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“Well, if there is, there’s no need for you to know,” said Decker bluntly. “Your husband provides us information based on the forensics of the body. We don’t keep him apprised of our investigation. Even if you trust the person doing the post.” Decker fell silent and stared Southern down.
Southern dropped the file on the table and gazed pointedly at Decker. “I really don’t like your attitude.”
“I’ve never felt the need to be liked by anybody.”
“We’re all on the same team.” This came from Liz Southern, who had advanced farther into the room and now stood, in solidarity it seemed, next to her husband.
“My confidence has been shaken in my ‘teammate.’ ” Decker moved closer to the couple and leaned down. “Maybe you can help me out on that.”
“If you’re accusing me of some sort of negligence—” began Southern in a loud voice.
“No, I’m not accusing you of negligence.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“Because negligence implies a mistake wasunwittinglymade.”
Liz Southern sucked in a breath while her husband glowered at Decker.
“What exactly are you saying, Decker?” asked Kelly.
“You want to tell us,Walt?” asked Decker. “I mean one big mistake, okay, that happens, if rarely. But two? Now that’s what I call a pattern.”
“I’m not going to stand around and listen to this garbage,” exclaimed Southern. “You can talk to my lawyer.” But then he took a provocative step toward Decker, his face flushed and his features angry.
Kelly quickly stepped between the two men.
“Now, just hold on. This is getting way out of hand.” He turned to Southern. “But, Walt, there are some weird things going on here. Now, I’m not directly accusing you—”
“Oh, shut the hell up,” roared Southern. He turned and stalked out of the room.
All eyes turned to his wife, who looked wobbly on her feet.
“Liz?” said Kelly. “What is going on here?”
“Walt is upset, naturally.” She flashed an angry look at Decker. “Who could blame him with all the foul things this big jerk is implying?”
“I’mimplyingnothing,” said Decker. “I’m saying that your husband intentionally misstated the postmortem results in order to interfere with our investigation.”
“That is a damnable lie.”
“Who made him do it?” persisted Decker.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. My husband would never do such a thing.”
They all jerked when they heard the shot, which was immediately followed by something hitting the floor.
They rushed out of the room, with Jamison in the lead.
Down the hall a door stood partially open. Jamison pushed it open all the way and hurried inside. Then she stopped as the others piled in behind her.
This was apparently Walt Southern’s office, with diplomas and certificates on the wall. A desk was set by one wall. The high-back chair behind it had been pushed back against the wall.
Jamison, Kelly, and Decker peered around the corner of the desk. On the floor was Walt Southern. The gun he’d used to shoot himself in the mouth was on the carpet next to him.
“Walt!” shrieked Liz as she saw the body.
When she tried to push past them, Kelly held her back. “You can’t Liz, this . . . this is a crime scene now, I’m sorry.”
