He muttered something under his breath. Leda thought it probably had four letters and wouldn’t be welcome on a Tuesday-evening procedural on CBS. But he turned around with a too-early-in-the-morning version of a bright, happy-to-see-you smile. “Hey, Carter. Sam called about an hour ago. His wife was awake with the baby, and she heard about this on the police scanner.”
“That’s the weirdest ‘up with a baby’ background noise I ever heard of.”
“Tell me about it. But it’s not my kid, so I don’t care if they traumatize him before he learns to walk.”
Carter asked, “Does this have something to do with a case of yours?”
“Yeah, the Gilmans. This guy and his son got shot at a hotel on the other end of town. Janette Copeland was the ex-wife and stepmother of the pair, respectively. I only just talked to her the other day, and Sam knew about it. I know this isn’t my scene, and I hope you don’t mind.” Then he said quickly, “But if you do, I can skedaddle. Won’t hurt my feelings if you send us packing.”
The other officer looked him up and down, then she looked at Leda. She opened her mouth like she was about to ask who exactly this random woman was, then she shut it again like she’d changed her mind. “I trust you to stay out from underfoot. Is this the consultant I heard you’ve been running around with?”
As if he’d only just noticed Leda standing there, halfway hidden behind him and trying very hard to look like she was casually lingering and not at all hiding, Grady said, “Her? Oh, yes. This is Leda Foley. Leda, this is Lieutenant Allison Carter.”
“It’s a pleasure,” said Leda, doing a little bow. She hoped it read polite and professional, if a tad distant and not too afraid to extend a hand for a shake.
“Likewise, I’m sure. Anyway, stay close to this guy,” Carter told her. “He knows how to behave.”
“I absolutely plan to do so, yes. Don’t worry. You won’t hear a peep out of me, and I won’t touch a thing!”
Before Leda could go on, Grady stepped in. “So the body’s… where? Upstairs?” he asked.
“Up the escalator and around the corner. There’s a secondary mezzanine up there. It opens to the floors above. She went down the escalator headfirst, over the glass rail along the side. You know, the one that’s designed to prevent that sort of thing.”
“Did it break?” Grady asked.
“No, and although she might have simply been way off-balance and fallen, it’s more likely that either she hauled herself over it in an attempt to escape—or else someone picked her up and threw her.”
“Not an accident, then.”
Carter shook her head. “Nobody thinks it was. The guard over there—” She cocked her head at the guy; he was dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. “He heard people fighting upstairs, and then there was a strange tumbling noise like something rolling or falling, and then a crash. He’s pretty shaken up. Called it in right away.”
“Did he chase whoever else was in the building?”
“He says he never saw anyone else, but he did hear footsteps when he found Janette. The fall wasn’t really that far, you’ll see it yourself when you get up there. She landed wrong. Humans are so damn fragile; that’s all it took.” Carter mimed a yank of her head, and a cracking noise. “But if this is tied to some old case of yours, I’d really like to hear about it,” she told Grady, giving him a look that was sharp enough to blow a tire.
“Absolutely. Yes, ma’am. We can sit down in your office later today.”
“Later today is good for me, thanks. And be quick about this. Whatever you’re doing here, do it and get out before anybody else asks questions.”
“Will do.” Grady gave her a floppy salute and turned away. He put one hand on the small of Leda’s back to guide her, and he used the gesture to say softly into her ear, “Carter’s all right, and she’ll look the other way, but she’s careful. If we overstay our welcome, she’ll toss us out.”
“Gotcha.”
He ushered her toward the escalator and then took the lead climbing position. Leda was hot on his tail, sticking close and staying quiet. Up the escalator to the next level they went, and on that next level, the building opened up. A wide, oval-shaped mezzanine overlooked the further descent of the escalators below—as well as several grouped seating areas for informal meetings or hasty lunches, a number of tastefully potted plants and small trees, a customer service/information desk with room for three employees behind it (though no one was there at the time), three sets of elevator doors, two sleek metal trash cans, several officers, two forensics investigators… and the body of Janette Copeland, lying beneath a sheet beside the escalator landing.
Leda said, “Oh, wow.”
The sheet did not cover everything. A few fingers poked out from one end, flawless manicure intact. One foot also protruded, exposing stocking-covered toes. Where was the shoe? Then Leda saw it a few feet away, an evidence marker placed beside it.
Grady whispered, “Are you ready to do this?”
She stared at the sheet and whatever was underneath it. There wasn’t any blood, or Leda didn’t see any. Was that normal? Shouldn’t there have been blood? Janette hadn’t fallen more than twenty or thirty feet, but that was far enough, wasn’t it? Was it better or worse that there wasn’t any blood—that this only looked like a lady napping beneath a sheet in a large office building?
Better, Leda decided. Or not worse. Worse would have been seeing the face of a woman who’d bought her a pitcher of sangria earlier that week.
“It’s okay, I’ve got this. I’m ready.”
22.
Grady Merritt watched Leda carefully, ready to pull the plug on this little experiment at a moment’s notice despite his frazzled frame of mind. He felt like garbage, and it wasn’t just the hour or the lack of coffee; it was the way he’d leaped without looking when he’d called the travel agent, then texted her, and then dragged her out of the house before the sun was up—all for the privilege of poking a dead body in case it gave her a flash of insightful horror that he could use to help solve the case. She was a civilian who had no experience with this kind of thing, and she’d never even set eyes on a dead body that wasn’t in a funeral home—by her own admission. When he laid it all out like that in his head, he felt even worse.
He deserved nothing less than for Leda to turn on her heels and walk away, blocking his number as she went.
But he really hoped she wouldn’t.
While Grady kept watch, using his body to block her from the view of others when he could, Leda slowly approached the sheet and circled. The forensics folks stayed out of her way. They might have thought she was a blood-spatter expert, or a consulting physician who specialized in violent demises—anything was possible. Different experts and consultants came and went from the police department all the time.
Dammit, he should’ve given her gloves. Dammit, he should have thought of a story before they’d arrived. He wouldn’t lie to Carter, but he’d lie to most of these other people if he needed to.
But it was so early, and this was so far removed from standard procedure. He hadn’t thought of anything, and it made him angry—because he usually thought of everything. It was his job to think of everything.