pretending that he’d talked to the sheriff, that maybe hadn’t been wise for positive relations with the department; however, he didn’t regret it. What the hell. Sometimes you just had to forge forward in life, and he hadn’t been particularly good in that regard lately.
Although he’d overstepped bounds all over the place and if he were caught, had no backup plan, he didn’t much care. Part of his “depression,” no doubt, but he kinda thought his very lack of interest was the reason he’d gotten past the ME. He wasn’t desperate or pushy, didn’t want anything really, and so he’d raised no alarm. If he wanted to see the John Doe’s body, it was fine, fine, fine. No reason to call the sheriff and check. Just go goddamn look at it already, and get out.
The dead man’s image crossed the screen of his mind. The stitched Y-cut from the autopsy. The muscular build. His youth. No defensive wounds…
Why hadn’t the guy fought back? What had stopped him? Did he know his attacker? Was he unconscious before the knife attack began?
Lang knew the man had been found by a trucker, but unless he looked at the case file he wouldn’t know the trucker’s name and/or how to get hold of him. Not that he really cared to talk to the man. Not that he had any authority to get involved.
“Not my case,” he said aloud.
Yet he was mildly intrigued. Mildly.
“Nobody likes interference,” he added. “Curtis knows better.”
Yet his partner, the bastard, had intrigued him.
Maybe it was a good thing. Time would tell.
The rain had turned his windows into a moving rain splatter and now he was insulated from view behind a gray fog of condensation, cocooned within the vehicle. Lang thought about the Jane Doe who’d been released from Laurelton General to Halo Valley Security Hospital.
Halo Valley.
He closed his eyes, breathed quietly for several moments, then opened them again. Halo Valley Security Hospital was a private institution where special funds were set aside for worthy cases. The Marsdon family being a major contributor to the hospital and the special funds made it a good bet concessions had been made for Heyward Marsdon III, yes, but the hospital served an altruistic purpose, too. Cases that might have normally been assigned to the Oregon State Hospital in Salem, the state-run facility, sometimes ended up at Halo Valley, easing costs to the state and maybe even giving the patient more intensive care.
Not that Lang would ever be a fan. Given what had happened to his sister on Halo Valley grounds, and the choices that had been made by Halo Valley staff, particularly Dr. Claire Norris, he was never going to feel all warm and fuzzy about the place. But Halo Valley was where the pregnant rest stop victim had been taken, so if he kept with this case, it might be a place he was destined to visit.
The idea brought a cold chill to his skin.
So why was he parked outside the Winslow County Sheriff’s Department? Why was he listening to Trey Curtis? Why did he feel oddly committed to a case that had nothing— nothing —to do with him? Why this case? Why now?
Lang’s hands flexed on the wheel for a moment, then he threw open the door and stepped into the rain, jamming a baseball cap on his head and watching rain slide down the shoulders of his black leather jacket. He should have worn a raincoat. He shouldn’t be on this mission. He should have stayed home and watched daytime television.
It was raining the day Melody died, too. An incessant, chilling precipitation thrown around by the hand of the wind. She’d stopped by to see Lang at work, her hair wet, her face flushed from cold, raindrops sparkling under the department lights. He’d been on his way out and she’d said she wanted to talk to him. She wore a thin jacket, a summer jacket, and he could see the bare skin of her wrists and a little up her forearms. Thin, red welts showed where she’d scratched herself. Even in those few moments she couldn’t stop
Although he’d overstepped bounds all over the place and if he were caught, had no backup plan, he didn’t much care. Part of his “depression,” no doubt, but he kinda thought his very lack of interest was the reason he’d gotten past the ME. He wasn’t desperate or pushy, didn’t want anything really, and so he’d raised no alarm. If he wanted to see the John Doe’s body, it was fine, fine, fine. No reason to call the sheriff and check. Just go goddamn look at it already, and get out.
The dead man’s image crossed the screen of his mind. The stitched Y-cut from the autopsy. The muscular build. His youth. No defensive wounds…
Why hadn’t the guy fought back? What had stopped him? Did he know his attacker? Was he unconscious before the knife attack began?
Lang knew the man had been found by a trucker, but unless he looked at the case file he wouldn’t know the trucker’s name and/or how to get hold of him. Not that he really cared to talk to the man. Not that he had any authority to get involved.
“Not my case,” he said aloud.
Yet he was mildly intrigued. Mildly.
“Nobody likes interference,” he added. “Curtis knows better.”
Yet his partner, the bastard, had intrigued him.
Maybe it was a good thing. Time would tell.
The rain had turned his windows into a moving rain splatter and now he was insulated from view behind a gray fog of condensation, cocooned within the vehicle. Lang thought about the Jane Doe who’d been released from Laurelton General to Halo Valley Security Hospital.
Halo Valley.
He closed his eyes, breathed quietly for several moments, then opened them again. Halo Valley Security Hospital was a private institution where special funds were set aside for worthy cases. The Marsdon family being a major contributor to the hospital and the special funds made it a good bet concessions had been made for Heyward Marsdon III, yes, but the hospital served an altruistic purpose, too. Cases that might have normally been assigned to the Oregon State Hospital in Salem, the state-run facility, sometimes ended up at Halo Valley, easing costs to the state and maybe even giving the patient more intensive care.
Not that Lang would ever be a fan. Given what had happened to his sister on Halo Valley grounds, and the choices that had been made by Halo Valley staff, particularly Dr. Claire Norris, he was never going to feel all warm and fuzzy about the place. But Halo Valley was where the pregnant rest stop victim had been taken, so if he kept with this case, it might be a place he was destined to visit.
The idea brought a cold chill to his skin.
So why was he parked outside the Winslow County Sheriff’s Department? Why was he listening to Trey Curtis? Why did he feel oddly committed to a case that had nothing— nothing —to do with him? Why this case? Why now?
Lang’s hands flexed on the wheel for a moment, then he threw open the door and stepped into the rain, jamming a baseball cap on his head and watching rain slide down the shoulders of his black leather jacket. He should have worn a raincoat. He shouldn’t be on this mission. He should have stayed home and watched daytime television.
It was raining the day Melody died, too. An incessant, chilling precipitation thrown around by the hand of the wind. She’d stopped by to see Lang at work, her hair wet, her face flushed from cold, raindrops sparkling under the department lights. He’d been on his way out and she’d said she wanted to talk to him. She wore a thin jacket, a summer jacket, and he could see the bare skin of her wrists and a little up her forearms. Thin, red welts showed where she’d scratched herself. Even in those few moments she couldn’t stop
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