Free Dead of Night by Randy Wayne White Page A

that. We’re all going to have to wait for the autopsy.”
    I nodded and looked toward the house—silhouettes of busy cops—then down a sand trail that led to more dilapidated houses. This island was prime for one of the big developers to move in, get the title problems resolved, then start all over demanding really big bucks.
    It would happen.
    “This could be a really nice place.”
    I said, “Lots of waterfront, good trees. Yeah.” Startled we’d shifted to a similar pattern of thought.
    “When the nightshade blooms here, it’s like snowdrifts. All those white blooms. But you’ve got to be careful, especially with kids. The berries are poisonous. We’ve done several of those cases.”
    “I didn’t know.”
    “Two died.”
    She was still tapping on the clipboard. I got the impression she was marking time, just like me. Her preliminary examination was done. Now she was waiting for detectives to finish so she could bag the body and be on her way.
    “Do you have any nonrelated questions, Dr. Ford?”
    “Just Ford. Or Marion.”
    “Okay. Ford. Anything else I can do for you?”
    There was something else on my mind. I was concerned about the young constable.
    I said, “The teenage girl who was here, the one the EMTs treated for shock? Her name’s Melinda Voigt. Local girl. She’s never been through anything like this. I think she’s going to need some help.”
    “I haven’t met Melinda, but I know who she is. What kind of help?”
    “Maybe a couple of visits with your shrink buddy. Better yet, the kind of help where someone with some authority—like you—tells the girl a small lie. A lie of kindness. I think someone needs to get the girl off alone and tell her that Applebee was dead before she arrived here.”
    “She feels responsible?”
    “The girl was on his porch when I arrived. She hadn’t gone in. She refused to let me in. After we found the body, she started wondering if maybe she could have saved him. If she hadn’t waited. Behaved a little more human and a little less hard-ass.”
    “She played the role, huh? The big boss in charge.”
    “That’s right.”
    “I’m not surprised. The cops tell me she’s a pompous ass. Even before she got elected constable, they say she was a pompous ass. Do you know what the vote was? Four to three. Only seven island voters. She’d cooked up the constable idea herself. A title, some power. I hear she comes from big money.”
    “Acting like a pompous ass is one of the stages most of us go through, isn’t it, Ms. Graves?”
    “I’m not so sure. Are you including yourself?”
    “Sure. I’ve got lots of experience. Not just the pompous ass stage, either. On a regular basis, I invent all kinds of ways to behave like an ass. Thoughtless ass. Clumsy ass. Dumb ass. Myopic ass. Name one.”
    She was grinning as I added, “The kind of guilt Melinda’s starting to feel could become permanent. The kind too heavy even for us experienced asses to deal with. She told me she’s only twenty. A small lie of kindness might help.”
    Graves thought about it for a moment, letting me see that her professional side was uneasy with the idea, before she said, “From what I was told, Applebee was still alive at a little after nine when you telephoned 911. Slightly more than an hour later, you called to say that he was dead. What time did the girl arrive on scene?”
    “Nine-forty. That’s what Melinda told me. I showed up about twenty minutes later.”
    The woman was shaking her head. “The window’s too small. We can’t pinpoint the time of death that closely.”
    “I’ve read there’s a way by measuring the body’s core temperature—”
    “Yes, I’ve already done that, but not with any . . .” She paused to organize her explanation. “Let me put it this way. After somatic death—that’s when the body as a whole stops functioning—a corpse’s core temperature can remain normal for one, even two, hours afterward, depending on conditions. Then it