not a tall man. Slight of frame. Anyone of average size would be larger than he was. Plenty of women would be larger than he was, or at least pretty evenly matched.
“When did he die?”
“I’ve estimated time of death to be between seven and ten p.m. Monday night.”
So, somewhere between nine and twelve hours before his body was discovered by Dr. Nolan. But where did he die? And if it was off the hospital grounds as it appeared to be, considering the man had already left the building for the day, why in the world was he returned there?
“Anything else you can tell me?” Reed asked.
“Just one thing.” He gestured Reed over, and Reed walked around the gurney as Dr. Westbrook donned a pair of gloves that he removed from his pocket. He lifted Steven Sadowski’s head and turned it slightly so Reed could see a small red mark about the size of a quarter that appeared to be . . .
“Is that a brand?”
“Yes. And it’s fresh, made premortem.”
Reed furrowed his brow, studying it. “It looks like a . . . leaf?”
“That’s about all I can tell too. Brands don’t create the most precise art, and no professional did this. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a marijuana leaf.” Dr. Westbrook placed Sadowski’s head back on the gurney, his sightless sockets once again aimed at the fluorescent lights above. He wondered if there was some way to remove that paint from his dead flesh or if Steven Sadowski would require a closed casket.
But that was not his department. His job was to find a killer and bring justice to this victim.
“I’ll send you a photograph of the brand for your files.”
After Reed had thanked the doctor and took leave of the examination room, he made his way through the building and outside to his city assigned vehicle. He sat behind the wheel with the window rolled down for a few minutes filling his lungs with fresh air. He looked down at his dress pants and button-down shirt, wishing he could take them off, ball them up, and throw them in the trash. Now. Death was a clingy bitch.
His mind conjured the picture of Steven Sadowski again, and the small brand on the back of his neck. A marijuana plant of all things? How the hell did that fit into this? Was there some sort of drug angle here? The killer had murdered the director, branded him with a leaf symbol, removed his eyes, sprayed black spray paint in the sockets, and then posed him. Reed knew there were very specific reasons for each of those acts.
Figure out what, and he might figure out who.
And why.
CHAPTER TEN
Reed used the silver knocker on the door of the historic white-brick home in Hyde Park, looking around at the peaceful tree-lined street as he waited. A couple walked by, a golden retriever on a leash trotting in front of them. They glanced up at Reed, the man raising his hand in greeting and the woman offering a smile. Reed nodded back. He knocked once more and waited another minute before turning and beginning to descend the steps.
“Hello?” Surprised, Reed turned to see a man had just swung the door open behind him.
“Gordon Draper?” he asked, climbing the steps again.
The man seated in the wheelchair with a pile of what looked like lettuce in his lap smiled, backing his wheelchair up slightly. “Yes. Sorry for the delay.” He gestured to the plants in his lap. “I was out back in the garden. What can I do for you?”
Reed unclipped his badge and held it up for the former director of Lakeside Hospital to see. Gordon Draper glanced at it, a worried expression creasing his already-lined face. “A detective with the CPD? Is something wrong?”
“Can we talk inside?”
“Tell me. Please,” he said, his face stricken.
Reed paused, but nodded. “The man who replaced you at Lakeside Hospital was murdered yesterday. I just have a few questions.”
Gordon Draper blinked at Reed, confusion skating over his expression, followed by what looked like . . . relief? Mr. Draper pulled in a big breath and then let it out slowly. “Please, come in.”
He followed the older man inside the home, first entering a spacious foyer that led into a sunny living room. Reed expected him to stop there, but he kept going, moving through an open doorway into a kitchen beyond. “I just need to put this arugula in the refrigerator,” he said. “If you’ll have a