held grudges.
“Where’s the corpse?” Mercer pulled a pair of wraparounds out of a pocket and put them on. The effect, I had to admit, made him look a lot more intimidating. Too bad he needed sunglasses to scare people. “I need to examine it.”
“This way.” Pickett led him to the body. “Don’t you need a warrant to do a search, Deputy?”
Mercer ignored him. He jumped onto a rafter, then crossed over the ruins of the woman’s bedroom. He had excellent balance and hopped nimbly from one spot to the next until he stood atop the mound of plaster.
“We came in through the front, initially,” Pickett said.
Mercer wrinkled his nose. “And destroyed valuable evidence in the process.”
“Which is what he’s doing,” I whispered to my grandfather. “The more they investigate, the less evidence there will be.”
Abner patted the breast pocket that stored his camera. “Pictures in, pictures out.”
His habit of taking photographs of every step of an investigation allowed him to revisit a crime scene as many times as he wanted, no matter how many cops had stomped the evidence into oblivion.
Mercer squatted on the plaster mound. “This is it? I can’t see a body here, just a bunch of maggots—Whoa! Whoa!”
His weight cracked the plaster. The mound crumbled. His feet scrambled for purchase in the rubble, coating his gray uniform in soot and dumping him onto the bedsprings.
Mercer landed hard.
“Can I get a hand?” he asked Pickett.
Pickett, Early, and Stuart shook their heads.
Abner took my hooligan and offered it to Mercer. “Take hold of this, deputy. Watch out for the tip, it’ll poke a hole clean through you.”
With a quick yank, Mercer was on his feet. “Thanks for nothing, Pickett. “
He was smacking the dust from his uniform when three more prowlers pulled in. They parked behind Abner’s Rover.
“Pete!” Sheriff Hoyt yelled. “What’re you doing wallowing in a crime scene?”
Mercer looked at us and then ran to meet Hoyt. “Sheriff! Maggots! Everywhere!”
“He didn’t even say thanks,” I said.
“They never do,” Abner said. “Take that poker back to my truck. Cover it in plastic so the blade doesn’t cut my seats.”
“Yes, sir.”
A minute later, I opened the back of the Rover and slid the bare end of hooligan between the rear seats. I covered the head the way Abner asked, which seemed like overkill. The tool had never cut anything in my truck. But Abner was meticulous, and I’d learned a long time ago to follow his rules.
By the time I rejoined my grandfather, two deputies were carrying a body bag to the site. Another pair was stringing yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter, and Deputy Mercer stood next to the sheriff, still covered in plaster dust, taking notes as Hoyt questioned Abner. They moved on to Pickett’s men next.
I watched them intently for a few minutes as they gave nervous answers, with Pickett gesturing toward the house and then pointing at Abner.
“They’re making sure,” Abner said, “the cops knew I disturbed the crime scene.”
“If not for you, this wouldn’t be a crime scene.”
“Boone, it would’ve been easy to convince yourself the victim’s screams were wood whistling or air popping. Especially when your own folks thought you were wrong.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“I call ‘em like I see ‘em. For example, does the sheriff look like a man investigating a potential murder case to you?”
“Murder?” My voice dropped. “Is that what you think?”
“I think lots of things. It’s called an open mind.”
I tugged on my ear. “I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. If you need me, you know, to help investigate.”
“Didn’t you just get out of the hospital?”
“I’m tough, and I have meds.”
“There’s one problem,” Abner said. “Your mama. She thinks you’re at home, instead of picking through a burned out house.”
“She’s at work. We’re
“Where’s the corpse?” Mercer pulled a pair of wraparounds out of a pocket and put them on. The effect, I had to admit, made him look a lot more intimidating. Too bad he needed sunglasses to scare people. “I need to examine it.”
“This way.” Pickett led him to the body. “Don’t you need a warrant to do a search, Deputy?”
Mercer ignored him. He jumped onto a rafter, then crossed over the ruins of the woman’s bedroom. He had excellent balance and hopped nimbly from one spot to the next until he stood atop the mound of plaster.
“We came in through the front, initially,” Pickett said.
Mercer wrinkled his nose. “And destroyed valuable evidence in the process.”
“Which is what he’s doing,” I whispered to my grandfather. “The more they investigate, the less evidence there will be.”
Abner patted the breast pocket that stored his camera. “Pictures in, pictures out.”
His habit of taking photographs of every step of an investigation allowed him to revisit a crime scene as many times as he wanted, no matter how many cops had stomped the evidence into oblivion.
Mercer squatted on the plaster mound. “This is it? I can’t see a body here, just a bunch of maggots—Whoa! Whoa!”
His weight cracked the plaster. The mound crumbled. His feet scrambled for purchase in the rubble, coating his gray uniform in soot and dumping him onto the bedsprings.
Mercer landed hard.
“Can I get a hand?” he asked Pickett.
Pickett, Early, and Stuart shook their heads.
Abner took my hooligan and offered it to Mercer. “Take hold of this, deputy. Watch out for the tip, it’ll poke a hole clean through you.”
With a quick yank, Mercer was on his feet. “Thanks for nothing, Pickett. “
He was smacking the dust from his uniform when three more prowlers pulled in. They parked behind Abner’s Rover.
“Pete!” Sheriff Hoyt yelled. “What’re you doing wallowing in a crime scene?”
Mercer looked at us and then ran to meet Hoyt. “Sheriff! Maggots! Everywhere!”
“He didn’t even say thanks,” I said.
“They never do,” Abner said. “Take that poker back to my truck. Cover it in plastic so the blade doesn’t cut my seats.”
“Yes, sir.”
A minute later, I opened the back of the Rover and slid the bare end of hooligan between the rear seats. I covered the head the way Abner asked, which seemed like overkill. The tool had never cut anything in my truck. But Abner was meticulous, and I’d learned a long time ago to follow his rules.
By the time I rejoined my grandfather, two deputies were carrying a body bag to the site. Another pair was stringing yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter, and Deputy Mercer stood next to the sheriff, still covered in plaster dust, taking notes as Hoyt questioned Abner. They moved on to Pickett’s men next.
I watched them intently for a few minutes as they gave nervous answers, with Pickett gesturing toward the house and then pointing at Abner.
“They’re making sure,” Abner said, “the cops knew I disturbed the crime scene.”
“If not for you, this wouldn’t be a crime scene.”
“Boone, it would’ve been easy to convince yourself the victim’s screams were wood whistling or air popping. Especially when your own folks thought you were wrong.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“I call ‘em like I see ‘em. For example, does the sheriff look like a man investigating a potential murder case to you?”
“Murder?” My voice dropped. “Is that what you think?”
“I think lots of things. It’s called an open mind.”
I tugged on my ear. “I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. If you need me, you know, to help investigate.”
“Didn’t you just get out of the hospital?”
“I’m tough, and I have meds.”
“There’s one problem,” Abner said. “Your mama. She thinks you’re at home, instead of picking through a burned out house.”
“She’s at work. We’re
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