“Come on, Matthew. Get up. Wake up, damn it!”
Chest compressions, followed by breathing into his mouth. Thirty and two. Thirty and two.
Nothing but stale air rushed out. After several minutes, she sat back on her heels, conscious of his blood seeping into her knees.
He’d been dead for hours. This wasn’t a fresh kill.
Her mind dissociated, and she stood, numb, and took mentalnotes while the dispatcher stayed on the line, saying words that made no sense to Jane in her disconnected frame of mind.
She did her best not to feel, to forget Matthew’s warm smiles, the intelligence shining in his blue eyes. His kisses, the softness of a caress showing her she mattered. His respect and admiration for what she’d accomplished, not envy or fear that she’d show him up.
When the police and paramedics arrived, announcing themselves, she automatically answered. “FBI Agent Cannon up here,” she called out. “House is clear.”
Two armed officers arrived first, the area too small to fit more than a few people.
Upon seeing her and the body—Matthew—they lowered their weapons.
“House is clear,” she said again, her voice robotic, but she couldn’t help it.
They shared a glance before one of the officers drew her toward him. “Ma’am, let’s let the medics up here.”
“Sure. But it won’t do any good. He’s dead.” Unfortunately, her voice broke, and her vision grew blurry. She wiped her eyes, determined to be professional. “That’s ASAC Matthew Scott of the FBI. He’s been shot in the stomach. He’s got knife wounds to the hands and feet. Fingernails on his right hand are missing. Several marks, perhaps made with a cigarette or lighter, on his neck.”
She continued to rattle off the details she’d noted.
The officers took notes and her statement down in the kitchen, including the time she’d arrived.
Jane answered their questions and accepted a bottle of water, surprised to find herself thirsty.
“You’re going into shock,” one of the officers stated, her voice calm. “Please, have a seat, Agent Cannon.”
“No, I’m good. But I have blood on my hands and pants from trying to revive ASAC Scott. Do you want to process me before I clean up?”
Forensics milled in the house, so they took care of that quickly.
The officers ushered Jane outside to one of the patrol cars, where she borrowed a bottle of water and a towel.
“You have some on your cheek too,” the male officer with her added, pointing under his eye.
She wiped it clean.
“Got it.” He nodded.
The detective in charge took over questioning, and she answered all his questions as best as she was able. Her voice didn’t break. Her answers didn’t falter.
“You think this is connected to something he’s been working on?” the detective asked.
Then it hit her. “You need to call Detective Ray Ryan at East Seattle PD. Make sure he’s safe. Do it now.” She swore. “No wait. I have him on my phone. He’s working the same case.”
The detective turned to issue more orders to his officers while Jane dialed Ray.
“Yo, Jane. What’s up?”
“You’re good?”
“Yeah, well, as good as I can be with being neck-deep in crime lately.”
“Good. My boss—my ex-boss—has just been murdered.”
