Sandford, John - Virgil Flowers 10 - Deep Freeze by Sanford John

Author:Sanford, John [Sanford, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller
ISBN: 9780399573781
Google: ZPeAswEACAAJ
Amazon: B01NBU65Z1
Barnesnoble: B01NBU65Z1
Goodreads: 38633974
Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Sons
Published: 2017-10-17T05:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN Before Virgil had a chance to talk to the other town lowlifes, Bea Sawyer called and said she was coming down the hill into town. Halfway to Trippton, she said, she’d stopped at a café to get coffee and had run into the dive team and their truck.

“Clay said they’d be here by noon; they’re moving slower than I was.”

“Do you have the address for Hemming’s house?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah, we do, and I’ve spotted it on my iPad.”

“I’ll see you there,” Virgil said.

—

Sawyer hadn’t yet gotten to Hemming’s house when Virgil arrived. He peeled the crime scene tape off the back door, went inside, and walked around, looking for anything he might have missed. There wasn’t anything in particular, except awkward traces of the dead woman. It wasn’t the first time he’d been struck by the unexpected interruption of murder: you leave the wine bottles by the sink, thinking you’ll put them in the recycling in the morning, and a week later here they still are because you’re dead. Here’s the silence of the house, with a couple of socks on the bathroom countertop, maybe to wear to bed, and there they still are.

But Hemming’s shade was going away: the most resonant aspect of a woman’s sudden death was often her perfume. Perfume was so personal, and so enduring, that it often lingered like a ghost at a murder scene. Then, after a while, it began to fade, like memories of the murdered person.

Virgil was walking back downstairs when he heard Beatrice Sawyer’s truck pull into the driveway. He walked out the back door to meet the crime scene crew.

—

Sawyer was wrapped in a heavy blue North Face parka. A cheerful, middle-aged woman, she’d worked with Virgil on several cases, and didn’t miss much. Her regular partner, Don Baldwin, looked like the farmer in Grant Wood’s American Gothic painting, tall, thin, with watery blue eyes. His major non–Grant Wood aspect was his signature pair of black plastic fashion glasses, bought for the vibe they gave him in the punk revival band he led on his nights off.

Virgil had seen Bill Jensen around the BCA technical area but didn’t know him well. A short, thin man with a goatee, he carried a leather portfolio with him, and he said that unless Hemming had done something unusual with her computer, he should be able to get by her password.

“Main thing we want to look at is emails,” Virgil told him.

“I’ll call you when I get them,” Jensen said.

—

How much have you messed up my crime scene?” Sawyer asked.

“Not so much, but the sheriff’s office has a half-trained crime scene substitute who went through the place,” Virgil said. “Found some blood in the carpet, but that’s about it. I found some B and D paraphernalia in a dressing table up in the main bedroom, which took me to the guy who used it on her. He’s my number one guy, at this point.”

“All right, we’ll handle it despite the mess you guys probably made.

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