Read Online In the Air Tonight by Lori Handeland - Free Book Online Page B

embalming area where a man—this time Bobby was certain—was hard at work on the single body in the room.
    “Dr. Christiansen,” Johnson said.
    The fellow was tall and lean, he had to bend over fairly far to remove something pink from the corpse and set it on a scale. He was of an age with the police chief, but he still had all his fluffy blond hair.
    “You must be the detective from New Orleans.” Christiansen peered at the weight with eyes as blue as everyone else’s in town but Raye’s, then turned back to the body.
    “Bobby Doucet.”
    Even though Bobby hadn’t asked, Johnson explained the way things worked. “Dr. Christiansen is our funeral director and medical examiner.”
    “Thrifty.”
    “We don’t have need for any more. There hasn’t been a murder here in decades.”
    While that might be fabulous on the brochure, it did not give Bobby a good feeling about the state of the crime scene or the evidence.
    “Forgive me, Doctor, but maybe the body should have been sent to…” Bobby paused, uncertain which city was the appropriate one.
    He’d flown into Madison, the home of a well-respected university, a medical school, a teaching and research hospital—that had been on their brochure. Then again, maybe there was a closer place with adequate resources.
    What did it matter? The doctor had already opened up the woman and started to dig around.
    “If I’d felt I wasn’t competent, I would have said so.” Christiansen didn’t seem offended. Like most funeral directors Bobby had encountered—and he’d encountered a lot of them—the man possessed a personality so laid-back as to be nearly asleep. Considering what he had to deal with, that was probably for the best.
    “In this case, it wasn’t difficult to determine a cause of death.” Christiansen lifted his gaze. “She’s missing an arm.”
    “She died from that injury?”
    “I’ve found nothing else that would have killed her.”
    Bobby moved forward. “I’m most interested in the brand.”
    “More than a missing arm?” Christiansen shrugged. “To each his own.”
    “We’ve discovered several bodies in New Orleans with a similar mark. May I see?”
    Christiansen gently drew the woman’s hair away from her neck. Branded into her flesh was the head of a snarling wolf.
    “It’s the same,” Bobby said.
    “Do you have any leads?” Chief Johnson asked.
    “Haven’t had a body in nearly a year.”
    “So, no,” Christiansen murmured.
    “No.”
    Johnson frowned. “How many bodies?”
    “Five.”
    “And not a single damn clue?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    Didn’t mean they had a clue—literal or figurative—but he certainly hadn’t said so.
    “Different methods of death,” he continued. “Young, old, male, female, white, not. The only thing they had in common was that brand.”
    “What did you find out about it?” Johnson asked.
    “Nothing.”
    “It would seem,” the doctor began, “that such a mark would be easily traceable. Especially in this day and age.”
    “Wouldn’t it?” Bobby shoved his fingers through his hair. “We’ve been over hundreds of old books, examined ancient jewelry—amulets, rings—even family crests. Haven’t found one that looks like that. You told her brother about the brand?”
    “Did better than that.” The doctor withdrew another organ, weighed that one too. “I showed him.”
    “He was here? When?” Bobby had gotten here pretty damn fast himself. How had he missed the man?
    “Madison is only an hour away. He came immediately. Identified the body. Left.”
    “Did he have any idea why someone would off his sister?”
    “None. She was a saint.”
    “I doubt she was killed because of who she was. Has he pissed off any Mexican drug lords? Mafia?” Bobby frowned. “Do you have mafia?”
    “Doesn’t everyone?” Christiansen asked.
    Did that mean they did or they didn’t?
    “Marshal McKenna transports federal prisoners,” Johnson said. “Might be drug dealers, or even