Free Dark Tiger by William G. Tapply

photographs. Backed up to the windows was a big oak desk littered with papers and manila folders. In one corner of the office, four comfortable-looking upholstered chairs were angled around a glass-topped coffee table.
    Dr. Grimshaw gestured at the chairs. “Let’s sit.” She picked up a manila folder from her desk, then sat in one of the upholstered chairs.
    Calhoun sat across from her.
    She tapped the edge of the folder against her chin and fixed Calhoun with those icy eyes. “So tell me, Deputy. Why does a nonmurder in Aroostook County interest the sheriff’s department in Cumberland County?”
    Calhoun had expected this question. “Didn’t Sheriff Dickman talk to you about that?”
    Dr. Grimshaw smiled. “Actually, my old friend the sheriff was rather evasive.”
    Calhoun smiled and flapped his hands. “Well . . .”
    She nodded. “So I guess I should expect his deputy to be equally evasive.”
    â€œTo tell you the truth, ma’am, there’s really not much I can say at this point.”
    Dr. Grimshaw shrugged. “Then I don’t see why I should share my information with you.”
    Calhoun looked at her. “I wish you’d told me that before I drove all the way up here.”
    She waved a hand in the air. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t share. I will. Just so you know I’m doing you a favor, since you’re of no mind to reciprocate.”
    Calhoun nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” she said. “I really don’t mind. We’re all on the same side here, aren’t we?”
    Calhoun figured that was a rhetorical question, but he nodded anyway.
    Dr. Grimshaw put the folder on the coffee table, opened it, and took out a sheet of paper. She squinted at it, then looked at Calhoun. “When the man’s body came to me from St. Cecelia, he was a John Doe with a bullet hole inflicted by a .32 caliber weapon in his head. Subsequently we learned that his name was McNulty. Along with his body came that of a sixteen-year old girl, a resident of St. Cecelia named Millie Gautier, who also had a .32 bullet wound from the same weapon in her head. A .32 caliber revolver was found in McNulty’s hand, but we quickly determined that both bullet wounds were postmortem. Hence, it was neither a double murder nor a murder-suicide.” She looked up at Calhoun with her eyebrows arched.
    â€œShooting bullets into dead people must be some kind of crime,” he said.
    Dr. Grimshaw smiled and nodded. “I suppose it is,” she said, “but it’s not murder.”
    â€œI suppose you couldn’t trace the ownership of that .32.”
    â€œNo,” she said. “The handgun was not registered.”
    â€œSo since it’s not a murder,” he said, “this case is not top priority for you. Right?”
    â€œA different priority,” she said. “Both deaths were unattended, so we needed to come up with a cause. That is easier said than done sometimes.”
    â€œYou must have some idea what they died of,” said Calhoun.
    â€œWell,” said Dr. Grimshaw, “without more evidence, I’d rather not even speculate.” She put the paper down on the table.“Bottom line, Deputy Calhoun, is that we don’t know what killed them, and it’s frankly quite worrisome. We did all of the standard tests for poisons and diseases and came up with blanks. Something unusual killed these two, and it’s very important that we figure out what. I have sent tissue and blood samples from both victims to the CDC in Georgia. The Centers for Disease Control. Frankly, while I’m always interested in solving mysteries—and the circumstances that lead somebody to shoot two dead bodies and try to make it look like a murder-suicide surely make an interesting mystery—professionally speaking, I am far more concerned that there might be some