Died to match Page 0,11
closed my eyes for a moment, pleasantly deafened by the roar, nearly asleep on my feet. Then I started awake when someone laid a hand on my arm.
It was Marvin, a look of concern on his comfortable, old-shoe face. “Everything all right?”
“Fine!” We could hardly hear each other over the roaring water, so we stepped outside. “Did you check the shorebird area for trash when you closed it off?”
“Not really, just looked around that nobody was in there. I was kinda busy—”
“No problem. Let the cleaners in when they get here, OK?”
“Will do.” He went back inside. I made my way down the corridor, through another entrance, and past the post-and-rope barrier he had erected across the Northwest Shores grotto. Not much litter on the floor here, that was good, but I wanted to be sure no one had flung anything into the tide pool or onto the little beach. You can’t have the marbled god-wit eating caramel brie for breakfast.
The tide pool was unsullied, but when I rounded a broad concrete pillar to check the beach, I stumbled over something that shifted, soft and heavy, under my feet. Kneeling down, my eyes adjusting to the dimness after the brighter light outside, I made out grizzled hair and a Kelly-green jacket very much the worse for wear. A mushroom cloud of Guinness fumes clinched the ID.
“Tommy? Hey, Tommy, wake up!”
His head lolled silently, and for a moment I thought we were due for another ambulance. Then the bleary Irish eyes flickered open and a palsied hand lifted high.
“Stop it!” said Tommy hoarsely. “Stop it, you’re killing her!”
“Stop what? What are you talking about?”
But the hand dropped down, the eyes rolled up, and Tommy was no longer with us. I laid him gently back against the pillar and straightened up to use my radio.
“Marvin, we have a stowaway. There’s a gentleman passed out near the door to… to…”
“Carnegie? Hello? I’m losing you. Should I come over there?”
“Yes,” I whispered, staring down into the shorebird exhibit, and going slowly cold all over. The radio slid from my hand and I spoke into the air. “Yes, come.”
A garish heap of patchwork and ruffles lay on the little beach exhibit, half in and half out of the water. Slim brown legs extended from it among the coarse tufts of salt grass, and one slender outflung arm, still adorned with showy bracelets, stirred gently in the shallows. Long hair, midnight-black, curled and twisted like weeds beneath the surface, obscuring the downturned face of Mercedes Montoya.
I vaulted the handrail and hit the sand with a jolt that clapped my teeth together. As I hauled at Mercedes’ shoulders to roll her clear of the water, elusive scraps of CPR training scattered from my mind like minnows from a shark.
There was an ABC, wasn’t there? A, what was A? Airway! Tilt the head back to open the airway. Then B, check for breathing, or is B for bleeding? Oh, please, what do I do?
Mercedes wasn’t breathing, so I crouched low and pressed my mouth to hers, forcing air into her, again and again. No response. When I sat back, dizzy with the effort, her head fell lifelessly to one side. Sand had crusted in the scrapes and scratches on her cheeks. I positioned my hands on her chest to begin pumping, then stared at my fingers in disbelief. They were blotched with dark smears that spread over my hands and up my wrists. Dark, sticky red smears…
Then I saw the blood on the sand and the stones, and the way the perfumed mane of Mercedes’ hair was matted against the nape of her neck. I lifted the curls aside tenderly, like a lover, afraid and yet certain of what I would see. And there it was. Behind her left ear was a ragged concave wound the size of my fist, dark with blood but showing pale glints of bone. Mercedes hadn’t drowned in those few inches of water. Someone had bashed in her skull.
Chapter Five
THROWING UP AT A MURDER SCENE IS APPARENTLY NOT UNCOMMON, though the police, when Marvin called them, made it clear that they wished I hadn’t. Things were enough of a mess, what with my footprints all over the sand and my inconsiderate handling of the corpse.
Being SPD himself, Marvin had done all the right things, and done them fast. He made sure I was unhurt, secured the body and the exits, and checked warily around for the presence of the murderer.
“Long gone,” he assured