Page 6

FAITH

G nawing on the cap of my pen as I read through the case file, I grumbled at the lack of evidence, and my lack of caffeine.

The sun had barely peaked over the horizon on my drive to work, rays of pink and orange beginning to stretch across the sky made me momentarily forget that mornings and I were not friends.

To prove I could work cases on my own, especially now that the Sheriff wasn’t on my side, I had to be smarter, stronger, faster, and better than any other detective on the force.

And if that meant getting up at the crack of dawn the day after Christmas, and being the first day shift officer in the office, then that’s what I did.

God dammit I need more coffee. The crappy plastic pen cap cracked as I bit down too hard. I yawned again, the minute hand on the clock ticking over to point straight up. Eight AM. I could finally call the coroner .

A grumbled “Jeb Morrison,” crackled through the phone line, sounding scratchy and irritable. “Morning, Doc!” I chirped into the phone, my voice too bright for the hour.

“Detective Pierce,” he barked, the gruffness as bitter as my morning coffee. “I’m guessing you want the preliminary report on the Bennett girl?”

“You know me so well.” I leaned back, chomping harder on the cracked pen cap.

“You’re the only one that calls before I’ve even gotten my lab coat on.” The sound of said coat rustling in the background made me chuckle.

“You and I both know you do your best work at 3am,” I teased, propping my feet up on my desk, crossing them at the ankle.

“Damn straight, nobody is calling me then,” Jeb’s voice softened despite his grumbling.

I chuckled at the thought of him in the bayside office in Marathon, his white coat wrinkled, a garish tie knotted crookedly around his neck, and his salt-and-pepper hair standing straight up like he’d just rolled out of bed. “So what did you find, Doc?”

“I’ll be sending you the report shortly,” he sighed wearily. “Blood tests and DNA will be a little while, but it looks like blunt force trauma to the head.”

I sat straight up, my feet hitting the floor with a loud thud as I yanked the top off the pen with my teeth and started scribbling notes. “Blunt force? You think someone hit her?”

“She could have hit something with her head, or something could have hit her,” Doc replied. “The body can’t tell me which. All I can tell you is that her head collided with something, or vice versa, while she was still alive. There was extensive bleeding under the scalp.”

“Extensive enough to kill her?” I pressed, trying to picture the scenario.

“Not likely. There was no bleeding in the brain. But she had water in her lungs, so I’m listing the cause of death as drowning.”

I took a deep breath, collecting my thoughts. “Was the trauma sufficient to cause loss of consciousness?”

“Likely, I can’t tell for sure. She’d been in the water awhile. The tissue had deteriorated,” he answered, frustration seeping in.

“So she could have fallen, hit her head, and landed in the water where she drowned?”

“Possibly.” He remained noncommittal.

“Doc, you’re killing me,” I said, forcing a dry laugh to ease the tension in my voice. “What do you know from the body?”

“I know her skull connected with something hard, and she inhaled water,” he replied.

“I can’t say if the strike was intentional or accidental at this time.

Or if it was a strike at all, or the result of impact of a fall.

Go over the scene again, bring me more samples if you find them.

Everything I collected from the body is already running.

I should be able to tell you more when the results all come back. ”

“Thanks Doc, you’re the best.”

“Don’t you forget it. You owe me a pastelito,” he grumbled, a hint of a smile in his tone .

“You’re first on the list. I promise.” I set the phone in the cradle and leaned back, the springs beneath the worn leather creaking. I began rereading the reports, going over my notes from the medical examiner. What did Kylie hit her head on?

“Hey, Detective Pierce?” Sheriff Bennett stuck his head out his office door.

“Yes?” I quickly sat up straight, tucking a few stray hairs behind my ear, trying to look composed.

“Detective Ramirez called, he’s on his way back. So be prepared to loop him in as soon as he gets here.”

“Oh, I thought he wasn’t coming back until after the symposium in Tallahassee,” I said, my voice betraying me with a hint of surprise and frustration.

“I called him in, we need all the help we can get. He’ll be here by end of shift.”

Of course the sheriff called in Ramirez.

I couldn’t possibly be trusted to work a case on my own.

No matter how hard I worked, it was never enough.

I wasn’t a penis-carrying member of the Smuggler’s Cove Boys’ Club.

My lips pressed together to stop me from saying what I was thinking as I shuffled papers into a folder.

“Sure thing. I’ll catch him up this afternoon,” I said through my best fake smile, pushing back from the desk.

Grumbling under my breath, I grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair and my gun and badge from the top drawer of my desk.

I needed to get back to the scene. I didn’t have much time before Ramirez stuck his nose in and took credit for whatever I found.

It’s the day after Christmas, godammit! The Sheriff isn’t even supposed to be here!

Then again, I was supposed to be off too, if this case hadn’t come up .

The sun beat down on the coral pea gravel beneath my feet as I walked to my car, the heat already scorching despite it being December.

My skin grew clammy, and I could feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

Opening the door of my Charger felt like stepping into an oven, the heat blasting out at me.

Driving down US1 to Venetian Shores again, I replayed the interview with Coulter in my mind. Cute enough guy, my age. He seemed genuinely upset, and rightfully pissed off for being dragged in for questioning on Christmas. But I’d seen nicer guys kill for less than an ex getting engaged.

“ Whatever, he’s an ass,” I told myself as I drove. Him walking out of the station with a “Merry Fucking Christmas!” was the cherry on top.

It’d suit me just fine if I never had to see him again.