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“Questions we might never know the answer to,” Jack said.
“Looks like he put the barrel under his chin, and he probably would have had to pull the trigger with his thumb. I’ll take measurements once we’re back at the lab. Maybe that’s the reason he sawed the barrel off. So he could do this.”
“Barrel under the chin is always a risk,” Jack said. “I’ve seen more people than I’d like who try to go out that way and end up blowing their nose off or peeling back the skin from their face.”
“That’s probably not a statistic your average Joe knows when deciding to commit suicide,” I said. “No papers on his desk. No computer. No suicide note. Just blood spatter and tissue.”
Another plop hit the umbrella and I crouched down so I could look closely at the body. “No visible signs of a struggle, but I’ll know more once I can get him on the table.”
I shifted the body forward slightly so I could look at his back and beneath him. “Wallet is in the back pocket.” I worked my hand beneath him to pull out the wallet and handed it to Jack.
“Again, indicative of someone who’s about to walk out the door,” he said.
“Blood spatter and tissue are absent from the back, meaning he was sitting in this chair from start to finish. Blowback from the gun pushed the chair into the wall. There’s not a whole lot more to go on.” I stood back up. “Help me get him in the bag and contained so we don’t lose any more of his tissue and bone fragments. I’ll have Lily and Sheldon come and gather as much of the brain matter and tissue as they can.”
We worked together quickly and got Coach Hargrove bagged and left him in the chair so we didn’t accidentally transfer tissue or particles.
“Other than the blood and tissue,” Jack said, “this is a well-kept space. Everything is in order and organized. He was always a stickler for stuff like that. He used to tell us if we couldn’t be disciplined at home then we couldn’t expect to be disciplined on the field. He taught us a lot about manhood.”
Jack stood with his back to me as he looked around every inch of the office space. I knew this was hard on him. Harder than he could or would let on. And I knew the best thing I could do was let him talk it out in his own time and way.
There were football helmets on a display shelf for every year Coach Hargrove won a state championship, including the year Jack’s team had won. It was the shrine of a man who’d had a long and successful career.
“What happened to the 2015 helmet?” he asked.
I noted the empty spot on the shelf where he pointed. The placard was there with the date and a picture of the state winning team in a small frame, but there was no helmet to match the others on the wall.
“We can ask Mrs. Hargrove,” I said.
“This is going to be a hard one for the community,” Jack said. “Coach Hargrove is a hero. People are going to want someone or something to blame. No matter what this looks like at the surface, we need to dot every I and cross every T. However we can bring the most closure.”
I nodded and pulled off the gloves, shoving them back in the bag. Doing more than a cursory look at the body was all I could do on scene.
“Let me text Lily,” I said, pulling out my phone. “She and Sheldon can come over and start collecting the rest of him.”
The front door opened and we heard footsteps heading in our direction.
“It’s Martinez and Riley,” Martinez called out before Jack could intercept them in case it was a civilian. “And the forensics team.”
Jack and I stepped out of the room as the forensics team made their way past us. They wore white coveralls with the hoods up over their heads and the string was tied beneath their chins so the hoods fit snug. They also wore goggles. They must have been warned about the scene ahead of time.
Plank was going to catch grief for his rookie mistake.
“We finished with the neighbors,” Martinez said, his gaze going to the body bag across the room. “Plank’s still at the last house down the street.”
The tips of Martinez’s dark hair were glistening with rainwater and the shoulders of his black trench coat were wet. His blue shirt and black slacks were pressed and his gold detective’s badge was clipped to his belt.
Martinez was a fashion plate. I had no idea how he afforded high fashion on a cop’s salary. The options were he was crooked, he was a trust-fund baby, or he just made poor financial decisions. No matter the case, I liked Martinez and it wasn’t a question I was comfortable asking, so I’d resigned myself to not knowing the answer.
Riley stood next to Martinez. He was tall and lanky, and he always looked a little uncomfortable in his starched police uniform. He was a country boy from Virginia through and through, and he made locals comfortable with his easy nature and homespun charm.
“Y’all get anything interesting from the neighbors?” Jack asked.
“Canvassed the whole street,” Riley said. “A couple of no-answers. Probably already gone to work. But there’s plenty of space between these houses so no one pays much attention to comings and goings. Hit pay dirt with the guy next door though.”
“Said he heard the shot this morning,” Martinez said, taking over. “Joe Able is his name. He said he and his wife are coming over to sit with Mrs. Hargrove. I guess they’re close. Joe said his youngest son has played football for Coach Hargrove the last three years.”
“I recognize the name,” Jack said. “Kid’s name is Derek. I’ve watched him play ball. He’s a heck of a quarterback. He’s got potential at the college level.”
