Dire by Jeff Carson

Author:Jeff Carson [Carson, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Suspense
Publisher: Cross Atlantic Publishing
Published: 2016-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

“I should be drunk right now.” Dr. Lorber leaned over the lap of Mr. Mackenna, pulling aside Mrs. Mackenna’s furry white hair and exposing the gaping exit wound in her skull. “Monday’s my drinking night. Football. Drinking.”

“It’s the playoffs,” Rachette said, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “Games are on the weekend now and the Broncos suck.”

Lorber peered over his glasses at Rachette, all the while gripping Mrs. Mackenna’s head.

Wolf looked away, finding the county ME’s professional nonchalance unnerving.

“Point-blank. Shot Mr. Mackenna here first, then the missus.” Dr. Lorber pointed a branch-like finger. “You can see how she got hit on the side of her hair by the spray coming out of his exit wound. Her hit’s more in the side of the head, like she was looking at her husband when she got hers.”

Wolf wondered what that had to do with anything, other than to satisfy some sick curiosity inside that head of long hippy hair. “No shells. Revolver?”

Lorber stood up, his white forensic suit swishing as he stepped away, looking like a crane with his long, thin legs. “Nope. Not a revolver.”

“How do you know?” Wolf asked.

Lorber raised a finger and a smile curled his mouth. “See that evidence tent on the coffee table?”

Wolf shrugged when he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Lorber’s pleasure multiplied at stumping Wolf. “The burn mark on the magazine? Hello.”

Narrowing his eyes, Wolf spotted the hole in the cover of the most recent issue of Knitting for Life. A hole the size and shape of a tootsie roll was curled up at the blackened edges, displaying a browned page underneath.

Wolf nodded. “The ejected shell burned the magazine. Good eyes.”

Lorber pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Patterson would have seen that. It sucks not having her up here.”

Wolf ignored him and stared at the smashed smart phone on the bricks of the fireplace hearth.

A tired-looking member of Lorber’s team bent down and snapped another photo of the device, the bright flash reflecting on hundreds of tiny shards of glass and precious metal components.

“It’s all because of this,” Wolf said.

“Because of the phone?” Rachette asked.

The front door opened with an explosion of cold air. Sheriff MacLean stepped inside, tracking in a pile of snow with him, and slammed the door.

“Damn it! What kind of place is this to have a murder scene, and on a night like … ?” He let the words die as he saw the Mackennas on the couch. “Mother Mary …”

MacLean took off his winter cap and looked at Wolf. “Get me up to speed.”

“Lorber was showing me the burn mark one of the spent shells made on the magazine here.” Wolf pointed at the destroyed phone. “I was talking about how this has to be Michael Coulter’s phone.”

“We’ll check the SIM.” Lorber put his hands on his hips.

“It’s Michael Coulter’s,” Wolf said. “The guy with the burner phone called him. Then Michael Coulter came up from Denver, met Lauren at the gas station. They left Lauren’s car, filled up Michael’s with gas, then drove it up here.

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