Read Online Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery) by Alane Ferguson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alane Ferguson
Ads: Link
can tell us who this girl is?”
“Wait, Justin—” Cameryn broke in. “I—”
“Hold on.” Justin held up his hand. “I couldn’t find a wallet, but I found something else. Sheriff Jacobs, could you come here?” His forehead wrinkled as he stared inside the backpack, as if he couldn’t comprehend.
Jacobs clomped over to where Justin stood. The mouth of the backpack gaped open, and Cameryn saw a flash of metal inside. “What is it, Deputy?”
“Look at this.” From the depths of the backpack Justin withdrew a pair of scissors. The blades were long, silver, and old-fashioned, with a pattern etched on the handle in a delicate engraving.
“So? Scissors don’t mean much.”
“Yeah, but check this out.” And then, with latex-gloved fingers, Justin removed a three-foot-long braid of strawberry-blonde hair. It hung, swinging like a rope. “Cutting off a girl’s hair can be an act of vengeance,” he told the sheriff.
Jacobs inclined his head. “How’s that?”
It was so quiet in the alleyway that Cameryn was afraid they might hear the pounding of her heart.
“Haircutting can be a sign of retribution,” explained Justin, his voice eager now. “When a crime is girl-on-girl, the perpetrator sometimes cuts off the victim’s hair.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you just made a giant leap there, Deputy. As far as I can tell, there is no retribution and there is no perpetrator . This girl put a bullet in her own head.” Jacobs squinted at Justin while Justin, still holding the braid, stared back.
Finally, Justin said, “Maybe you’re right. But there’s a psychological aspect to the cutting.”
“And you know this . . . how?” the sheriff asked.
“From the police academy. And, like Cameryn, I’ve read books on the criminal mind.”
The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck and let a small stream of air escape between his teeth. “We’re just a small town, Deputy. What I’ve learned is when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.”
Cameryn stood frozen. She watched as Justin held out the braid, which now hung limp from his hand. “You’re right, Sheriff—this might be a garden-variety suicide. But sometimes the hoofbeats do belong to the zebra.”
“What are you saying, Deputy?”
“I’m saying we might be looking at a murder.”
Chapter Six
“YOU WANT TO tell me what you’re thinking? I keep trying to bring up interesting subjects, but you haven’t said three words. I might as well be talking to Baby Doe. That’s what I’m calling our vic—Baby Doe instead of Jane Doe, since she’s so young,” her father said as he downshifted their station wagon. They had already descended the Million Dollar Highway and were now driving past Hermosa, a small town located on the outskirts of Durango. From the road, the town glittered with bright lights, like jewels against velvet. Cameryn watched it twinkle and wondered about the living that went on inside those houses. In those homes, people were serving dinner and helping their kids with homework, fighting and making up, oblivious to the cargo the Mahoneys carried. Death glided past life, unnoticed in the darkness.
“It’s . . . nothing,” she sighed. “Just a long day.”
“You can say that again. It’s like a bloody war zone.”
“I know,” she said, distracted. “I’m sorry, I’m just . . . thinking.” With her head pressed against the glass, she turned Justin’s words over in her mind for the hundredth time. Murder, murder, murder . If that were true, then she, by not telling what she knew, was withholding evidence of a crime. Suicide was one thing—there was no point dragging Hannah into a mess if she didn’t have to. But murder ? At this point she’d already gone too far. A plunging, hopeless feeling settled inside as she watched the full moon touch the top of the mountain, balancing on a jagged peak like a golden ball.
“Well, let me take a stab at this since you’re not talking. Are you worried that Dr.
“Wait, Justin—” Cameryn broke in. “I—”
“Hold on.” Justin held up his hand. “I couldn’t find a wallet, but I found something else. Sheriff Jacobs, could you come here?” His forehead wrinkled as he stared inside the backpack, as if he couldn’t comprehend.
Jacobs clomped over to where Justin stood. The mouth of the backpack gaped open, and Cameryn saw a flash of metal inside. “What is it, Deputy?”
“Look at this.” From the depths of the backpack Justin withdrew a pair of scissors. The blades were long, silver, and old-fashioned, with a pattern etched on the handle in a delicate engraving.
“So? Scissors don’t mean much.”
“Yeah, but check this out.” And then, with latex-gloved fingers, Justin removed a three-foot-long braid of strawberry-blonde hair. It hung, swinging like a rope. “Cutting off a girl’s hair can be an act of vengeance,” he told the sheriff.
Jacobs inclined his head. “How’s that?”
It was so quiet in the alleyway that Cameryn was afraid they might hear the pounding of her heart.
“Haircutting can be a sign of retribution,” explained Justin, his voice eager now. “When a crime is girl-on-girl, the perpetrator sometimes cuts off the victim’s hair.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you just made a giant leap there, Deputy. As far as I can tell, there is no retribution and there is no perpetrator . This girl put a bullet in her own head.” Jacobs squinted at Justin while Justin, still holding the braid, stared back.
Finally, Justin said, “Maybe you’re right. But there’s a psychological aspect to the cutting.”
“And you know this . . . how?” the sheriff asked.
“From the police academy. And, like Cameryn, I’ve read books on the criminal mind.”
The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck and let a small stream of air escape between his teeth. “We’re just a small town, Deputy. What I’ve learned is when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.”
Cameryn stood frozen. She watched as Justin held out the braid, which now hung limp from his hand. “You’re right, Sheriff—this might be a garden-variety suicide. But sometimes the hoofbeats do belong to the zebra.”
“What are you saying, Deputy?”
“I’m saying we might be looking at a murder.”
Chapter Six
“YOU WANT TO tell me what you’re thinking? I keep trying to bring up interesting subjects, but you haven’t said three words. I might as well be talking to Baby Doe. That’s what I’m calling our vic—Baby Doe instead of Jane Doe, since she’s so young,” her father said as he downshifted their station wagon. They had already descended the Million Dollar Highway and were now driving past Hermosa, a small town located on the outskirts of Durango. From the road, the town glittered with bright lights, like jewels against velvet. Cameryn watched it twinkle and wondered about the living that went on inside those houses. In those homes, people were serving dinner and helping their kids with homework, fighting and making up, oblivious to the cargo the Mahoneys carried. Death glided past life, unnoticed in the darkness.
“It’s . . . nothing,” she sighed. “Just a long day.”
“You can say that again. It’s like a bloody war zone.”
“I know,” she said, distracted. “I’m sorry, I’m just . . . thinking.” With her head pressed against the glass, she turned Justin’s words over in her mind for the hundredth time. Murder, murder, murder . If that were true, then she, by not telling what she knew, was withholding evidence of a crime. Suicide was one thing—there was no point dragging Hannah into a mess if she didn’t have to. But murder ? At this point she’d already gone too far. A plunging, hopeless feeling settled inside as she watched the full moon touch the top of the mountain, balancing on a jagged peak like a golden ball.
“Well, let me take a stab at this since you’re not talking. Are you worried that Dr.
Similar Books
