Free Frozen Stiff by Annelise Ryan Page A

he died right after getting in. The food on the table and the fork on the floor make me think that whatever happened to him, happened while he was eating. He dropped his fork, headed for the garage, and died before he could get his car started.” I turn and look at Colbert. “His daughter told me she found him slumped behind the wheel and that the car wasn’t running. It wasn’t running when you guys got here, was it?”
    Colbert shakes his head. “No. That much I’m sure of.”
    “So much for my suicide theory then,” I mutter. I turn the engine off, bag & tag the keys, and hand them to Colbert. Then I take some pictures of the garage interior.
    “So we have another incident of foul play?” Colbert says, his eyes huge with eager excitement as he watches me. You got to love that about new cops; murder and mayhem to them is like a freezer full of Ben & Jerry’s to me.
    “Not necessarily,” I say, dashing his hopes. “There are plenty of other natural causes that might have killed him.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like a blood clot in his lung, or a ruptured brain aneurysm.”
    “So you’ll be able to tell what it was when you do the autopsy?”
    “Hopefully, though sometimes we don’t find an immediate cause of death.”
    “What do you do when that happens?”
    “Run toxicology tests, look at the blood work, reexamine the scene . . . but in this case I’m betting that we’ll find something physical. There really isn’t anything to suggest foul play.”
    “What about that key you said was missing?”
    I frown at that. The missing key does bother me, but even so, I doubt it’s very significant. I say so to Colbert but then caveat my statement by adding, “But just to be thorough, we should get someone to come out and dust the light for prints.”
    Colbert gets on his phone and calls into the office to arrange for an evidence tech to come out. While we’re waiting, we look through the rest of the house but nothing else looks out of place. When the evidence tech arrives, we watch as he dusts the light cap, but the surface of the cap is pebbled and he tells us he’s not likely to pull anything off it because of the texture. His prediction proves true and he’s gone a few minutes later. Colbert and I prepare to follow suit but a niggling thought makes me head back to the kitchen. After rummaging through some of Minniver’s drawers, I find some plastic baggies and collect what is left of his last meal. I pour a sample of his drink into an evidence vial from my scene kit, and then I put his fork and empty plate into a paper bag, sealing it all with evidence tape.
    After locking the house, I head back to the morgue with Colbert following me. He watches as I log in the evidence, looking thoughtful, and I wonder if he’s mulling over the possible ramifications of screwing up a crime scene.
    As soon as Colbert leaves I head for the library, which serves double duty as my makeshift office, to finish my paperwork.
    Just as I’m about to shut down the computer for the night, I take one last look at my notes and see where I jotted down Minniver’s daughter’s comment about her father being involved in a lawsuit of some sort with a neighbor. At the time she said it, I hadn’t yet made the connection between Minniver’s address and Hurley’s. A strange tingle runs down my spine as I consider the possibilities, but even as I do, I dismiss the idea as ludicrous. It has to be a coincidence. There is no way Hurley could be involved in this death, too. Is there?
    My hand hovers over the mouse, ready to click on SHUT DOWN , but I hesitate. Thirty seconds later my curiosity gets the better of me. I launch the Internet browser and click on the Wisconsin Circuit Court site. I type in Minniver’s name and only one case pops up. When I click on the link and see the name of the defendant, my heart sinks. It’s Steven Hurley.

Chapter 9
    I spend the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep as I ponder the significance of