second was holding it in her hand when they found her, but it was too late to do anything about it. Monroe’s tongue was left on the stairs. Spit out, most likely. Cynthia Barrett’s tongue was not found at the scene.”
“Did you search the Barrett house?”
“The DeKalb PD did,” Will told her. “From what I gathered, they didn’t find anything unusual.”
“From what you gathered?” she echoed.
“I didn’t want to step on their toes.”
“Probably wise,” Amanda admitted. DeKalb County was still tightly controlled by a handful of men who didn’t like the state—or anyone, for that matter—messing in their business. Six years ago, DeKalb sheriff-elect Derwin Brown had been assassinated in his own driveway while he was carrying in some Christmas packages from his car. He was three days away from being sworn into office, and Sidney Dorsey, the outgoing sheriff, hadn’t taken the defeat well.
Amanda took a file out of the top drawer of her desk and opened it to the first page. “What do you think of this Michael Timothy Ormewood?”
“I haven’t yet formed an opinion,” Will answered, thinking that if she had pulled Ormewood’s personnel file, she already knew more than Will did.
She read aloud as she traced down the page with her finger. “Army man. Sixteen years Atlanta PD. Worked his way up from foot beat to his gold shield. Accused in ninety-eight of excessive use of force.” She made a jerking-off motion with her fist, dismissing the complaint. “He moved up pretty quickly. Narcotics—not for long, probably got bored—Vice, and now Homicide. No college education.” She glanced up at Will. “Do try not to lord your fancy Two Egg degree over him, Dr. Trent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned the page. “Commendation for saving a civilian. Even you have one of those. They hand them out like candy.” She closed the file. “Nothing to shout home about. Wears beige and keeps quiet.” This was a general phrase she used for cops who did their jobs and waited out their pensions. It was not a compliment.
“Anything else?” Will asked, knowing full well there was.
She smiled. “I put in a call to a friend in uniform.” Amanda always had friends. Considering her personality, Will wondered about the nature of these relationships, and if by friend she meant someone she gripped by the short hairs. “Ormewood worked in supply when he was over in Kuwait. Never made it past the rank of private.”
Will was mildly surprised. “Is that so?”
“He was honorably discharged, which is all the Atlanta PD would have known—or cared—about. My guy says he was wounded his second week overseas, and that they never did find out who shot him.”
“The wound was self-inflicted?”
She shrugged. “Wouldn’t you shoot yourself in the leg to get out of that hellhole?”
Will would have shot himself in the leg to get out of Amanda’s office.
“So.” Amanda pressed her palms together as she leaned back in the chair. “Plan of action?”
“I need to talk to Ormewood. It can’t be a fluke that this has happened in his own backyard.”
“Do you think he might have gotten too close to the doer in the Monroe case?”
“Cynthia Barrett’s body was fresh when we got there, probably no more than an hour old. I was with Ormewood the whole morning and I didn’t see that we made any great strides toward breaking the case, let alone pushed someone so hard that they jumped in their car, went to his house and mutilated his next-door neighbor.”
Amanda nodded for him to continue.
“We talked to Monroe’s pimp. He didn’t strike me as the type to cut off a good source of income, but obviously I’ll go back at him today.”
“And?”
“And as I said, I’ll talk to Ormewood about this, ask if he saw or did anything unusual the night of the Monroe murder.”
“Is he in today or did he take compassionate leave?”
“I have no idea,” Will answered. “Wherever he is, I’ll find him.”
She picked up one of her messages. “A Leo Donnelly was trying to get your personnel file.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I sealed it,” she said. “No one needs to smell your dirty laundry.”
“No one but you,” Will corrected. He looked at his watch as he stood. “If that’s all, Dr. Wagner?”
She held her hands out in an open gesture. “By all means, Dr. Trent. Go forth and conquer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
8:56 AM
John had been forced to get rid of his shoes. He wasn’t sure if he had left any footprints at the scene, but he wasn’t taking any chances. When he got back to the