pattern and cadence, of inflection and body language. From Michelle’s posture on her bed to the recent bluster of her landlord, there had been subtle discordances. Not any of them alarming or even unusual, but all together forming a picture of incomplete parts. Joe was feeling like the only man on board a ship surrounded by calm water and fine weather, who was fighting the strong urge to seek cover.
“It does always end up going back there, doesn’t it?” he asked almost rhetorically.
“Where?” Sam asked.
“The body,” he said. “What, exactly, did her in?”
He reached for his cell phone and dialed Beverly Hillstrom, the chief medical examiner. They had long used each other as sounding boards over the years, forming a bond he was pretty sure she shared with no other cop, most of whom were stymied by her aloof and rigorous personality. He knew that side of her—he’d all but smacked into it on their very first meeting—but he’d soon discovered that couched behind it was a woman who merely demanded higher standards than the norm and showed her impatience with all who fell short. On that level alone, she’d quickly seen Gunther as a kindred spirit, even if his style was far from her own. In fact, to this day, in observance of her sense of propriety, they still referred to each other by title and always kept strictly to business.
“Doctor Hillstrom,” he therefore started out once she answered the phone, “it’s Joe Gunther.”
“Agent Gunther,” she said shortly.
Even given her normal manner, this was unusually brusque, and generally unheard of once she knew he was on the line. He made a note to stay strictly on the straight and narrow this time. She was clearly preoccupied.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he continued, “but I’m wondering once again if you might indulge me for just a couple of minutes on a case.”
“I wasn’t aware VBI had sent us anyone recently.”
He pursed his lips slightly. Her tone was bordering on hostile. “We didn’t. It came through the state police. Technically, in fact, it’s still theirs, but it’s got some questions attached that’ll probably—”
He didn’t get to finish.
“If it’s still theirs, then you better have them make the contact. And make sure,” she added pointedly, “that they follow proper protocol. This office does have a full-time police liaison. Things have begun to slip along those lines.”
“Right, I promise I’ll—”
But the phone had gone dead.
Gunther closed the cell and slipped it back onto his belt, feeling the warm breeze on his slightly reddened face through the car’s open window.
The view he’d driven here to enjoy remained unappreciated. Fighting his own immediate disappointment and embarrassment, he stared sightlessly into the distance, struggling instead to see a connection, if any, between his last two conversations. Both of them had certainly been straightforward enough—Newell Morgan had clearly stated his dislike of Michelle, his lack of regret at her passing, and what seemed to be the makings of a solid alibi. And Beverly Hillstrom had responded to his request for a special favor with an official thumbs-down. Yet each exchange had contained undertones that made him wonder if what he’d heard had in fact been the whole truth. The trick was to discover if the timing and tone of both were coincidental, or if they were tied to the evolving mystery that had made Joe initiate them in the first place.
“That didn’t sound good,” Sam suggested, watching him closely.
He started the car. Morgan’s background and alibi would take some footwork to check out. Hillstrom was a friend. For that reason alone, she merited his attention first. But he wasn’t kidding himself, either—he now had frankly ulterior motives beyond mere friendship.
“It wasn’t,” he told Sam. “Looks like I better drop you off back in Bratt, pack a bag, and head up to Burlington. Something’s up with Hillstrom, and it’s
“It does always end up going back there, doesn’t it?” he asked almost rhetorically.
“Where?” Sam asked.
“The body,” he said. “What, exactly, did her in?”
He reached for his cell phone and dialed Beverly Hillstrom, the chief medical examiner. They had long used each other as sounding boards over the years, forming a bond he was pretty sure she shared with no other cop, most of whom were stymied by her aloof and rigorous personality. He knew that side of her—he’d all but smacked into it on their very first meeting—but he’d soon discovered that couched behind it was a woman who merely demanded higher standards than the norm and showed her impatience with all who fell short. On that level alone, she’d quickly seen Gunther as a kindred spirit, even if his style was far from her own. In fact, to this day, in observance of her sense of propriety, they still referred to each other by title and always kept strictly to business.
“Doctor Hillstrom,” he therefore started out once she answered the phone, “it’s Joe Gunther.”
“Agent Gunther,” she said shortly.
Even given her normal manner, this was unusually brusque, and generally unheard of once she knew he was on the line. He made a note to stay strictly on the straight and narrow this time. She was clearly preoccupied.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he continued, “but I’m wondering once again if you might indulge me for just a couple of minutes on a case.”
“I wasn’t aware VBI had sent us anyone recently.”
He pursed his lips slightly. Her tone was bordering on hostile. “We didn’t. It came through the state police. Technically, in fact, it’s still theirs, but it’s got some questions attached that’ll probably—”
He didn’t get to finish.
“If it’s still theirs, then you better have them make the contact. And make sure,” she added pointedly, “that they follow proper protocol. This office does have a full-time police liaison. Things have begun to slip along those lines.”
“Right, I promise I’ll—”
But the phone had gone dead.
Gunther closed the cell and slipped it back onto his belt, feeling the warm breeze on his slightly reddened face through the car’s open window.
The view he’d driven here to enjoy remained unappreciated. Fighting his own immediate disappointment and embarrassment, he stared sightlessly into the distance, struggling instead to see a connection, if any, between his last two conversations. Both of them had certainly been straightforward enough—Newell Morgan had clearly stated his dislike of Michelle, his lack of regret at her passing, and what seemed to be the makings of a solid alibi. And Beverly Hillstrom had responded to his request for a special favor with an official thumbs-down. Yet each exchange had contained undertones that made him wonder if what he’d heard had in fact been the whole truth. The trick was to discover if the timing and tone of both were coincidental, or if they were tied to the evolving mystery that had made Joe initiate them in the first place.
“That didn’t sound good,” Sam suggested, watching him closely.
He started the car. Morgan’s background and alibi would take some footwork to check out. Hillstrom was a friend. For that reason alone, she merited his attention first. But he wasn’t kidding himself, either—he now had frankly ulterior motives beyond mere friendship.
“It wasn’t,” he told Sam. “Looks like I better drop you off back in Bratt, pack a bag, and head up to Burlington. Something’s up with Hillstrom, and it’s
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