Read Online Halfway to Half Way by Suzann Ledbetter - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzann Ledbetter
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Andrik leaned in for a close-up photo of the lace scarf used as a garrote. The chief of detectives' customary emotional range went from inscrutably grim to inscrutably grimmer. Today, he looked as sick as David felt.
"I hate this fuckin' job," he snarled.
Marlin had said it before. Many times, yet never quite as savagely. Grief, rage and fear lacerated his voice. He took all homicides personally. This one hit too close to home.
Sheriff Larry Beauford had been an elected bureaucrat for whom crime scenes were photo ops, but Bev was still a cop's wife. Her murder crossed a blue line everyone in law enforcement wanted to believe was inviolate. Sacrosanct. An unalienable quid pro quo for putting their own lives at risk.
Marlin rocked back on his heels and looked up at David. "You need to hurl, go outside. Me and Duckworth already flocked the geraniums on the patio."
"If it'd help, I would."
"It won't." He wiped his mouth on the shoulder of his sport coat. "A smoke won't, either, but I'm gonna have one."
He passed off the camera to Josh Phelps. The trainee would assist the coroner when he rolled over the body, then commit that perspective to film.
Marlin was old school. Digital video and stills had their place, but in addition to, not in lieu of, traditional prints and Polaroids. A defense attorney who insinuated that court exhibits had been processed on Photoshop got their asses handed to them. Few things put the chief of detectives in a better mood.
David followed him to the front lawn, realizing the investigator was as eager to brief him as he was for a nicotine fix. They'd worked some horrific scenes togethera multi-fatality shooting sprang immediately to mindbut David couldn't recall Marlin's hand shaking when he lit a cigarette.
A deep drag was taken, held, then exhaled out his nostrils. "After all these years, shit's not supposed to get to me like this." The toe of Marlin's shoe eviscerated a clump of wild onion. "If you want Cletus Orr to lead this one, say the word."
"It's your unit. That makes it your call. No explanation necessary, either way."
David meant it, but hoped the case wasn't reassigned. Cletus Orr was a good investigator. He had seniority in years of service. There were reasons, though, that he'd twice been passed over for promotion to chief.
Cletus was also due to retire soon. If Jessup Knox won the electionDavid cursed himself. Hiring on as Orr's replacement hadn't occurred to him before, and damn well shouldn't have now.
"I'm just blowing off steam." Marlin's fingers raked his thick, rapidly graying hair. "I want this dirtbag. Want him about fifteen feet out and dead-bang in my sights, if possible."
He squinted at the sun, as though condemning it for shining at a time like this. "I thought it was a jolt when Larry Beauford kicked in the emergency room that night. Everybody could see, he was a coronary or a stroke waiting to happen, but this "
He flicked ash off the Marlboro pinched between his gloved fingers. "Bev? Strangled to death in her own house? Jesus. "
The pause demanded and defied a response. Seeing wasn't always believing. A kid doesn't have to see the monster under the bed to believe it's there. Cops know monsters exist. If they lived under beds and had claws and fangs, instead of looking like everybody else, Bev wouldn't be lying dead on the family room floor.
"I haven't seen her around town since Larry's funeral," Marlin went on, "but the wife said Bev was volunteering at the hospital again, getting her hair done at the Curl-Up & Dyethat kinda shit." His eyes cut to David. "Who could have had a hate-on for that woman?"
A question he himself would answer, if it was humanly possible. God help the perpetrator, when he did.
"I saw the scuff marks on the carpet," David said, "and the smashed-up table. Do you think she walked in on a
"I hate this fuckin' job," he snarled.
Marlin had said it before. Many times, yet never quite as savagely. Grief, rage and fear lacerated his voice. He took all homicides personally. This one hit too close to home.
Sheriff Larry Beauford had been an elected bureaucrat for whom crime scenes were photo ops, but Bev was still a cop's wife. Her murder crossed a blue line everyone in law enforcement wanted to believe was inviolate. Sacrosanct. An unalienable quid pro quo for putting their own lives at risk.
Marlin rocked back on his heels and looked up at David. "You need to hurl, go outside. Me and Duckworth already flocked the geraniums on the patio."
"If it'd help, I would."
"It won't." He wiped his mouth on the shoulder of his sport coat. "A smoke won't, either, but I'm gonna have one."
He passed off the camera to Josh Phelps. The trainee would assist the coroner when he rolled over the body, then commit that perspective to film.
Marlin was old school. Digital video and stills had their place, but in addition to, not in lieu of, traditional prints and Polaroids. A defense attorney who insinuated that court exhibits had been processed on Photoshop got their asses handed to them. Few things put the chief of detectives in a better mood.
David followed him to the front lawn, realizing the investigator was as eager to brief him as he was for a nicotine fix. They'd worked some horrific scenes togethera multi-fatality shooting sprang immediately to mindbut David couldn't recall Marlin's hand shaking when he lit a cigarette.
A deep drag was taken, held, then exhaled out his nostrils. "After all these years, shit's not supposed to get to me like this." The toe of Marlin's shoe eviscerated a clump of wild onion. "If you want Cletus Orr to lead this one, say the word."
"It's your unit. That makes it your call. No explanation necessary, either way."
David meant it, but hoped the case wasn't reassigned. Cletus Orr was a good investigator. He had seniority in years of service. There were reasons, though, that he'd twice been passed over for promotion to chief.
Cletus was also due to retire soon. If Jessup Knox won the electionDavid cursed himself. Hiring on as Orr's replacement hadn't occurred to him before, and damn well shouldn't have now.
"I'm just blowing off steam." Marlin's fingers raked his thick, rapidly graying hair. "I want this dirtbag. Want him about fifteen feet out and dead-bang in my sights, if possible."
He squinted at the sun, as though condemning it for shining at a time like this. "I thought it was a jolt when Larry Beauford kicked in the emergency room that night. Everybody could see, he was a coronary or a stroke waiting to happen, but this "
He flicked ash off the Marlboro pinched between his gloved fingers. "Bev? Strangled to death in her own house? Jesus. "
The pause demanded and defied a response. Seeing wasn't always believing. A kid doesn't have to see the monster under the bed to believe it's there. Cops know monsters exist. If they lived under beds and had claws and fangs, instead of looking like everybody else, Bev wouldn't be lying dead on the family room floor.
"I haven't seen her around town since Larry's funeral," Marlin went on, "but the wife said Bev was volunteering at the hospital again, getting her hair done at the Curl-Up & Dyethat kinda shit." His eyes cut to David. "Who could have had a hate-on for that woman?"
A question he himself would answer, if it was humanly possible. God help the perpetrator, when he did.
"I saw the scuff marks on the carpet," David said, "and the smashed-up table. Do you think she walked in on a
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