Fatal Remains by Eleanor Taylor Bland

Fatal Remains by Eleanor Taylor Bland

Author:Eleanor Taylor Bland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group


CHAPTER 13

FRIDAY, JULY 5

When Vik came in Friday morning, Marti realized it was the first time in weeks that he didn’t have dark circles under his eyes. He wasn’t frowning either, although the expression on his face was still far from cheerful.

“What happened to you?” he asked. “Fall off the deck while the fireworks were going off?”

She had a cast from her left wrist to just below the elbow.

“Cracked radius,” she said.

“How did that happen?”

“A couple of guys picked me as a mark.”

“While you were in Springfield?” Vik asked.

She nodded.

“Just two? What did you do to them?”

“One broken nose, two black eyes, fractured ribs, broken toes, a fractured tibia, and swollen testicles.”

“Geez. They really pissed you off.” He smiled. “I always knew you could take care of yourself, MacAlister.”

That had been Ben’s reaction too. They knew she could take care of herself. That pleased her. Her kids didn’t know about this yet, but she was hoping they would react the same way.

“I’m also on painkillers, Jessenovik. You’re duty driver today.”

Vik fixed them both a cup of coffee. Slim and Cowboy had come and gone.

“You look rested,” she said, and thought, or maybe just less worried, or less guilty for spending so much time away from home. She was familiar with both.

“Sorry I’m late. We decided to stay another night and drove back this morning.”

“Is Mildred feeling better?”

“I think she felt better as soon as we pulled out of the driveway. She hasn’t gotten out much lately, except for Mass. And she didn’t have much of an episode. It was just upsetting because she had been doing so well. Anything from the lab yet on the soil samples and cigarette butts or the prints?”

“Nothing.” She dropped a stack of Xeroxed copies on his desk. “Files from the drowning accident and the impaling at the Smiths’ place.”

They made notes independently, then compared them.

“Franklin’s son drowned,” Vik began. “Only child. He was fifteen, drunk, and had amphetamines in his system. There was bruising—chest, back, arms, legs. Medical examiner thought it was more consistent with a fall than a fight. According to the guard, the kid was alone in the house. The rest of the family was at their summer place in Michigan. They all alibied each other. Presumably he fell down the stairs, made it to the wading pool, and then hit his head when he fell in. At least that was acceptable to the coroner’s jury. They ruled it accidental.”

Marti read from her notes. “The impaling has a lot of similarities. A cousin, seventeen. Wagner side of the family. Alone. Drugs and alcohol. Everybody has an alibi. The coroner’s jury ruled it accidental but it sounds like the medical examiner thought it could have been a suicide. Being nice to the family maybe. Or to the senator. It looks probable that this kid jumped. Vladimir the Impaler was far enough away from that balcony to make accidentally landing on his sword almost impossible.”

“Hell of a way to go,” Vik said. “Unless the kid was on something and thought he could fly.



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