Free Last Ragged Breath by Julia Keller Page A

formally identified the body of the homicide victim. It’s Edward Hackel. Vice president and marketing director of Ms. Runyon’s firm.”
    Bell looked closer at Runyon and felt a strange, unwanted flash of recognition: Another life, another time—could be me . This woman, whose obvious contempt for Raythune County in general and Sheriff Harrison in particular was as sharp as her heels, was what she, Bell, might have become if she had stayed in the Washington, D.C., area and practiced law there, using her Georgetown law degree the way it was intended to be used: to make a lot of money for somebody else, which in turn would make a lot of money for her. She’d be wearing a black suit, sleek as a seal’s pelt, just like the one Carolyn Runyon was wearing. And she’d be having her hair trimmed at someplace a bit more expensive than Betty’s Kut ’n’ Kurl out on Route 6. She and Runyon were approximately the same age, Bell surmised, and there was an eerie, funhouse-mirror aspect to looking at this twisted—that is to say, better-dressed and beautifully coiffed—version of herself.
    â€œSo— do I have your assurance, Sheriff?” Runyon said. She had yet to acknowledge Bell’s presence. Her next sentence sported a canny edge. “I really hate to bring this up, but my firm has a great many friends in Charleston. Perhaps I should call the governor and ask him to personally monitor the murder investigation here in Raythune County. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to oblige, given what this resort is going to mean to your state’s economy.”
    Sheriff Harrison looked at Runyon for a few seconds before she spoke.
    â€œYou know what, ma’am?” the sheriff said. Polite, but barely. “This isn’t the first time we’ve undertaken a homicide investigation. We know what we’re doing. But if you’re determined to hang around the courthouse this evening, making suggestions about how we might do our jobs, we’ll take full advantage of your presence. I’ll get Deputy Mathers over here right away. He’s handling the initial interviews. We’ve got some questions for you, too, ma’am. Starting with—where were you Thursday and Friday? Last time anyone saw Edward Hackel alive was Thursday afternoon.”
    Runyon’s face contorted in an expression of outrage. “I don’t believe this. I’m a suspect?”
    â€œEveryone’s a suspect.” Harrison stood up. When she did, Runyon reflexively backed up a step, as if she weren’t quite certain what the sheriff’s next move might be. Harrison was a small woman, but a thoroughly imposing presence. Bell wasn’t sure how she pulled it off—it might have been the boots or the uniform or the rigid facial expression, which kept you guessing about her mood. Might have been a lot of things. But whatever it was, it worked.
    Harrison reached for the big brown hat on the desktop and settled it on her head. She wasn’t happy with how the fit felt, and so she lifted it and settled it again. Better.
    â€œI’ll let you think about your answer,” the sheriff said, “while Bell and I go get Deputy Mathers.”
    If Runyon were a cartoon, Bell thought, smoke would be jetting out of each ear like the steam whistle on a locomotive.
    â€œWhat about the governor?” Runyon snapped.
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œMaybe I’ll just give him a call.”
    â€œBe my guest.” The sheriff gestured toward the phone on the desktop. “Dial nine for an outside line.”

 
    Chapter Nine
    On the infrequent occasions when Bell got together with friends from law school back in the D.C. area, they always begged her for details about her professional life. Most of them were either academics, like Ginnie Prentice up at WVU School of Law, or corporate attorneys, and they had no firsthand knowledge of the grubbier, seamier side of