Grass was trampled, and trashcans were overfilled and in some cases had spilled over. Paper cups, napkins, and other assorted debris littered the ground.
Lights had been set up, and the park was as bright as day. Sam parked the truck, and Paige was out of the vehicle before it had fully stopped. She scanned the area. The crime scene unit van was parked in the lot. A squad of male and female agents wearing vests emblazoned with FBI pulled up in another van. Sam acknowledged the agents. Paige tuned him out as he had a word with them.
Harry, Dom, Mike, and Riley were also on the scene. Sam went to speak with them next. Paige did not accompany him but continued to take in her surroundings. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the slight breeze. Strung from tree to tree, it cordoned off the body that had been found at the head of one of the jogging trails. Located close to the entrance of the park, the trail was impossible to miss. It was the one Paige had been on herself.
Sam came up beside her. “Whoever left the body wasn’t looking to hide it.”
Paige had been thinking the same thing. Tight-lipped, she walked by Sam’s side. She could feel her posture stiffen as they got closer to the body.
Cops in uniform and in plainclothes stood against trees, some sipping from paper cups, some gathered in pairs or in groups. Others blocked the path to the crime scene. Even dressed casually, as she and Sam were, Paige saw a couple of the officers straighten their posture as she and Sam approached. Paige’s ID was in a back pocket of her jeans. She reached for it, but her hands felt as useless as catchers’ mitts. Sam held up his own ID and cleared the way for Paige as well.
Sam clipped his ID to his belt, then said, “That’s Harmon by the cop car with the roof light flashing.”
Paige followed his gaze to a tall man, beanpole thin, his face as lined and cracked as old leather.
“Pete,” Sam said when he reached him.
“Sam.” Harmon swatted at a mosquito at his temple.
Sam turned to include Paige. “This is Special Agent Carson. Paige, Kirk County Chief of Police Harmon.”
Harmon nodded to Paige. She could feel waves of hostility coming off him but didn’t spare a thought about the reasons for his chilly reception. She returned his nod absently and honed her gaze on the crime scene unit grouped around what was presumably the body. They’d arrived quickly, and judging by the progress they’d made, they’d been here awhile and would be here longer still. In addition to the crime scene, Paige knew the team would widen their scope to include a good portion of the park.
While Sam spoke with Harmon, Paige separated herself from the men, intent on reaching the body. Her hands were shaking as she dug out her ID. She held it up and, without waiting to see if anyone even glanced at it, made a path for herself through the group until she was standing directly over the dead woman.
The first thing that struck Paige was that Janet Glaxton Lambert was fully clothed—right down to her designer sling-back sandals.
Paige cataloged other characteristics, like the deceased woman’s toned figure; her age—roughly early fifties; that she was lying on her side—by chance or design would be determined; and that Janet Glaxton Lambert was a redhead.
Paige hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it whooshed out. Not Thames. Not Thames.
Then she saw it—a postcard by the body.
Sam claimed a spot over the body beside Paige. His meeting with Harmon had been short. He didn’t have time to turn this into a pissing contest over jurisdiction. A woman had lost her life.
The photographers were packing up their gear. The crime scene agents had moved in. Sam knew these agents and left his ID on his belt. “Bob,” Sam said to one, “what can you tell us?”
Bob squinted at Sam over the blue lenses of rimless glasses. “Hey, Sam. Pending autopsy, so far it looks like cause of death was a cervical fracture.”
A
Lights had been set up, and the park was as bright as day. Sam parked the truck, and Paige was out of the vehicle before it had fully stopped. She scanned the area. The crime scene unit van was parked in the lot. A squad of male and female agents wearing vests emblazoned with FBI pulled up in another van. Sam acknowledged the agents. Paige tuned him out as he had a word with them.
Harry, Dom, Mike, and Riley were also on the scene. Sam went to speak with them next. Paige did not accompany him but continued to take in her surroundings. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the slight breeze. Strung from tree to tree, it cordoned off the body that had been found at the head of one of the jogging trails. Located close to the entrance of the park, the trail was impossible to miss. It was the one Paige had been on herself.
Sam came up beside her. “Whoever left the body wasn’t looking to hide it.”
Paige had been thinking the same thing. Tight-lipped, she walked by Sam’s side. She could feel her posture stiffen as they got closer to the body.
Cops in uniform and in plainclothes stood against trees, some sipping from paper cups, some gathered in pairs or in groups. Others blocked the path to the crime scene. Even dressed casually, as she and Sam were, Paige saw a couple of the officers straighten their posture as she and Sam approached. Paige’s ID was in a back pocket of her jeans. She reached for it, but her hands felt as useless as catchers’ mitts. Sam held up his own ID and cleared the way for Paige as well.
Sam clipped his ID to his belt, then said, “That’s Harmon by the cop car with the roof light flashing.”
Paige followed his gaze to a tall man, beanpole thin, his face as lined and cracked as old leather.
“Pete,” Sam said when he reached him.
“Sam.” Harmon swatted at a mosquito at his temple.
Sam turned to include Paige. “This is Special Agent Carson. Paige, Kirk County Chief of Police Harmon.”
Harmon nodded to Paige. She could feel waves of hostility coming off him but didn’t spare a thought about the reasons for his chilly reception. She returned his nod absently and honed her gaze on the crime scene unit grouped around what was presumably the body. They’d arrived quickly, and judging by the progress they’d made, they’d been here awhile and would be here longer still. In addition to the crime scene, Paige knew the team would widen their scope to include a good portion of the park.
While Sam spoke with Harmon, Paige separated herself from the men, intent on reaching the body. Her hands were shaking as she dug out her ID. She held it up and, without waiting to see if anyone even glanced at it, made a path for herself through the group until she was standing directly over the dead woman.
The first thing that struck Paige was that Janet Glaxton Lambert was fully clothed—right down to her designer sling-back sandals.
Paige cataloged other characteristics, like the deceased woman’s toned figure; her age—roughly early fifties; that she was lying on her side—by chance or design would be determined; and that Janet Glaxton Lambert was a redhead.
Paige hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it whooshed out. Not Thames. Not Thames.
Then she saw it—a postcard by the body.
Sam claimed a spot over the body beside Paige. His meeting with Harmon had been short. He didn’t have time to turn this into a pissing contest over jurisdiction. A woman had lost her life.
The photographers were packing up their gear. The crime scene agents had moved in. Sam knew these agents and left his ID on his belt. “Bob,” Sam said to one, “what can you tell us?”
Bob squinted at Sam over the blue lenses of rimless glasses. “Hey, Sam. Pending autopsy, so far it looks like cause of death was a cervical fracture.”
A
Similar Books
