Page 4 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

Matt Flynn stopped to wipe the slush from his boots before entering the victim’s house.

Last night, Matt, Bree, and her nine-year-old niece, Kayla, had watched the big, wet flakes drift from the sky.

They’d made hot cocoa, eaten cookies, and played cards.

Excited, Kayla had chattered about building a snowman after school with her friends.

At the rate the snow was melting, the kids would be constructing a mudman.

Seeing Bree’s coat on the porch, Matt removed his own and left it with hers.

Then he donned shoe covers and stepped over the threshold.

The too-familiar smell of death slapped him, immediately clogging his nose and coating his throat.

He spotted Bree in the kitchen at the end of the hall and walked toward her.

His booties slid on the polished hardwood floor.

Deputies surrounded her, each one listening to her instructions with serious concentration.

She was an average-size woman, though her duty belt and body armor added a bit of bulk to her trim frame.

But she seemed larger than her physical size.

She commanded the room. She projected intelligence and experience like an aura.

The deputies she’d trained since taking the job of sheriff nearly two years before operated like the well-drilled team they were.

As a cop and detective, she kicked ass. No question.

But it wasn’t just her competence that commanded the respect and loyalty of her staff.

She was full of common sense and compassion.

No matter how many criminals she put away, she never lost hope in humans.

Matt wasn’t sure how she accomplished it, but she still believed most people were inherently good.

She cared about the community. She valued her deputies as human beings as much as for the work they did.

These qualities did not make her weak but rather enhanced her strengths as a leader.

After her sister had been murdered, she’d moved to upstate New York to raise her niece and nephew.

She’d walked away from a solid career as a homicide detective in Philadelphia without a second thought.

She kicked ass as a guardian too, especially considering she’d taken on the parenting job with no preparation or experience, and while in the middle of grieving the loss of her sister.

Her success was about effort and intention, he decided.

Bree cared enough to put aside her own needs.

She worked hard to help the kids understand and process their trauma, the same way she put aside her own ego to keep the citizens of Randolph County safe.

She never shirked the hard work. Instead, she took on more than her share of the burden every time.

He made no sound, but Bree’s head whipped around as if she sensed his presence.

Their eyes met. Neither of them believed in PDAs on the job, but his response to her threw him a little, as always.

It blew his mind that eye contact alone was comforting.

The grimness in her expression softened.

The change was almost imperceptible. Probably no one else noticed.

But he did. She took the same comfort from his presence as he did from hers.

She swallowed, breaking the moment, her focus returning to her task, her professional mask sliding back into place.

He walked closer, taking in the messy murder scene. He passed the couch, giving it a wide berth and placing his feet with care, until he had a view of the body and the horrific injury that had been inflicted upon it.

How could someone do that to another person?

He’d seen some terrible things in his law enforcement career.

He’d been a deputy, an investigator, and a K-9 handler for the sheriff’s department before being shot in a friendly-fire incident.

Damage to his right hand had messed with his handgun aim and ended his career as a deputy.

A settlement from the county took care of his financial needs, but he’d been floundering personally.

The shooting had stolen his purpose. Then he’d met Bree.

After she’d solved her sister’s murder and been appointed sheriff, she’d talked him into working investigations on an as-needed basis. For a while, he’d been satisfied, his life purpose restored by his work. Now, he wasn’t so sure that was the case.

He felt more useful and fulfilled in his relationship with Bree and in helping her parent the kids.

Not what he would have expected.

The world had shifted under his feet like a floating dock. He still valued his work. Bringing criminals to justice would always be important. But it wasn’t all he had now. Investigating crimes was a part of his life rather than the central focus.

Turned out the experts were right. It did indeed feel healthier to be a well-rounded individual with their priorities in the proper order.

Bree dispatched her deputies. Then she turned to Matt. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Matt looked down at the victim and tried to see beyond the horror to the evidence. “Who was she?”

“Looks like the homeowner, Kelly Gibson.” She summarized the case so far. “We’re waiting on the ME and forensics now.”

“The ME is here,” Dr. Serena Jones’s low voice called out.

She was a tall Black woman with the long, easy stride of an athlete. Her assistant trailed behind her. Both carried medical kits that looked like tackle boxes. Dr. Jones unzipped a knee-length coat to reveal maroon scrubs and rubber boots topped with shoe covers.

“Dr. Jones.” Bree gestured toward the body and gave her the info on the victim’s ID.

Snapping on gloves, Dr. Jones approached the body.

She lifted one of the corpse’s hands. The muscles in the arm and shoulder resisted movement.

She tested the remaining limbs. “Rigor is set.” Rigor mortis, the stiffening of the muscles after death, followed a rough twelve-twelve-twelve pattern at ambient temperatures.

Twelve hours to stiffen fully, twelve hours to remain locked, and twelve hours for the muscles to release.

She lifted the victim’s sweater and examined the underside of the torso.

“Lividity is fully fixed. She doesn’t appear to have been moved since death. ”

Lividity referred to the settling of blood in the body after the heart stopped beating.

Gravity caused blood to pool at the lowest points, creating purple stains on the skin.

This process was typically complete in six to eight hours after death.

The pattern of lividity on the skin could reveal not only the time since death but also the position of the body in the hours immediately following it.

A discrepancy between the staining and the body’s position was sometimes the first clue that a victim had been killed elsewhere and dumped in the current location.

The ME used a scalpel to cut a small incision in the torso.

She inserted a thermometer to record the body’s temperature via the liver.

She conferred with her assistant, pulled a clipboard from her kit, and did a few quick calculations.

Looking up, she twisted the corner of her mouth and tilted her head.

“Considering rigor, lividity, and body temp, my initial estimate of time since death is eighteen to twenty-four hours.”

Matt checked the time—it was Tuesday just after noon—and did his own math. “So she died Monday between noon and six in the evening.”

Dr. Jones leaned closer to the victim’s head. “I expect the cause of death—barring any unusual findings—to be exsanguination caused by the obvious neck slash.”

The ME shined her light on the victim’s hands, checking the fingertips and nails.

“She has two broken nails and a bit of fabric under one of them.” Sliding Kelly’s sweater sleeves above her elbows, she examined the woman’s forearms. “But I don’t see any other defensive injuries.

She would have been bleeding heavily. Shock and blood loss would have rendered her helpless fairly quickly. ”

“What about the twisting of her neck?” Bree asked. “That doesn’t look natural.”

“No.” Dr. Jones rocked back, then leaned closer to the neck wound. “The cut is deep, but the angle of the blade was turned. The carotid wasn’t fully severed. It appears as if the killer turned her head to open the wound farther.”

Matt surveyed the blood-soaked couch. The killer was impatient. “They wanted her to bleed harder, die faster.”

“But why the rush?” Bree asked. “Anyone can see that wound is not survivable.”

Dr. Jones tilted her head. “She would have died in under ten minutes.”

“But that wasn’t fast enough,” Matt said. “Was it desperation? Rage?” He viewed the arcs of blood on the wall, the flicks from the blade. “I vote rage.”

Bree nodded. “Now we need to find out if that rage was random or directed at Kelly Gibson for a specific reason.”

“Were they covered in blood when they left?” Matt asked.

Bree pointed to the wall. “There are no interruptions in the initial blood spray. They were standing behind her.”

Matt looked down at the expanse of the blood puddle. “But they didn’t get away without getting blood on their shoes.”

“Any idea what kind of weapon was used?” Bree asked the ME.

Dr. Jones pulled a small flashlight from her pocket and shined it on the wound. “I’ll get you precise measurements during autopsy, but you’re looking for something thin and sharp.” She adjusted the light. “There’s some debris in the wound, but I’m not going to remove it until autopsy.”