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“And why’s the FBI involved in this? Rivest wasn’t a federal employee, this isn’t federal land and no one did anything across state lines that I can see.”
“Why don’t we take a walk outside?”
Rivest’s home had been cordoned off with the standard yellow police tape as if anything could ever make a possible murder seem standard. The ambulance with Rivest’s body had just disappeared down the road. Sean glanced over at the small crowd gathered in front of the cottage and saw both Alicia Chadwick and Champ Pollion talking together in low voices.
When Alicia caught his eye, perhaps hoping he would come over, Sean quickly glanced away. He wasn’t yet ready to deal with her or Champ.
Hayes led him over to his unmarked cruiser and motioned for Sean to get in the passenger’s side. Inside the car Hayes said, “What I’m about to propose might seem a little unorthodox, but I’ll risk it. How about you and me partnering on this case?”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Partnering? You’re a county sheriff, I’m a private detective.”
“I don’t mean formally. But it seems to me that we both have the same goal in mind. Find Rivest’s killer.”
“Doesn’t that apply to Turing as well?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a murder was made to look like a suicide.”
“Rivest seemed to think the same thing.”
“Did he now? That’s interesting. What else did he say about it?”
“That was pretty much it. But he seemed to want it to be a murder rather than a suicide, if you get my meaning. Not that wanting something makes it true.”
“We got a lot going against the murder scenario. His gun, his prints and it looked like he went to Camp Peary voluntarily.”
“Turing didn’t seem suicidal from what I’ve learned.”
“Not all of them do,” Hayes said. “I looked up your record at the Service and read about those cases you were involved in down in Wrightsburg. So what do you say? If I’m going up against the FBI, I need some help.”
“How about I get back to you after talking to my superiors?”
“How about you just say yes?”
“I tell you what, I’m working on the case anyway, cases now, I guess. So if I find something or something occurs to me, I’ll give you a holler.” He studied Hayes’s face. “But it works both ways. You flush something out, you let me know.”
Hayes considered this and finally put out his hand. “Okay. It’s a deal.”
“You can do something for me right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Take me to see Monk Turing’s body at the morgue.”
CHAPTER
26
THE TEMPORARY MORGUE was set up in a small, empty office in the main town area of tiny White Feather. It was staffed by a medical examiner sent over from Williamsburg who didn’t look the least bit happy being away from his home turf. He pulled Monk Turing’s body out of the portable freezer.
Monk had not been a handsome man in life and death had not improved his looks. He was short and muscular with a paunch that had been obscured by the Y-incision that had split him from his neck to his pubis. Sean tried to see a resemblance between him and his daughter, but couldn’t find one. She must take after her mother, he thought.
The ME dutifully went over his official findings with Sean. Monk Turing; age, thirty-seven; height, five-six; weight, one-seventy, etc. The man had clearly died from a gunshot wound to the right temple.
“Monk was right-handed,” Sean commented. “That would fit with the suicide theory.”
“I hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” the ME said a little suspiciously. “How’d you know?”
“Right hand’s a little bigger, more calloused. And I saw a baseball glove at his house. It wasn’t made for a left-hander.”
