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Authors: Toni Anderson
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file cabinets and found Jake Sizemore’s office door.
It was locked.
Nick took the lock pick kit from his back pocket, held the torch close and blocked the light with his body. It took three seconds to open the lock and Nick crossed into Jake’s private sanctum.
If there was any proof Jake had dumped Chrissie into water teeming with great whites, it would likely be in this room. Nick started with Jake’s desk, careful not to disrupt the order in which things were placed as he rifled through file folders. There was a copy of A King’s Treasure Lost by Howard J. Murray on the desk. Nick eyed it speculatively and moved on.
Mountains of paperwork produced nothing, but there was a half box of condoms in the bottom drawer. Nick wondered what Mrs. Sizemore thought of that, given Jake had had his gonads snipped nine years ago.
“Dirty bastard.” The words rolled around Nick’s teeth, more habit than malice. He looked at the walls, stood with his flashlight pointed at the pictures, his body blocking the light from the windows as much as he could. His heart pounded as he found a picture of Chrissie and Jake, both of them standing on the prow of a sailing boat, smiling at whoever was taking the photograph.
He touched his finger to the curve of her cheek, swallowed the knot of anguish that welled up inside him and choked his throat. Chrissie’s hair was jet black, plastered flat against her skull as if she’d been diving. Her dark eyes sparkled, lips bowed in a cheery smile that still affected him like a bullet to the heart.
She’d betrayed him.
Then she’d died.
Nick turned away, frustration winding its way through his muscles and squeezing his gut. There had to be something . But what? A confession? A bloodstained knife? He walked over to the filing cabinets, pulled open the top drawer, staring at the internal report the university had compiled after Chrissie’s death. A tedious piece of bullshit exonerating Professor Sizemore and laying the blame squarely on Chrissie’s bloodless shoulders. She’d taken a boat on her own. Gone diving in dangerous waters without a buddy and paid with her life.
Which was bollocks because Chrissie was the most safety-conscious person he’d ever known. She was a queen bitch Divemaster and would never have taken off alone. And that left one alternative. Murder.
But there was no evidence.
He rifled through the rest of the drawers, hope draining with each heartbeat. Suddenly blue lights flashed outside the large plate glass windows that looked over the bay.
Busted .
The door locked behind him, Nick raced down the stairs through to the old part of the building where Chrissie had had a cubbyhole office in the good old days. After passing the electron-microscopy suite, he lit out of the rear fire exit, hopped over the fence and was in Susie Cooper’s Mini warming the engine when his cell phone buzzed for real.
What the…?
Pulling off his toque, he answered dispatch, trying not to sound out of breath. “D.I. Archer.”
“Sir, I know you’re not on call, but we’ve got a report from East Sands of a dead body.”
Jesus .
While he’d been searching Sizemore’s office, someone outside had tripped over a corpse. It was probably a floater, grim even without being a reminder of Chrissie’s death.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He rang off, cold sweat drying on his forehead that he wiped away with an even colder hand. That had been close and for what? Perhaps there was no way of getting justice for his wife’s murder, at least no way that was legal.
He speed-dialed Ewan, who answered with a muffled, “Ugh?”
“We’ve got a dead body, East Sands. I don’t have details.”
Nick heard Ewan rubbing the sleep from his eyes, grumbling and groaning. “I’ll call Amy’s sister to come over. Should be there in twenty minutes. God, I hope it isn’t a kid.”
Nick shuddered. He hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll call forensics.”
Nick rang off. He reversed the
It was locked.
Nick took the lock pick kit from his back pocket, held the torch close and blocked the light with his body. It took three seconds to open the lock and Nick crossed into Jake’s private sanctum.
If there was any proof Jake had dumped Chrissie into water teeming with great whites, it would likely be in this room. Nick started with Jake’s desk, careful not to disrupt the order in which things were placed as he rifled through file folders. There was a copy of A King’s Treasure Lost by Howard J. Murray on the desk. Nick eyed it speculatively and moved on.
Mountains of paperwork produced nothing, but there was a half box of condoms in the bottom drawer. Nick wondered what Mrs. Sizemore thought of that, given Jake had had his gonads snipped nine years ago.
“Dirty bastard.” The words rolled around Nick’s teeth, more habit than malice. He looked at the walls, stood with his flashlight pointed at the pictures, his body blocking the light from the windows as much as he could. His heart pounded as he found a picture of Chrissie and Jake, both of them standing on the prow of a sailing boat, smiling at whoever was taking the photograph.
He touched his finger to the curve of her cheek, swallowed the knot of anguish that welled up inside him and choked his throat. Chrissie’s hair was jet black, plastered flat against her skull as if she’d been diving. Her dark eyes sparkled, lips bowed in a cheery smile that still affected him like a bullet to the heart.
She’d betrayed him.
Then she’d died.
Nick turned away, frustration winding its way through his muscles and squeezing his gut. There had to be something . But what? A confession? A bloodstained knife? He walked over to the filing cabinets, pulled open the top drawer, staring at the internal report the university had compiled after Chrissie’s death. A tedious piece of bullshit exonerating Professor Sizemore and laying the blame squarely on Chrissie’s bloodless shoulders. She’d taken a boat on her own. Gone diving in dangerous waters without a buddy and paid with her life.
Which was bollocks because Chrissie was the most safety-conscious person he’d ever known. She was a queen bitch Divemaster and would never have taken off alone. And that left one alternative. Murder.
But there was no evidence.
He rifled through the rest of the drawers, hope draining with each heartbeat. Suddenly blue lights flashed outside the large plate glass windows that looked over the bay.
Busted .
The door locked behind him, Nick raced down the stairs through to the old part of the building where Chrissie had had a cubbyhole office in the good old days. After passing the electron-microscopy suite, he lit out of the rear fire exit, hopped over the fence and was in Susie Cooper’s Mini warming the engine when his cell phone buzzed for real.
What the…?
Pulling off his toque, he answered dispatch, trying not to sound out of breath. “D.I. Archer.”
“Sir, I know you’re not on call, but we’ve got a report from East Sands of a dead body.”
Jesus .
While he’d been searching Sizemore’s office, someone outside had tripped over a corpse. It was probably a floater, grim even without being a reminder of Chrissie’s death.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He rang off, cold sweat drying on his forehead that he wiped away with an even colder hand. That had been close and for what? Perhaps there was no way of getting justice for his wife’s murder, at least no way that was legal.
He speed-dialed Ewan, who answered with a muffled, “Ugh?”
“We’ve got a dead body, East Sands. I don’t have details.”
Nick heard Ewan rubbing the sleep from his eyes, grumbling and groaning. “I’ll call Amy’s sister to come over. Should be there in twenty minutes. God, I hope it isn’t a kid.”
Nick shuddered. He hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll call forensics.”
Nick rang off. He reversed the
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