Page 28 of A Deeper Darkness

Focus.

Donovan.

Sand.

Lungs.

Shot.

Why him? What was it about his car, at that particular moment, that had drawn in some crooked stranger? He’d obviously not gone along with the plan, fought back in some way. Which would be typical of Donovan. Though she’d seen no bruising, nothing that indicated a struggle. So it wasn’t a physical altercation. She imagined that the man had drawn a gun and asked for the car, Donovan had refused and the suspect had shot him.

That didn’t work. If they’d had words, the window would be down. So why was there glass all over the body?

Besides that, who had sent the note to Donovan in the first place?

Too many questions. She needed to speak to the detective in charge of the case. Eleanor had given her his name, as well: Darren Fletcher.

Sam pulled out his card and dialed the number.

After three rings, a rough, abrupt voice said, “Speak.”

“Fine, then. Woof.”

The man started to laugh, a genuine, infectious sound, and she smiled to herself. At least she still had a sense of humor. Not everything had been taken from her.

“Nicely done. Who is this?”

“Dr. Samantha Owens. I’m a forensic pathologist, and chief medical examiner for the state of Tennessee. I’ve just done a secondary autopsy on Edward Donovan. I’m told you’re the detective of record on the case.”

He paused for a moment, measuring his next words. She imagined him thinking why the hell he was being asked this obvious question, and if answering in the affirmative was going to get him into a world of hurt. She heard an exasperated sigh.

“That’s right. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to go over your case notes, if I may.”

“And why is that, Dr. Owens? Do you have something new for me?”

A stronger note of aggravation in his tone now. She had no time for posturing. She’d dealt with plenty of cops in her day, knew exactly what tone to take in return.

“He was still shot to death, if that’s what you’re wondering. Listen. Humor me. I flew all the way up here from Nashville as a favor to his mother.”

He heaved a sigh. “Fine. When do you want to meet?”

“Right now. If that’s possible, of course.”

“By all means. I have nothing better to do.”

She poured on a tiny bit of Southern. “I know you’re terribly busy. I won’t waste your time, I promise.”

“Fifteen minutes. M Street. You know where we are?”

“I’ll find it.”

He hung up.

Well.

Her next call was to Eleanor, who answered on the first half ring, completely breathless. Sam felt guilty. Eleanor had been waiting all morning for news. She should have called her first.