Silent Justice by Rayven T. Hill Page A

closely at the screwdriver. It protruded from the dead man’s chest, the shirt surrounding the area soaked with crimson.
    King crouched beside Hank and pointed at the bloody shirt. “Looks like he was stabbed twice. The shirt is ripped here as well,” he said, indicating a blood-soaked area near the victim’s shoulder.
    “If my anatomy is correct, the second blow is right through the heart,” Hank said. “That’s the one that killed him.” He leaned in, squinted, then looked at King. “There’s something in his mouth. I’d say it’s a rosebud.”
    King looked closer. “That connects it to Adam Thorburn, no doubt.”
    “Morning, Hank, King.”
    Hank glanced toward the sound of the voice. It was Nancy Pietek. The medical examiner stepped gingerly over the broom and approached the body.
    “Morning, Nancy,” Hank said, moving back to give the ME some room to crouch down and do a preliminary inspection.
    Nancy glanced at the victim as she pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. She rolled the body slightly, lifted the victim’s shirt and peered at his back. She tested the joints, felt the skin, then looked at Hank and announced, “Time of death approximately twelve hours ago.”
    Hank glanced at his watch. “About nine o’clock last night.”
    “How accurate is that?” King asked.
    Nancy looked at King. “Pretty close. Perhaps a half hour either way.”
    King turned to Hank. “The timestamp on the email was nine fifty-four, so assuming Nancy is accurate on the time of death, it looks like the message was sent after the victim died.”
    “Which means the killer sent the email,” Hank said.
    Nancy leaned over the body. She worked the victim’s mouth open, reached in with two fingers, and removed a rosebud. She held it up for the detectives to see. “It appears to be the same as the last one.”
    Hank squinted at the rose. “Looks the same to me.”
    Nancy tucked it into an evidence bag. “I’ll get it checked out to be sure.”
    Hank stood and glanced down the hallway toward the exit. There was a door on one wall of the corridor. He moved down the hall, stepped over the glass, and opened the door. His eyes roved around a small supply room. Tools hung neatly on the walls, more on a workbench. A box of fluorescent bulbs leaned in a corner, a coil of electrical wire on the floor, a power saw resting on a sawhorse.
    His attention was caught by an empty spot on the wall where a screwdriver should be hanging along with the rest of the set. It had to be the murder weapon.
    He glanced around the room again, then moved back into the corridor and shut the door. King beckoned toward him from the end of the hallway.
    Hank went toward King and followed him past the body. King pointed at the floor. Hank crouched down and frowned at the spots of red, spaced at even intervals, leading from the body, through the door, and into the main area of the school. Hank followed the patches. They faded away after a few feet.
    Hank stood and looked at King. “The killer tracked through the blood, then went down this hallway.”
    “Probably to send the email,” King said.
    Jameson approached them. “We got some photos of that. It looks like we have clear footprints near the body, less clear as we move this way. Probably about a size eleven shoe.”
    “Size eleven,” Hank said, his brow wrinkled. “If I recall correctly, the report on the search of the Thorburn house noted Adam Thorburn’s shoes are a size eleven.”
    King dug the email from his pocket and handed it to Jameson. “See if you can find out what computer this was sent from.” He pointed at the return email address. “Likely from the main office.”
    Jameson took the email and browsed it. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “We’ll find the computer and check for prints.”
    Hank looked at King. “Are we done here? Can you think of anything else?”
    King shrugged. “I think we have it covered.”
    “Then let’s get out of here and catch this guy,”