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I could hear the smile in his voice, and I stopped at the sign on the corner of Heresy Road. We were almost home.
“Toxicology report showed the victim’s blood alcohol was well over the legal limit,” I said. “Narcotics and opiates in the system as well. I’ve got everything ready to go to the state crime lab to narrow down the sources.”
“Pretty much like we figured,” Jack said. “Anything unusual?”
“He had a prosthetic testicle.”
Jack laughed. “That is unusual, but not really what I was looking for.”
“Oh,” I said. “He had remodeling on the metacarpals of his right hand and on a couple of ribs. Less than a year old and most likely occurred at the same time.”
“Fight?” Jack asked.
“If it was he was on the losing end,” I said. “No breaks in the knuckles or defensive fractures. Something came down hard enough on the top of his hand to break all the bones there.”
“Ouch,” Jack said. “What would do that?”
“I’ve seen it a couple of times before,” I said. “Because of the evenness of the breaks across the top of the hand I’d say it’s most likely his hand was stepped on. Nothing else stood out. Other than the hole in his forehead and his brains looked like oatmeal.”
“You’ve always had a way with words,” Jack said.
“Maybe I should’ve been a writer instead of a doctor. I could see myself as an eccentric recluse.”
“You hide away with dead bodies for hours on end. I think you’re already there.”
“I’m not hiding away,” I said. “I’m working.”
I stopped in front of our gate and pressed the button on the remote and waited for it to swing open. We’d updated our security significantly over the last year. The gravel crunched beneath my tires as I sped up the driveway, and I’d never been more glad to see the soft glow of lights from the house.
“Guess what?” I asked as I put the Suburban in park under the covered portico that connected the house to the garage where Jack housed all his toys.
The tone of my voice must have given me away because Jack laughed before he answered.
“What’s that?
“I think a certain part of me is getting a second wind.”
CHAPTERSEVEN
My alarm wentoff at eight the next morning, and I rolled to my back, reaching my arm across cool sheets to the empty space beside me. I vaguely remembered Jack’s alarm going off, but I didn’t remember him leaving. He’d gone early to make sure there were no issues with the warrant being served at the law office.
I lay in bed and squenched my eyes closed, trying to will myself back to sleep until my second alarm went off, but it was no use. I was awake. Morning sun shone through the branches of the towering trees outside our bedroom window and a perfect beam of light was bouncing off my forehead. Having a bedroom on the third floor was a little like sleeping in a treehouse except our thread count was higher.
I rolled over once for good measure and pulled Jack’s pillow on top of my head, but when I could no longer breathe I gave up and got out of bed. I padded my way to the bathroom and thought about showering, but instead ended up devising a plan for the rest of my Saturday morning while I brushed my teeth.
I needed sleep. Jack had made sure I hadn’t had much once he’d gotten his hands on me, and the bags under my eyes were testament to that. I wasn’t even sure how he was functioning, but he’d always been kind of superhuman. I would go downstairs, make coffee, and then curl up on the couch in the den where the shades were drawn and it was nice and dark. I could watch a serial killer documentary, nap comfortably, and I didn’t have to think about the bed being empty beside me.
I put on a headband and slapped on a green face mask, figuring it would help with the bags, and I put on my thick robe and slippers.
It had been a long time since I’d had the house solely to myself. Having a teenage boy living with us had definitely changed the dynamics of our day-to-day lives. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself now that the autopsy was finished and I didn’t have any other pressing work.
I thought briefly about doing laundry, but didn’t want to waste my free time doing something I hated. I wasn’t good at resting. It made me uncomfortable. I’m sure that probably said something about me on a deeper level than I was willing to go without a caffeine boost, so I hastened my steps to the kitchen and decided to think about what came next later.
Somewhere between the second floor and the kitchen I’d decided to go all out and use the fancy machine Jack had bought with the flavored espresso and foamy milk that went on top. That seemed like a good decision for a Saturday morning with little sleep.
I stumbled into the kitchen and noticed the note on the coffeepot.
“Will come back to get you as soon as I can to interview Sowers’ widow,” I read aloud. “Will be at least a couple of hours. I love you. Get some rest. PS The instructions for the espresso machine are taped to the side for you.”
