Read Online Final Words by Teri Thackston - Free Book Online Page B

witness drew this?”
    “He’s in the honors art class at Clear Harbor High School.”
    “Convenient. Why does he think this man killed her?”
    “The boy was selling raffle tickets around the neighborhood
for the art club three days ago. He said Senorita Campanero always supported
school projects, so he went by her place and saw this guy through a window.
Said he was arguing with her. It got so ugly, the kid ran off.”
    “What are the odds that this guy is Amalia’s brother and
that he’s in the country illegally?”
    Charlie pulled up a chair. “Move over and let’s find out.”
    Jason slid aside, letting Charlie take his place at the
computer. The older man tapped a few keys and brought up a search screen, then
typed in the name “Campanero”. Several seconds passed before search results
appeared.
    “Look at that one,” Charlie said, pointing to the last of
three displayed photographs on the computer screen.
    Jason held the boy’s sketch and the old photo near the
screen image. His blood coursed a little faster. The similarities were too
close to ignore. “I think that’s him.”
    Charlie clicked a couple of keys more to bring up detailed
information on the last photo.
    Jason read the data. “Jaime Campanero. Citizen of Mexico.
Hmm. Looks like Señor Campanero makes frequent uninvited trips into our
country. Deported three times in the past seven years, arrested once for
running drugs. The only witness against him was found in a Houston alley with
half his face blown away. The drug charge was dropped and he was sent back to
Mexico again.”
    “I’ll order the ballistics report on that murder and compare
it to what our people got on Amalia Campanero.” Charlie clapped Jason on the
back. “A good morning’s work, my friend.”
    Yeah, any time they got a break made it a good morning.
    Grinning, Jason gestured with his cinnamon roll. “What? You
couldn’t afford an espresso to go with this?”
    * * * * *
    Emma leaned her cheek against the knuckles of one hand and tried
to concentrate on the report on her desk. A stack of folders stood at her
elbow. Others waited in a basket on the credenza behind her. She had mountains
of work to do but her thoughts kept returning to what had happened in the
autopsy suite on Wednesday.
    “Just your imagination,” she muttered for the hundredth time
and then lowered her damp hand to her lap. She’d seen her physician that
morning and he’d assured her that her head injury had not been severe enough to
cause hallucinations after nine weeks of recovery. She was stressed, he’d
determined and had prescribed a mild anti-anxiety pill to get her through this
tough time of returning to work. Emma hadn’t mentioned her ridiculous notion
about ghosts.
    She hadn’t allowed herself to think about Jason MacKenzie
anymore, either. Not that certain thoughts didn’t try to intrude. But when she
was awake, she was more in control than when she was caught in the twilight
edge of sleep. That time when golden eyes and hard, masculine hands could
soothe away nightmares.
    Taking a careful breath, she tried again to concentrate on
the report. The subject, a sixteen-year-old girl, had died of a heroin overdose
two weeks earlier. Judging from the attached crime scene photograph—the
position of the body on a rumpled bed, drug paraphernalia neatly arranged on
the nightstand—it had been a self-administered overdose. Tracks on the girl’s
arms were numerous, running from her wrists to her armpits, indicating
prolonged and regular drug abuse. Her problem couldn’t have been more apparent
if she’d stood on a street corner and announced it to the world.
    Or stood in an autopsy suite and told one Associate Chief
Medical Examiner.
    Turning the photo over, Emma sat back and closed her eyes.
She had not autopsied this body, had never seen the girl before opening the
folder. She would not allow herself to imagine that the girl’s spirit could
appear before her. The souls of the dead did