clasped my hand as I handed over the money.
âThank you!â Barbara said. âIâm so honored! Thank you!â as if I had just handed her a Grammy Award.
Hale pulled out his wallet. Barbara turned toward him, her eyelids and knees drooping, seemingly falling asleep where she stood. She was on the nod. Hale reached out, but I knew she wouldnât fall: Barbara had spent the last thirty years on the edge of tipping over but never actually dropping. While Haleâs attention was on Barbara I moved around to the side of the de-iced car. Barbara startled and smiled brightly at Hale, and I ducked into the car as Barbara gave her thanks. As she shuffled off, Hale approached. The car wasnât just warm, but hot, and I rolled down my window.
âI gotta confess,â Hale said as Barbara walked a series of diagonals across the lot, nodding off again near Peteâs Dodge Charger, âI wasnât expecting a junkie population in Hopewell Falls.â
I couldnât listen to him for another minute. âWe should have no problem working together, because youâre a professional and Iâm a professional.â Relief swept his face. âI do not, however, forgive you. Off hours, I hate your guts.â
I didnât roll up my window, but snapped on my seat belt and reversed the car. I drove toward the lotâs exit, fishtailing a bit before righting the vehicle. In the rearview mirror, I saw Hale standing in the same spot, and he made me want to play music too loud and drive too fast. The roads, coupled with my practical car, werenât going to allow fast, but I pushed in London Calling , turned the volume up to nine, rolled up my window, and closed out Hale, the case, and Hopewell Falls.
CHAPTER 7
S O, EX-BOYFRIEND?â DAVE ASKED.
His question barely registered. I hunkered down in the passenger seat, reading through Normâs files before we got to the Brouillettesâ. I was studying the body diagrams and Danielleâs injuries noted in Normâs tight, neat script. His comments backed up what heâd told us this morning: Danielle was impaled, but prior to that suffered significant trauma. Norm had explained that she was probably struck over the head and stunned, then strangled.
âPetechiae,â Norm had said, pulling up the eyelids, exposing cherry red eyes, the blue almost gone. âAll the blood vessels in her eyes are blown.â
Danielle was a bruised and battered sleeping beauty. I wanted to know this girl who liked to drive too fast with the window open.
âTime of death?â Dave asked.
âBased on the rigor, and taking into account her exposure to the elements, I would say that death was between two and five A.M. â
âThe congresswoman and the feds are pushing for something more exact,â Dave said.
âI know, I know.â Norm waved at his instruments, most of which were stacked in a corner because they no longer worked. âAnd to do that, we need new equipment. But since Albanyâs got gangbangers, Troyâs got prostitutes, and Schenectady has drugs, our little burg, with its five murders a decade and a laughable tax base, will not be funded.â He shook his head. âAnyway, rigor is more definitive.â
Norm explained all the injuries, and made sure to point out the remains of a tattoo, a heart with the name Jason in it, barely visible thanks to laser surgery. Jason Byrneâs name had been called into the tip lineâhe was her ex-boyfriendâand we would probably be interviewing him this afternoon.
âSo, ex-boyfriend?â Dave repeated, his eyes trained on the road in front of him.
âJason? I canât tell you whether heâs a real suspect until the interview. I suppose itâs possible.â
Daveâs voice was casual, but his shoulders were tense. âNo, I mean Hale. Thereâs something between the two of you. Like history.â
Our one-night stand hardly