Read Online The Evidence Room: A Mystery by Cameron Harvey - Free Book Online
Authors: Cameron Harvey
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nearby. Everyone in town had hoped that age would settle the Crumplers, maybe smooth out some of the rough edges, but that had turned out to be overly optimistic. Zeke and the older generation, now no longer able to participate in the petty crimes of their youth, continued to cause trouble by poking into everyone else’s business, running illegal poker games out of the Sunny Land Rest Home, and terrorizing anyone who dared to complain about the herd of barking dogs or incessant four-wheelers on their property outside town. Barred from his brother’s autopsy, Zeke had once called James “a pansy-ass, real light in the loafers.” It had been a long time ago, but then again, it wasn’t the kind of thing you forgot.
“I’m going to need you to step back, Zeke,” James said. He drew his handkerchief across his forehead, an instant sheen of new sweat rising in its wake. Summer in Cooper’s Bayou was getting more brutal with each passing year. Days like this, he wished for more help in the field, but explaining everything to the tech was more trouble than it was worth, so these things had to be borne alone.
James knelt back down. According to Zeke, the neon pink duffel bag had just shown up on the shore, and he’d opened it up to find the bones tucked inside. It was a dubious tale at best, but it was all they had to go on. James surveyed the shoreline. Someone could have tossed it from a boat, or the bayou itself could have deposited it on the beach. James’s father had told him stories as a kid about the magical things hiding in the bayou; skeletons of pirate ships and sea creatures. Bayou’s dark and deep, he’d tell James, but even the bayou can’t keep a secret forever .
He would have to call the police department, maybe find the name of the forensic anthropologist that he’d spoken with at the medical conference last year. The list of procedures stretched ahead of him, but for now, one fact crowded out all the rest.
It was a child.
He was pretty sure, given the size of the remains. James imagined the forensic artist who would press clay around the skull to re-create the face. Bayou John Doe, or Bayou Jane Doe. It had to be done, but James hated that it would become a sensational news story instead of being treated with quiet reverence as the tragedy it was. Death investigation was the telling of a personal story, not for public consumption, in his view.
James surveyed the area around the body. Whoever had left the bag had done so on a small curve of beach outside Baboon Jack’s, Cooper’s Bayou’s kiddie arcade. James had attended two of his nephews’ birthdays here. WHERE KIDS RUN WILD ! proclaimed the sign, and in James’s experience, it was true. He recalled the cavernous interior, a maze of blinking video games, yellow plastic slides, and a noise level unmatched by anything he had ever experienced. He was grateful that none of the kids inside had witnessed the discovery.
“How long you think this will take, Doc?” The proprietor of Baboon Jack’s, a humorless middle-aged man named Walter Coggins, hovered over him. “We’ve got a zombie dodgeball tournament in about half an hour.”
“This is a possible crime scene, Walter,” James told him. “I’ve got to call in the troops. Crime lab, police. You probably need to start shutting it down for the day.”
“Aw, hell, Doc. You gotta be kidding me.” Walter raked a hand through the greasy tendrils of his comb-over. “What am I gonna tell these parents? And I ain’t gonna get my money back on these zombies.”
“It’s a potential crime scene,” James repeated and extracted his cell phone from his pocket, turning away from Walter.
Mary Earl, the dispatcher, answered on the third ring.
“Hello there, darlin’.” Her pleasantries always caught him off guard. He’d said to Rush that they needed to answer the phone in a more professional manner over there, but the truth was, he liked hearing the words, even though he never knew what
“I’m going to need you to step back, Zeke,” James said. He drew his handkerchief across his forehead, an instant sheen of new sweat rising in its wake. Summer in Cooper’s Bayou was getting more brutal with each passing year. Days like this, he wished for more help in the field, but explaining everything to the tech was more trouble than it was worth, so these things had to be borne alone.
James knelt back down. According to Zeke, the neon pink duffel bag had just shown up on the shore, and he’d opened it up to find the bones tucked inside. It was a dubious tale at best, but it was all they had to go on. James surveyed the shoreline. Someone could have tossed it from a boat, or the bayou itself could have deposited it on the beach. James’s father had told him stories as a kid about the magical things hiding in the bayou; skeletons of pirate ships and sea creatures. Bayou’s dark and deep, he’d tell James, but even the bayou can’t keep a secret forever .
He would have to call the police department, maybe find the name of the forensic anthropologist that he’d spoken with at the medical conference last year. The list of procedures stretched ahead of him, but for now, one fact crowded out all the rest.
It was a child.
He was pretty sure, given the size of the remains. James imagined the forensic artist who would press clay around the skull to re-create the face. Bayou John Doe, or Bayou Jane Doe. It had to be done, but James hated that it would become a sensational news story instead of being treated with quiet reverence as the tragedy it was. Death investigation was the telling of a personal story, not for public consumption, in his view.
James surveyed the area around the body. Whoever had left the bag had done so on a small curve of beach outside Baboon Jack’s, Cooper’s Bayou’s kiddie arcade. James had attended two of his nephews’ birthdays here. WHERE KIDS RUN WILD ! proclaimed the sign, and in James’s experience, it was true. He recalled the cavernous interior, a maze of blinking video games, yellow plastic slides, and a noise level unmatched by anything he had ever experienced. He was grateful that none of the kids inside had witnessed the discovery.
“How long you think this will take, Doc?” The proprietor of Baboon Jack’s, a humorless middle-aged man named Walter Coggins, hovered over him. “We’ve got a zombie dodgeball tournament in about half an hour.”
“This is a possible crime scene, Walter,” James told him. “I’ve got to call in the troops. Crime lab, police. You probably need to start shutting it down for the day.”
“Aw, hell, Doc. You gotta be kidding me.” Walter raked a hand through the greasy tendrils of his comb-over. “What am I gonna tell these parents? And I ain’t gonna get my money back on these zombies.”
“It’s a potential crime scene,” James repeated and extracted his cell phone from his pocket, turning away from Walter.
Mary Earl, the dispatcher, answered on the third ring.
“Hello there, darlin’.” Her pleasantries always caught him off guard. He’d said to Rush that they needed to answer the phone in a more professional manner over there, but the truth was, he liked hearing the words, even though he never knew what
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