Nightwalker by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: American Light Romantic Fiction, Romance - Paranormal, Private investigators, Murder, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, paranormal, Romance - Fantasy, Fiction, Romance, Fantasy, Investigation, Suspense, Nevada, Fiction - General, General, Romance - Suspense, Single women, Las Vegas (Nev.), Fiction - Romance
ISBN: 9780778327585
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2010-09-15T07:47:50.127000+00:00

Tanner Green was staring at her through the glass again.

The minute Jessy had come out onstage, she’d noticed him, his face pressed against the glass. He still looked so sad—and so afraid.

She offered him a smile, to assure him that she didn’t mind him being there, but he didn’t respond.

She had no choice but to turn her attention to the show, but every once in a while she looked toward the window.

And he was always there.

An assistant met Dillon in reception and took him back to autopsy room number 3 to see Doug Tarleton, who met him at the door wearing green scrubs and a matching green mask that hid everything but his eyes, which were a bright hazel, clear and intelligent, behind flip-up magnifying lenses.

“I’ve had Tanner Green brought back out,” he told Dillon, his words clear despite the mask. “Though my report is so complete that I’m not sure what—if anything—else I’ll find. But since Emil Landon is making burial arrangements and doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry—no one has called yet to ask when we’re releasing the body—I figure there’s time to take one last look.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem. I never mind looking for something hinky. I had an old guy come through this morning who’d died of what looked like a heart attack.”

“It wasn’t?” Dillon asked.

Tarleton shook his head. “This can be a dangerous city.”

“So what did he die of?”

“He hit the jackpot a little over a year ago. He was already one of those nuts who hobble in with a walker and an oxygen tank, but apparently someone—my guess is his son—couldn’t wait for natural causes to free up all that money. He had enough morphine in his system to kill a rhino. Thing is, he would have died of cancer soon enough.”

“Maybe it was a mercy killing. A morphine OD’s a hell of a lot easier than a slow death from cancer,” Dillon commented.

“That will be for the cops and the courts to sort out. I just report what the body tells me. Now grab some scrubs or else you’ll be smelling like chemicals and death all day.”

Dillon did as directed, then followed Tarleton into the autopsy room and toward a sheet-draped form lying on a stainless-steel autopsy table.

Tarleton pulled down the sheet. Tanner Green, in his dead and bloated nakedness, was not a pretty picture. The man had been heavily muscled, but he’d also been just plain big. In life, he’d liked food and alcohol, predilections that were very apparent as he lay on the table.

Other than the Y incision made during the initial autopsy, his torso looked unblemished, and his sex lay limp and tiny between the giant slabs of his thighs. Tanner Green, if he could have seen that, would not have been happy at all.

But if Tanner Green was hanging around the morgue, Dillon didn’t see him. Maybe he had more sense than that, or maybe he hadn’t accepted his own death yet, so he was still hanging around the same places he’d frequented in life.

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