Read Online All Mortal Flesh by Julia Spencer-Fleming - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julia Spencer-Fleming
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Domestic Fiction, Mystery Fiction, Police Procedural, New York (State), Women clergy, Episcopalians, Van Alstyne; Russ (Fictitious character), Adirondack Mountains (N.Y.), Ferguson; Clare (Fictitious character), Fergusson; Clare (Fictitious character)
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until her daughter got home from the middle school. She dropped the kid off for a piano lesson and then went to the Van Alstynes’.” He stumbled for a moment, breaking the smooth recital of facts. “She said she didn’t see anyone except the cat.”
“The cat? We don’t have a cat.”
“The Tracey woman said Mrs. Van Alstyne adopted it a week ago.” He looked at MacAuley. “Uh, found the cat behind the barn. We took it to the county SPCA.”
Mark looked toward the wall. He didn’t want to watch the chief deal with the fact that he hadn’t even known his wife got a cat.
Eric bent his head to his notes and went on. “She says she’s very close to the victim and was worried because she hadn’t heard anything from her since Saturday afternoon.”
The silence in the squad room was absolute. Eric realized what he said. “Shit! I meant Mrs. Van Alstyne. I’m sorry, chief.”
The chief shifted on his table. “Okay, guys.” He sounded very, very tired. “This is a homicide investigation. We’re not going to get anywhere if you have to apologize every time you say ‘victim’ or ‘murder.’ Let’s stop worrying about my feelings and focus on breaking the case.” He waved toward McCrea. “Go on, Eric.”
“Um… that’s about it. Mrs. Tracey didn’t know of anyone who might have posed a threat to… the victim. She said the only person Mrs. Van Alstyne had been having trouble with lately—” McCrea broke off, swallowing.
“Was her husband,” the chief finished.
McCrea nodded.
“Let’s get that out in the open, then.” The chief took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think everybody here is aware I’ve been staying at my mom’s house since the Friday before last. Lyle?” He pointed to the whiteboard, and Lyle wrote down
JAN 8
. “Except for one counseling session, I haven’t seen Linda since then.”
Mark wondered if he was aware he was speaking of his wife in the present.
“I don’t know what rumors or stories have been making the rounds. The fact is, every marriage has its ups and downs. Linda and I started talking seriously about some issues in the middle of November. We decided we needed some perspective, so we started seeing a marriage counselor in December. Then Linda needed a break from having me around, so we agreed I’d move into my mom’s temporarily. Any questions?”
Mark held his breath, waiting to see if anyone was foolhardy enough to ask the chief about the rumors of his affair.
“Okay,” the chief said. “Lyle?”
MacAuley crossed his arms over his chest and stared into the middle distance. He wasn’t going to hide behind his notes like McCrea, but he wasn’t going to look at the chief, either. “Preliminary examination at the scene indicates the decedent was killed with a large knife. The ME won’t be able to tell exactly what we’re looking for until the autopsy, but it appeared to him that the fatal thrust was through the throat, which suggests the killer has at least some knowledge of professional knife-fighting techniques. There were no defensive wounds—suggesting the perp was someone either known to the decedent or someone unthreatening. There were—” Here he faltered and resorted to reading from his notebook. “Dr. Dvorak speculated that the significant postmortem wounds displayed the killer’s rage.”
Mark thought the chief might lose it. “What…” he said harshly, “what postmortem wounds?”
Eric McCrea had covered his face with one hand. He had been inside the house, Mark remembered. He had seen her. Of course, sooner or later they were all going to see her, in neatly labeled evidence photos. First the rest of the officers, then the men and women at the district attorney’s office, and then, if they did their job right, a judge and a jury and a whole courtroom of spectators.
“Her face was slashed. Repeatedly.” MacAuley’s face puckered, as if he had something nasty in his mouth.
The chief’s jaw
“The cat? We don’t have a cat.”
“The Tracey woman said Mrs. Van Alstyne adopted it a week ago.” He looked at MacAuley. “Uh, found the cat behind the barn. We took it to the county SPCA.”
Mark looked toward the wall. He didn’t want to watch the chief deal with the fact that he hadn’t even known his wife got a cat.
Eric bent his head to his notes and went on. “She says she’s very close to the victim and was worried because she hadn’t heard anything from her since Saturday afternoon.”
The silence in the squad room was absolute. Eric realized what he said. “Shit! I meant Mrs. Van Alstyne. I’m sorry, chief.”
The chief shifted on his table. “Okay, guys.” He sounded very, very tired. “This is a homicide investigation. We’re not going to get anywhere if you have to apologize every time you say ‘victim’ or ‘murder.’ Let’s stop worrying about my feelings and focus on breaking the case.” He waved toward McCrea. “Go on, Eric.”
“Um… that’s about it. Mrs. Tracey didn’t know of anyone who might have posed a threat to… the victim. She said the only person Mrs. Van Alstyne had been having trouble with lately—” McCrea broke off, swallowing.
“Was her husband,” the chief finished.
McCrea nodded.
“Let’s get that out in the open, then.” The chief took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think everybody here is aware I’ve been staying at my mom’s house since the Friday before last. Lyle?” He pointed to the whiteboard, and Lyle wrote down
JAN 8
. “Except for one counseling session, I haven’t seen Linda since then.”
Mark wondered if he was aware he was speaking of his wife in the present.
“I don’t know what rumors or stories have been making the rounds. The fact is, every marriage has its ups and downs. Linda and I started talking seriously about some issues in the middle of November. We decided we needed some perspective, so we started seeing a marriage counselor in December. Then Linda needed a break from having me around, so we agreed I’d move into my mom’s temporarily. Any questions?”
Mark held his breath, waiting to see if anyone was foolhardy enough to ask the chief about the rumors of his affair.
“Okay,” the chief said. “Lyle?”
MacAuley crossed his arms over his chest and stared into the middle distance. He wasn’t going to hide behind his notes like McCrea, but he wasn’t going to look at the chief, either. “Preliminary examination at the scene indicates the decedent was killed with a large knife. The ME won’t be able to tell exactly what we’re looking for until the autopsy, but it appeared to him that the fatal thrust was through the throat, which suggests the killer has at least some knowledge of professional knife-fighting techniques. There were no defensive wounds—suggesting the perp was someone either known to the decedent or someone unthreatening. There were—” Here he faltered and resorted to reading from his notebook. “Dr. Dvorak speculated that the significant postmortem wounds displayed the killer’s rage.”
Mark thought the chief might lose it. “What…” he said harshly, “what postmortem wounds?”
Eric McCrea had covered his face with one hand. He had been inside the house, Mark remembered. He had seen her. Of course, sooner or later they were all going to see her, in neatly labeled evidence photos. First the rest of the officers, then the men and women at the district attorney’s office, and then, if they did their job right, a judge and a jury and a whole courtroom of spectators.
“Her face was slashed. Repeatedly.” MacAuley’s face puckered, as if he had something nasty in his mouth.
The chief’s jaw
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