AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Doc Dalton didn’t look so flashy now.
He hung from a light fitting in the middle of the home office. A chair lay on its side near his dangling feet, only a few inches from the ground. But that was all it took, Barbara thought. It wasn’t pretty. It didn’t smell too great either.
Nicholls looked like he was thinking the same.
“Shit,” he said again, in a wearier tone.
“Yeah,” Barbara said. Exactly. They both walked further into the room.
“Guess we should try to cut him down,” Nicholls said.
They could, Barbara thought, but it would be pointless. Dalton’s face was already mottled dark red. He was beyond resuscitation. She touched his hand. Stone cold. He’d probably been hanging here for several hours.
“We should take some pictures first,” she said. “And then we’d better get on the phone to the coroner in Anchorage.”
Nicholls nodded. “Okay.”
Barbara took her phone out. “Any sign of a note?”
Nicholls walked around to the desk. It was bare apart from a new MacBook Air, which Barbara found odd. Most home offices were messy. Papers left out; pens scattered. Maybe the doctor was a neat freak, but it still felt wrong somehow.
“No note that I can see,” Nicholls said.
“Anything on the laptop?”
Nicholls opened it and tapped the trackpad. “Nope, and it needs a password.”
Of course. And this was not the movies, where an inspired guess or insane intuition would gain them access.
Barbara circled, taking photos. Dr. Dalton was dressed in jeans, a shirt and shiny loafers. Dressed for work. But if he hanged himself last night or in the early hours, she would have expected him to be wearing night clothes or at least loungewear. And why had the door been ajar…
Her thoughts were interrupted by a thud from the bedroom next door. She glanced at Nicholls and they both sprinted for the hallway.
A thin figure in black ran back down the corridor.
Shit. Nicholls was ahead of her and gaining on the figure. They ran into the living room, Barbara panting behind. Damn boots and jacket, and she really needed to wear a sports bra for this type of thing.
The intruder sprinted on to the deck, Nicholls right on his tail. The chief grabbed for his jacket, fingers snagging the fabric. The intruder twisted, trying to get away, but he lost his footing and tumbled down the wooden steps, taking Nicholls with him. They both hit the ground hard, but the intruder managed to roll and break his fall. Nicholls landed more awkwardly; leg twisted beneath him. Barbara heard him yell in pain.
She pounded down the steps, stopping to check on him. “Sir, are you—”
“Forget me,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Get the suspect.”
The suspect was already struggling to his feet. Barbara couldn’t run fast, but she could tackle. She threw herself at him bodily, grabbing him around the waist and bringing him down. She heard an “oomph” as the breath whooshed out of him. That was what a diet of bagels and burgers did for you, she thought. She pinned the intruder face down on the snowy ground, grabbing his arms and pulling out her handcuffs.
“You are under arrest for breaking and entering and assaulting a police officer.”
She rolled him over.
“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Don’t shoot me.”
Damn. It was the same kid from the day she arrived. The one Al had almost hit with his cab.
“No one is going to shoot you,” Barbara said. “What’s your name?”
He stared at her with wide, panicked eyes. “Jacob Bell.”
20
