Chapter 1
Meredith
The smell is overwhelming.
Jesus, ten thirty in the morning and I’m breathing in death fumes.
I ignore everything around me and focus on the life lost too young. My guess is twenty-five at most. Fire and Rescue was able to pry what is left of his vehicle back so I could have a closer look. White powder residue is visible around his right nostril which I suspect will turn out to be some kind of drug. Maybe cocaine, heroin, or some crushed-up amphetamines. Some people will put anything that’ll give them a quick high up their nose or in their veins.
I’ll be able to find out more during the postmortem, but if I’d hazard a guess, I’d say he was under the influence of what I’ve seen too often is a lethal combination of drugs and alcohol when he careened his car off the cliff.
I’d barely sat down at my desk when the call came in about a single vehicle accident. The man had already been deceased when first responders arrived on scene, which is why they called me. In fact, I’m thinking he may have been there since last night. His jaw is still tight and I’m unable to move the one hand he kept clenched around the steering wheel. Rigor mortis generally sets between two and six hours after death and starts with the jaw and neck muscles tightening. From there it moves down the body and to the extremities. It reaches its peak at around twelve hours before the body loosens up again. The whole process can take up to forty-eight hours. From my observations so far, I’m guessing he’s been dead since at least around ten or so last night, possibly longer.
“Got anything for me?”
I glance over my shoulder to see Detective Keith Blackfoot trying to keep his balance as he climbs down toward me.
“Surprisingly little blood, given the condition of the body.” It was the first thing I noticed when I peeked in the car. “I’m estimating he’s been dead between twelve and sixteen hours, but I’ll know more when I get him to the morgue.”
Blackfoot looks over my shoulder into the mangled vehicle and grunts when the smell hits his nostrils.
“Drunk?”
Clearly he recognizes the sickly sweet odor often associated with ingesting large amounts of alcohol before death.
“Likely. And check this out.” I point at the traces of white substance on the victim’s nose. “Also check his hand still on the wheel.”
I move out of the way so he can see.
“That’s weird. You’d have expected him to cover his face going over the side.”
Exactly my thought, which is why I want to have a closer look at the body sooner rather than later.
“I know, and there isn’t anywhere near as much blood as I would’ve expected.”
Blackfoot pulls back from the car and runs his hands over his face, realizing this accident may not be as clear-cut as it looks.
“Shit,” he mumbles. “Just what I need this morning.” I look at him questioningly and he indicates the body. “Meet Jordan Dunwoody.” When my face remains a blank, he clarifies, “He’s the son of John Dunwoody, the pastor at the Pentecostal church.”
Ouch. I’m not a particularly religious person—lapsed Catholic would be the correct term—but I know enough about religion to know that alcohol is a definite no-no, forget about drugs. The son’s death will be a blow as it is, let alone the cause of death.
“I’ll get him to the morgue right away. It’s not that busy, I can move some things around and look at him, if not this afternoon then first thing tomorrow.”
“That’s good, Doc, but we first have to deal with the father. He showed up five minutes ago.”
I look up to the road and notice the tall figure of Jay VanDyken trying to block a portly, gray-haired man. Their raised voices become louder.
“That him?” I straighten up and wince at the creaking of my knees.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m about to get the guys to remove the body and we can’t have him looking on. It won’t be pretty.”
“I know, which is why I think we should have a word with him.”
I turn my head and raise an eyebrow. “We? Are you sure my presence would be helpful?”
From what little I know, Pentecostals tend to have a more traditional view on gender roles, often limited to home and church, and I wonder if I might not end up inflaming the situation developing up there. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for my office to notify next of kin—especially in cases where cause of death is not immediately obvious—which is why when Blackfoot gestures for me to lead the way, I don’t argue.
A few times I stumble and slide, climbing up the steep rocks, but the detective’s hands are there to steady me. When I get to the top, a large hand is shoved in my face and I look up to find VanDyken staring back. I take the offer and let him pull me up the rest of the way.
Two uniformed officers have the father contained by the side of a police cruiser as I step onto the side of the road. I try not to notice VanDyken is wearing a pair of well-fitting dark jeans and an untucked dress shirt, instead of his black garb. Normally a rather intimidating figure in uniform, the casual clothes make him formidable in other ways. Enticing ways.
“Who are you? Where is my son?” The man starts struggling against the officers’ hold when I approach, a pair of footsteps right behind me.
“Mr. Dunwoody? My name is Dr. Meredith Carter, I’m the county’s coroner. Why don’t we have a seat in the cruiser behind you and I’ll tell you what I know?
“Not a good idea, Doc.” I hear softly behind me. Not Blackfoot, but Jay VanDyken. I ignore him and focus on the pastor.
“Coroner? Is he dead?”
The man in front of me looks at me wide-eyed, no longer struggling with the cops and they promptly release him.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, closing in on him and putting a hand on his arm. “Let’s have a seat, shall we?”
One of the officers opens the rear door of the cruiser and I guide the shocked man to take a seat, crouching outside the car in the open door.
“It doesn’t look like he suffered.” I offer the one thing I feel fairly confident about.
“What happened?”
His face is a mask of pain and a familiar tightness forms in my chest at the sight of such raw grief. I hate this part of the job.
“I’m going to do my best to figure that out, but it looks like alcohol may have been involved.”
It’s so fast, I don’t see it coming, but the next instant I’m on my back blinking up in Jay VanDyken’s worried face.
Jay
Of course she didn’t listen to me.
Fuck, the woman is as stubborn as they come.
“Stay put,” I bark when she tries to sit up.
Her head hit with a hard smack and she’s gonna stay down—if I have to damn well sit on her—until medics have taken a look at her. Luckily the fire department hung around to help with the recovery of the body, and Sumo is already jogging this way with his bag.
As he sits down beside her, I look over at my colleagues, who are putting the victim’s father in cuffs and shoving him in the back of the cruiser. What a mess. He kicked out his foot and caught Doc in the middle of her chest before I could get to her. I didn’t pay attention to what preceded it—I was checking an incoming message on my phone—but it was clearly something that pissed the old man off.