The Deepest Wound (Jack Murphy Thriller #3) - Rick Reed Page 0,9

Liddell yelled as she left the room. He turned to Jack. “Where’s Larry going?”

Jack said, “My guess is he doesn’t want the chief to know he was trying to get paid for coming to work on a Sunday. He probably wasn’t called in to help with this case, and Sundays are double overtime.”

Chief Marlin Pope walked into the room, followed closely by Eric Manson.

“Jack. Liddell,” Eric said to the detectives.

What the hell is Manson doing here? Jack thought.

“There’s no need to use an autopsy table,” Lilly said as she wheeled a steel gurney into the examination room. “We really should wait until the doc gets here. And I don’t know when that’ll be. We may have to sell the Suburban to pay for his gasoline.”

“Have we identified her?” Pope asked, ignoring Lilly’s remarks.

“No,” Lilly said, scowling. “We haven’t identified the head yet, but maybe if we weren’t being interrupted by visiting dignitaries, we could get some work done. But don’t mind me. I’m just a grouchy old bitch today.”

“Not just today. Every day, Lilly,” Pope said, and Lilly gave him an evil grin.

They all moved in closer to the gurney while Lilly folded back the heavy green evidence bag to reveal the decapitated head.

Twigs and viscid blood were matted into long dark hair, and a flap of uneven skin was peeled back along the exposed skull. The skin around the flap was ragged, as if it had been chewed. The sightless eyes were wide; the mouth a straight bloodless slash in what was once a pretty face.

Eric Manson gasped at the sight. He turned pale and his lips became tight, his eyes squinted into slits.

Probably the first time he’s ever seen a dead body, Jack thought. If he didn’t dislike Manson so much, he’d feel sorry for the man. Or does he know her? Why is the chief deputy for the prosecutor’s office at the morgue? Unless . . .

“Well, Eric?” Pope asked.

Manson managed a strangled “It’s Nina.”

As Lilly rolled the gurney back to cold storage, the men went to the conference room to talk. That’s when Jack found out Eric’s link to the deceased.

“You did what?” Jack asked, and leaned across the conference table to glare at the chief deputy prosecutor.

“Look, Jack. I did what any good boss would do. I went to an employee’s house to check on their welfare.” The tone of his voice was challenging, not apologetic.

“You walked through a possible crime scene,” Jack hissed through clenched teeth. He didn’t add the word moron in deference to the chief of police, who was watching this exchange with interest.

“How was I to know Nina had been killed?” Eric asked. His eyes were still locked on Jack’s.

“It’s done, Jack,” Pope said, with finality. “At least Eric told us about it, so let’s work with what we’ve got.”

Jack nearly muttered, You mean I’ll have to work with what he has done.

“I’ll need a taped statement from you, Eric,” Jack said.

“Of course.”

“And fingerprints,” Jack added.

“DNA, too?” Eric asked sarcastically.

“Good idea.”

Eric wasn’t used to being treated like anything but a crown prince. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, since I already told you I was inside the house, but I’ll cooperate.”

Damn right you will, Jack thought.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Pope asked.

They both knew exactly what he meant.

“No problem with me,” Eric said.

“Or me,” Jack added.

“Good. Do you need us here, Jack?” Chief Pope asked.

“No, Chief. Thanks for coming,” Jack said. He turned to Eric and added a dose of harshness. “Just be sure you give those samples ASAP. I’ll get back to you on the statement, but I expect you to be available.”

“Sure thing, Detective Murphy.” Eric glared at Jack and left in a huff.

After Pope and Manson were gone, Liddell put an arm across Jack’s shoulders.

“Glad to see you’ve kissed and made up. I mean, you and Eric burying the hatchet and working together and all,” he said with a grin.

“Shut up, Bigfoot,” Jack said, thinking about burying the hatchet for real.

Lilly came into the room and stopped, staring at the men.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Unless one of you can do the autopsy, I’m getting back to work. Doc’s in Illinois and won’t be back for a couple of hours.” She headed down the hallway toward her office.

“Call us when he gets here,” Jack yelled at her retreating figure.

A short distance away, the outside door to the morgue’s garage closed, and Detective Larry Jansen hurried along the street to his car. He hadn’t been able to hear everything,