Tracy Hayes, Unstoppable P.I. (P.I. Tracy Hayes 9) by Susanna Shore

Author:Susanna Shore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, murder mystery, woman sleuth, amateur sleuth, detective, cozy mystery, crime fiction, private investigator, funny mystery, light mystery
Publisher: Susanna Shore

Chapter Fourteen

We met at Jackson’s. We brought takeout and Trevor the computer.

“Autopsy first,” Trevor said when we’d settled down around the kitchen table to eat.

Jackson had a small dining room too, but his uncle had turned it into a home office, and Jackson hadn’t seen a reason to change it back, even though he seldom used it. He had a second bedroom upstairs that would’ve made a good office, but it was full of junk that had accumulated over the decades. We didn’t need a dining room so badly that we’d empty it.

Autopsy results weren’t exactly my idea of a dinner conversation, but at least Trevor didn’t show any photos.

“You’ll be relieved to hear that there are no signs of violence on Mrs. Osborne’s body, including sexual violence. She hadn’t had voluntary sex either. Nor was she drugged before being shot.”

Jackson was opening a food container and he paused to regard him. “Where does that leave us?”

“We know she wasn’t shot on the bed. The crime scene investigators found traces of blood in the bathroom that match hers, so that was likely where she was killed.” Trevor filled a plate as if he wasn’t talking about someone’s death. “If she resisted, or knew what was coming to her, her body shows no signs of it.”

“The clean entrance wound would suggest they had her subdued somehow,” Jackson pointed out. “No one simply lets themselves be shot.”

“The shooter knew what they were doing.”

That fit the idea of a hired killer.

I swallowed through a dry throat. “Any traces of the shooter?”

Trevor consulted the report. “There are a couple of random hairs that the investigators hope to get DNA from, but it’s a long shot.”

Even if they could get it, they might not find a match.

“Did the investigators find Mrs. Osborne’s belongings?”

“No. The shooter must’ve known they’d have traces of him if he undressed her and took them with him.”

It was plausible.

“We have interesting news too,” Jackson said, sipping his Diet Coke. “We spoke to the Feds tailing us.”

Trevor stilled, a fork midway to his mouth. “How did that come about?”

“They were at the café in the hotel. They’re investigating Fry in connection to a businessman named Patrick Crow.”

“I don’t know the name.”

“Apparently he’s a real nasty character over in Jersey,” I told him. “Though outwardly a legit businessman.”

“The Feds have never been able to charge him with anything, because the investigators tend to disappear,” Jackson added. “And Fry was involved in his businesses somehow. Enough to gain the interest of the FBI.”

“Moreira suggested that Mrs. Fry’s death was a hired hit to make a statement,” I said. “And a person who makes Feds disappear could easily kill Mrs. Osborne too, if they thought her a threat.”

Trevor pushed the remains of his food away. “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

“This puts you out of it and not the autopsy?” I asked, baffled, reaching for his plate to clear it. “This could solve two cases.”

“People like Crow are never brought to justice,” Trevor said, disgusted.

“But the hitman can be.

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