Free Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay by Reed Farrel Coleman

Her wild tangle of hair only enhanced that comparison. Tamaracame by her grace naturally. She had once been a world-class long-distance runner, one ruined knee away from the Olympics. She and Jesse had a lot in common. He went back to the notes. She went back to strolling.
    Molly Crane came into the office with some paperwork she left on Jesse’s desk. Tamara waved Molly over to where she was standing.
    â€œWhat’s with your boss?” she asked Molly, her voice low.
    â€œThe Gino Fish thing,” she said in a whisper. “That and the wedding.”
    â€œWedding. What wedding?”
    â€œHis ex.”
    â€œThe infamous Jenn?”
    Molly nodded.
    â€œHow’s he taking it?”
    â€œYou two do realize I’m sitting right here?” Jesse said, then pointed at the door. “You want to talk about me, take it outside.”
    Molly rolled her eyes. “No, thanks.”
    â€œWhat did you just put on my desk, Crane?”
    â€œBallistics report on the last shot-out tires. Same as the others, a .22, but I think our shooter’s moved on. Been the longest period between incidents since they began.”
    â€œI agree,” he said.
    â€œGood. Now I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”
    â€œVery funny, Molly. I think I hear your phone ringing.”
    â€œThat’s my cue to leave,” Molly said to Tamara and slipped out of the office.
    Tamara Elkin turned to Jesse, who had put her notes down. “You didn’t tell me about Jenn getting married.”
    â€œI didn’t know I was supposed to.”
    â€œWhere’s the wedding?”
    â€œDallas.”
    She laughed. “Great town if you like blondes, makeup, and barbecue.”
    Jesse made a face.
    â€œOh, shit! Sorry, Jesse. Diana’s blond, isn’t she?”
    â€œSo is my ex and I love good barbecue, but I’m not going, so let’s move on.”
    â€œOkay,” she said. “First just let me remove my foot from my mouth.”
    â€œForget it.” He changed subjects. “Says in your notes that you have some issues with the angle of the stab wound to the victim’s chest.”
    â€œNothing outrageous, but by my calculations, the person who stabbed the receptionist was shorter than Gino Fish by at least a few inches. Here, stand up,” she said, waving Jesse to come over by her. When he got to within a few feet of her, she signaled for him to stop. “The chest wound to the victim was an ascending wound and very deep. The murder weapon was a sharp knife, but the blade was broad and it would require a lot of force to penetrate as deeply into the victim’s heart as it did, especially as it clipped the sternum. Unless the person making the wound was very strong, it would be a difficult wound to produce with a bent arm jabbing in an upward motion, like so.” She pantomimed stabbing Jesse in the chest. “And even if Mr. Fish had been strong enough to do that damage and given the length of his arm, I would have expected the angle of the wound to have been steeper. I think the blow was more of a thrust, like this,” she said, straightening her arm as she took a long stride toward Jesse. “If that’s the case and the measurements in the file are correct, the wound should not have been ascending at all, possibly even slightly descending.”
    Jesse didn’t react right away. He knew that real police work wasn’t like police work on TV, that different MEs could reach different conclusions based on the same evidence. And there was also the element of human error. But he knew the Boston Homicide detectives were likely to accept their own theory of the case and overlook any minor discrepancies. It was human nature and it was the nature of the Homicide bureau. He’d been there himself. Clearing cases, that’s what it was all about.
    â€œThanks, Doc.”
    â€œWas I any help?”
    He shrugged.
    â€œRemember,” she said, leaning