Antler Dust (The Allison Coil Mystery Series Book 1) by Mark Stevens

I’ve been trying to tell you. Now, let’s go.”
    Allison was down to her underwear. She peeled them off and stuffed her clothes in a plastic bag. “If you leave them out to the elements, the steam from the pool gets them soaked and then they freeze. Put yours on top of mine before you get in. That is, if you decide to join me.”
    Allison waded in, ignoring the hot shock to her toes. The bottom was rocky. Finally, at hip level, she pushed off the bottom and floated away. Slater was down to his American flag boxer shorts and then slipped those off. She admired the view of his taut, slightly hairy stomach and the fire’s golden glow on his skin.
    She found the bottle in the rocks and they drifted to a corner of the pool. Slater came up close next to her, gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek and turned so they both faced out, looking across the water.
    “So in their minds there is only one case?” said Allison. Slater had been permitted inside a day-ending inter-governmental briefing, closed to the press.
    “Sandstrom’s got a laser beam on Ray Stern. He’s got a large army of crackerjack specialists buzzing in a swarm, but they’ve got zip-oh. They need a break, someone with a morsel of useful information.”
    Slater cautioned her that all the closed-door information was confidential and then went into detail. The autopsy, he explained, left few clues. The bullet had come to rest against the victim’s spine, the seventh vertebrae. The dense material of the deer suit had slowed the missile down, but it couldn’t have been a rifle that was overwhelmingly powerful. There were traces of THC in Stern’s system, enough that he had probably smoked dope in the twenty-four hours prior to his death. Two other marijuana cigarettes had been found in his tent. The doctor who performed the autopsy reported that leukemia patients often were prescribed marijuana for its therapeutic and pain-relief benefits. Sandstrom told the press that Stern’s brother confirmed he was one of eighteen patients in the state who had been permitted medicinal use of dope. In fact, Stern had joined a class-action lawsuit against the FDA, which was trying to declassify marijuana as a beneficial drug.
    “So Stern got high,” said Allison. “Doesn’t change what he did.” “Enough people will think it means he wasn’t in control of his actions,” said Slater. “Taints it a bit, diminishes the impact of a totally sober decision. But I haven’t told you the best part.”
    Slater sat up off the water and on a rock. His concern for strangers’ eyes was no longer an issue.
    “Okay, the best part,” said Allison.
    “Stern’s lunch,” said Slater. “He had a Tupperware container with him—but it was empty. Remnants indicate it was cheese and crackers, probably cheddar and a kind of salty thing, most likely Ritz.”
    “So he ate it.”
    “No. That’s the point. He didn’t. He had an empty stomach.”
    “How do they know it wasn’t an old, empty Tupperware?”
    “The cheese crumbs.”
    “Cheese crumbs?”
    “You know, cheese bits. They were fresh.”
    “So whoever shot him also ate his lunch?”
    “It was no bear or raccoon that resealed a snug-fit plastic lip.”
    “Yuck,” said Allison. “Ooo, so you’re looking for a stupid, really bad hunter who might steal your lunch too. Any fingerprints on the plastic?”
    “No. He probably kept his gloves on. Stern’s water bottle was emptied, too. The guy needed food and water.”
    Slater sipped some wine, passed the bottle.
    “So, is Sandstrom going to see this through?” said Allison. “I mean, does he know enough, care enough, to get it done?” “He’ll need luck,” said Slater.
    “Until you get lucky, you gotta plug away. So, where is the sheriff ’s department going to be plugging?”
    “I don’t think they publicly reveal all aspects of an investigation,” said Slater. “Especially to key witnesses.”
    “Even to you—or to the feds?”
    “Like two snarling cats.