundred yards away, behind the cruisers parked across Marvin Avenue. “Do me a favor. Radio those officers and tell them to keep their eyes on those guys. Nobody slips into our crime scene.”
“Shoot to kill?” Ginny asked as Evan walked off.
“If provoked.”
Danny was slouched in the driver’s seat, his face oddly aglow. Evan puzzled over this for a moment. Then he noticed the source of the strange illumination, an iPad Mini tucked into the van’s instrument panel, behind the steering wheel. A TV show was playing. It made Evan smile in spite of himself.
He tapped on the window. Danny looked over at him, a bit surprised, but not startled. He rolled down his window.
“What are you watching?” Evan asked him.
“Dexter!” the kid answered enthusiastically.
“That’s a cop show, right?”
“Marginally,” Danny answered, pausing the show. “Forensics guy in Miami, right, who also happens to be a serial killer who kills serial killers.”
“Okay,” Evan said flatly. “Homework, then?”
Danny laughed. “Extra credit, right?”
Evan held up the donut. “We’re ready for you. I brought you a snack.”
“Oh, thanks Sheriff Caldwell,” Danny said, poking his head out the window. His tone was full of genuine gratitude, but then he added, “Is that certified organic?”
“Yes, Danny,” Evan said without hesitation. “This is a certified, free-range, non-GMO, fat-free, gluten free, sugar-free, truth free, deep fried and heavily frosted doughnut. Last one in the box.”
Danny peered at the donut suspiciously. “I usually only eat sweets on the last day of the month.”
Evan squinted at the kid as he blew a mouthful of smoke in the other direction. Then the kid winked at him.
“I had you going there for a minute, didn’t I?” Danny asked, getting out of the van.
“Sure, you had me going. Acting’s easy when you’re playing yourself.”
“I don’t get it,” Danny said, turning to pull his bags back out of the van.
“You and your liquid diet,” Evan replied. “You want the donut, or do I need to chew it for you first?”
Danny plucked the donut from Evan’s hand. “Thanks!”
Evan gave the kid credit; the donut was gone before they arrived back down to Goff, Trigg, and Mr. Bellamy. When they got there, Goff was holding evidence bags open while Trigg snipped at clumps of grass with a pair of what looked like cuticle scissors.
“Zow
ie,” Danny said quietly as he saw the body. “Poor guy.”
Goff and Trigg stood.
“Anything new?” Evan asked.
“No,” Trigg answered, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “If the victim managed to draw any blood when he was trying to fight this guy off, it’s probably up there by the trees, but I’m grabbing some of this anyway.”
“I need to go notify the family,” Evan said wearily. “I’ll be back shortly, Danny, to see what preliminary findings you come up with.”
“Sure, yeah,” the kid said, opening his voluminous duffel.
Just then a few bars of a familiar song sounded from somewhere near Evan’s feet. It took a moment for him to place it as the theme from Sesame Street. Trigg bent over her evidence bag on the grass and pulled out the baggie containing Bellamy’s ringing phone, the display lit up in cheerful, bright blue.
“Oh, geez,” Trigg said, as the ringing stopped. She handed the baggie to Evan. The phone showed a missed call from Danielle, and two text messages from a few minutes earlier.
9:18 am Mom’s really mad you missed practice.
9:19 am But I caught a fly ball!! followed by a multitude of emojis.
Evan sighed, as Goff read over his shoulder and clucked his tongue. He handed the bag back to Trigg.
“I need to get over there,” he said quietly.
“You want me to come with?” Goff asked.
Evan looked at Trigg.
“Yeah, take him,” Trigg said. “I’ll get Crenshaw to help me out.”
Goff was silent as he followed Evan back up the embankment. Evan was in his own head. He hated notifications anyway, but when kids were involved, it was especially hard.
When their feet hit the sidewalk, Ginny Frances called out, a white bundle in her hand.
“Hey, Ruben!” she said to Goff. “Saved you a Boston Cream.”
They veered that way, and Goff took the donut. “Thanks, Ginny.”
Ginny caught Evan’s eye and shrugged defensively. “They’re his favorite,” she said.
Evan wanted to toss out a good line, but the mood wasn’t there, and he was having trouble thinking of anything to say. He strode to his car, Goff’s boots clumping behind him. As little as he weighed, Evan was surprised his boots made noise.
Evan pulled open his door and got in. Goff slipped in as Evan was starting the car. He popped the last of his donut into his mouth as Evan cranked on the heat. There was a gob of custard on the bottom of his mustache.
“Every time I do a next of kin, I think about retiring,” Goff said.
“Me, too,” Evan said. “You’ve got, what, thirty years?”
“Thirty-two,” Goff answered.
“That’s a lot for a cop,” Evan said. “Why don’t you do it?”
Goff shrugged. “Got a few years left on the mortgage,” he said.
Evan surveyed the park and the flurry of activity around the little bridge. He thought about years and mortgages and next of kin, and still did not know what to say. When he turned back to Goff, he said the first thing that came to mind, “You’ve got custard on your mustache.”
As Evan pulled out of the parking spot, Goff answered, “Saving that for the missus.”
FOUR
IT TOOK ONLY A FEW MINUTES to reach the Bellamy home. In a neighborhood of fairly new, middle-class homes, it was a tastefully bland single-story house with attached, two-car garage and a manicured lawn. The garage door was open. It contained a black Chrysler sedan and a red Volkswagen minivan, both fairly new, and a collection of kids’ bicycles and Little Tykes cars, all well-used.
A path of stone pavers led from the driveway to the front entrance, where a red door broke up the monotony of the house’s façade. A large potted hibiscus sat next to the door.
Evan and Goff waited silently in Evan’s vehicle for a just a moment. Eventually, Goff said, “Well, I’m the one that found him. I guess it’s only right that I do the notification.”
“No,” Evan said, opening his door. “It’s my job. I’ll do it.”
“I’ll let you.”
They walked up the paved path. The home and grounds radiated a sense of pleasant perfection, nice without trying too hard. Evan doubted it would do anything to shield its occupants from the reality of a chaotic and pitiless world.
He pressed the glowing button beside the door. A faint melody sang out somewhere within. This was followed by the excited voices of young children. Evan waited, but no one came. He rapped his knuckles against the trim. This time, when he heard the children, their voices were quieter, as if they had been moved farther back in the house. But, still, no one answered.
Evan was about to knock again when the door eased open, just a crack at first, then a little more. The woman behind it looked terrified. She was probably in her late thirties, blonde and pretty, but her face was so drawn with worry that she looked much older. She had not disengaged the chain and now looked at Evan and Goff while taking refuge behind the door.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Evan began, “Are you Mrs. Bellamy?”
She was already biting her bottom lip, turning its pale pink into a thin white line. Her lower eyelids were filling with tears as she nodded her head. Evan had his shield attached to his belt and Goff was in full uniform. Evan knew she already knew that her weekend wasn’t going to be anything like she’d expected.
“Ma’am, my name is Sheriff Evan Caldwell, and this is Sgt. Goff. We’re from the Gulf County Sheriff’s Office,” Evan explained. “May we come in and have a word with you?”
“Where’s Jake?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“That’s what we need to talk to you about, ma’am,” Evan said gently, “but I think it would be better to do that inside. May we come in?”
Evan watched her eyes. He could never predict how an individual would react when notified that a loved one had died. A wild anger flashed across her face, but was gone as quickly as it had appeared, then the look of defeated terror was back. She nodded again, and one of the tears that had been poised on her eyelid slid down to her upper lip.
She undid the chain, then turned her back on them, leaving the door to hang open. There was a living room immediately to their right, and Goff quietly closed the front door before they followed her into it. She sat down on an overstuffed ivory couch in a pale green room. Ceiling fans, fashioned to look like white palm fronds, spun noiselessly overhead, helping the HVAC unit distribute the heated air.
Karen Bellamy stared at the driftwood coffee table as the two men took seats in a pair of green-striped chairs across from the couch. The children were nowhere to be seen, but Evan heard their voices from somewhere deeper in the house.
Evan took a breath and was about to speak when Mrs. Bellamy looked up at him.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“Mrs. Bellamy,” Evan started, “May I call you Karen?”
She nodded, then pulled her lips together. She didn’t need to ask how he knew her first name; he knew because her world had imploded somewhere between dawn and softball practice.
“Karen, I am very sorry—”
She covered her mouth as a moan struggled for egress, then folded over and put her face on her knees.
“Oh, please God…”
Evan waited a moment as she drew in a couple of loud breaths, her face still hidden.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Evan continued quietly. “It appears someone attacked your husband in the park just north of here. He was found around eight this morning. He had already died when he was found.”
Karen sat up quickly, her face shifting with lightning speed from agony to adamancy. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, but my husband—I think you’ve made a mistake. My husband just went running.”
“Karen,” Evan said, slowly and precisely, “your husband, Jake Bellamy, was killed this morning.” He nodded his head and watched her eyes. “Jake is dead, Karen.”
She shook her head, but Evan could s
ee that she heard him. She turned to Goff, appealing like he had come to give her different, better news.
“I’m awfully sorry for your loss, ma’am,” Goff said gently, heading her off.
She looked at him for several heartbeats, the emotions on her face seeming to shift with each. Finally, she spoke very slowly, “I…I understand… what you’re saying, but… but you might be wrong, right? You must be mistaken. It’s not him.”
Goff pulled the evidence bag containing Bellamy’s license out of his shirt pocket. He set it lightly down on the table in front of her. “This is the man that was found, ma’am. It’s him.”
The two men watched as her face changed by feature and in lightning-fast increments. Her tightly closed lips opened, her lower lip began to tremble. Fixed on the license, her eyes went from desperate to a dawning acceptance, and Evan watched as a tear dropped onto her right knee, making a darker circle of blue on her faded jeans.
Evan wanted to lean forward and offer her some kind of comfort, but it was too soon, he was too much a stranger, and he had nothing of real meaning to say. It would be up to the people she loved, the people who loved her, to give comfort.
He and Goff were there, present with her, and nothing else they could have done or said would be more than that. They sat and watched for her to be ready to hear more.
Evan had been in a serious car accident once, an accident that had given him the thin, white scar that ran from lip to chin. This kind of news was like that experience, the instant of impact is carved into the memory forever. The moments that follow are blank. At some point, clarity returns followed reluctantly by rational thought.
When Karen finally looked back up at them, the wildly fluctuating emotions had calmed, replaced by a dazed and vacant expression. Tears plastered a lock of hair to one cheek. She twisted her hands in her lap and stared at a spot between Goff and Evan.
“Mrs. Bellamy,” Evan said, in his gentlest voice, “Can I call someone for you?”
She slowly turned her head to him.
“Do you have family or a close friend in town?” Evan tried again. “Someone I can call to come be with you?”
Dead Center (The Still Waters Suspense Series Book 2) Page 3