Page 9

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

The coroner’s office sits about fifteen minutes from the FBI field office in Denver. Before I headed out this way, I stopped by my mother’s diner.

My sister, Riley, had messaged and asked if I wanted to have breakfast with them. I ran in and gave them both a hug and let them know I had not one but two important cases nipping at my heels. When they found out where I was going, Riley offered to take Buddy to the dog park while I played with the dead. Her words, not mine.

I spot Jack’s truck already in the lot of the coroner’s office before I enter the building.

The smell hits me first—the clinical scent of antiseptics mixed with something colder and harder to define. Somewhere in there is the smell of death, sanitized and contained within these walls. I could never work in this place, at least not any more than I have to already.

The fluorescent lights hum quietly overhead as I thread my way through to the back of the building. There’s a door marked Examination Room, and that’s where I find Jack speaking with Miller in the middle of the room.

Miller Thompson is the coroner who handled our last case as well. I like him. He’s somewhere in his fifties, tall, heavy-set, warm eyes, warm smile, and a warm personality. It’s a wonder all of that warmth manages to survive and even thrive in an environment like this. It’s not exactly the warmest setting in any capacity.

The room is stark and bathed in a harsh light that leaves no shadow untouched. The disinfectant in here smells stronger, and yet layered underneath that is the undeniable presence of death.

Both Jack and Miller look up and say good morning simultaneously.

“Where’s Buddy?” Jack glances past me as if expecting to see him bounding this way.

“With my sister at the dog park.” I nod to Miller. “I inadvertently acquired a dog.”

A deep chuckle strums from him. “That’s exactly how I’ve acquired every single pet in my household. Although I’m pretty sure my kids had more than a little to do with it.”

Jack flexes a half-smile. “I like to think of him as our dog.”

My mouth rounds out, not sure where to go with this one.

“Special Agent Baxter, this way,” Miller says, leading us toward one of the examination tables where a body lies covered with a pristine white sheet.

Saved by the coroner.

The ambient noise of the facility seems to fade as all my attention diverts to that glowing sheet. Miller pulls it back to reveal Robin Hanson with her features at peace despite the violence that ended her life. The blood has been washed from her face and her hair slicked back. Nothing like a day at the spa, even if that spa is the county coroner’s office. Although what was once a vibrant young woman now lies motionless on a stainless steel table. I watched enough videos, looked at endless pictures of Robin’s oh-so-relatable life yesterday to feel as if I know her.

Her skin has a gray cast to it and there’s a slender red line in the center of her chest with a slight gap.

“Stab wound to the chest,” Miller begins, and his voice is clinical yet not devoid of compassion. “Pretty clean and precise. Whoever did this knew exactly how to inflict fatal damage with minimal effort. That or they had some serious aggression to work out. They missed her sternum and veered left. That would have made it more of a challenge. Probably a lucky shot. There is some tearing consistent with a serrated edge. And considering the damage they did when they plunged in, I’m guessing they used a hunting knife.”

My eyes are drawn to Robin’s face, to those odd scratches on her forehead that seem out of place amidst her rather serene expression.

“What about those?” I point to them, and I must say, my curiosity is piqued. I pull out my phone and snap several pictures before he can answer.

“I’ve been looking at them all morning.” Miller leans in, examining the marks with his practiced eye. “Curious, aren’t they? Not deep enough to be defensive wounds. Just a few light scratches. It’s almost as if they were made post-mortem.”

Jack and I exchange a glance and he quickly documents the scratches with his phone as well. We did the same last night, but with the blood washed away it almost looks like a roadmap of some sort.

“Why defile her body after taking her life?” I shake my head. “It just adds a layer of cruelty to the already heinous act.”

“Maybe that was the killer’s way of signing his work,” Miller teases.

“Maybe,” I say. “Although they did a lousy job at it.”

“I’ll say.” Jack sighs as he puts his phone away. “But then again, I get the feeling they were in a hurry to get the heck out of there. And more likely than not this was their first rodeo.”

“But will it be their last?” I say before reverting my attention to Miller. “Any idea what could have caused those scratches? Do you think they did this with the murder weapon?”

“Could be,” he sniffs, pulling down an illuminated magnifying glass from above, allowing us a better look at the marks. “We’ll run some tests, see if we can lift any DNA or find any trace evidence that might give us a lead. It could have been done with a fingernail for all we know.”

The sound of rhythmic footsteps interrupts us and we look up to see Jack’s brother, Mitch, clad in a suit, grin on his face, and he’s holding a plastic bag from the grocery store.

“Morning, Fallon.” His grin widens with the greeting. “Miller.”

“What’s in the bag?” Miller’s curiosity is piqued and so is mine. “Blueberry muffins?” He waggles his brows, hoping to make all of his blueberry dreams come true.

“Yearbooks,” Mitch counters. “Four of them to be exact. I’ll leave them with you, Fallon. Jack is only in the last one, senior year, but he left an interesting legacy—most of it documented between the pages of this tome.”

“Wow, I can’t wait to see young Jackie.” I laugh as he sets the bag down on the table next to me and pulls out the book in question.

“Here he is,” Mitch says, opening the book and showing me a younger version of Jack looking cocky while standing under an oak tree. He’s wearing a letterman jacket while bedroom eyeing the camera, and below the picture it reads, the best part about Aspen Heights High is all the new girls I get to meet.

“All the new girls you get to meet?” Miller reads from over my shoulder and howls with laughter.

“And meet them all he did,” Mitch says. “Jackie here dated just about every girl in our senior class.”

“Only because I followed your lead,” Jack says, frowning at his brother.

“Wait a minute,” I say, my own laugh dying down quickly. “Did you date Brittney or Robin?” My eyes enlarge because this conversation happens to be taking place in front of Robin’s corpse.

Jack averts his eyes. “Let’s just say I didn’t leave any stone unturned.”

“Wow,” I muse. “So you dated both the kidnapped woman and the deceased?” I raise a brow. “Was there anyone in your class you didn’t go out with?”

Jack gives a wry smile. “All right, fine. My dating life could be labeled as prolific. But it was high school. We all have a past.”

“Sure,” I huff with a laugh. “But most of us don’t have our pasts coming back as key figures in a murder investigation.”

“I’m not a suspect.” He’s quick to eliminate himself. “In fact, I was with you all day yesterday. You’re essentially my alibi. Besides”—he shoots a wry smile at Mitch—“you dated both victims as well.”

Miller chuckles. “All right, before you go making any arrests, I’m about to take my lunch break.”

“We can take a hint,” I say before looking at Jack. “Thanks for the yearbooks, Mitch—and the intel. Somehow this new information adds a little depth to our investigation.”

“Depth, huh?” Jack doesn’t look impressed with the thought. “Well, if we’re diving into past relationships, I might need to start taking notes on yours—for investigative purposes, of course.”

A chill rides through me despite my laugh. “Good luck with that. Unlike some people, I didn’t leave a trail of broken hearts across Pine Ridge Falls High.”

We say goodbye to Miller and he lets us know he’ll give us the heads-up on any new findings.

Mitch, Jack, and I go our separate ways, and no sooner do I pick up Buddy from the dog park than I get a message from Nikki.

Forensics has cleared us to inspect Robin’s laptop at their offices.

“All right, Buddy. We’re headed to the field office,” I say. “Time to dive into the digital side of this investigation once again. Here’s hoping it unravels a mystery or two.”