The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(50)

I can’t imagine why Devon or Amber would want to hide her corpse. Although I did hide the location because I didn’t trust them.

Gunther comes back in with two cups of coffee. “Whitmyer—he’s the acting chief—he just left to go look for your body.” He notices the phone in my hand. “Any word from Devon and Amber?”

“I’m trying.”

“Those two aren’t the most reliable. We’ll send someone by their house.”

I pray they’re not wasted.

“So a computer program told you where to find the body? Man, is that an app or something? I’d love to have that.”

He thinks I’m batshit crazy.

I don’t blame him. I stop and think about what I’ve been saying. I’m surprised I’m not in handcuffs already.

I have to clarify some things before that happens. “Amber showed me where she last saw Chelsea. We did a search around the area for signs of a burial.”

“Like a marker?”

“No, though that would have been helpful. What we looked for was different plants growing together. It’s a sign that the soil has been recently disturbed. Plants create their own herbicides to fight for resources. Eventually one takes over a small plot of land.”

“I don’t think they taught me that in academy.”

“Well, if one of your instructors was a botany professor who was a Nobel Prize winner teaching postdocs at MIT, then it might have come up.” And I think I just won the contest between us of who can be the smuggest dick.

“Nope. They just taught us how to pepper spray suspects and choke them with our nightsticks without leaving any bruises.”

There’s no humor in his voice, just ice.

I remind myself that two of his fellow officers are in jail, his chief is a suspect in a meth ring, and people around here think they might be “disappearing” people.

I force a laugh, desperate to diffuse the tension. “Then let me stay on your good side. I’m just here because I’m trying to do the right thing.”

Gunther doesn’t flinch. He just stares at me.

Shit.

There’s a knock at the door that makes me jump.

Palmer pokes her head inside. “Lawson just went by Amber and Devon’s place. Neither of them are there.”

“What about Charlie?” I ask. “Anybody call him?”

“McKenna did. Charlie says he hasn’t heard from them all day.” She studies me for a moment, then leaves.

Damn. Amber and Devon are the only two who can corroborate how we found the body. Now they’ve taken off.

Undoubtedly, they’re nervous about all the attention this is going to bring to them.

“Tell me how you got your black eye.” Gunther doesn’t ask, he demands.





CHAPTER FORTY


PROBABILITY

Turns out Officer Gunther is a bully. I’ve met his type before. My policy has always been to avoid conflict and give them what they want.

Telling him how I got the black eye could make things bad for Devon and Amber. I’m bitter about what happened and still feel the pain, but I pity them.

There’s also the complicating factor of explaining why I went to meet a known prostitute in the shadiest situation you can imagine. If I heard the story secondhand, I wouldn’t believe my story. Sure, the single professor just wanted to meet the young girl in the abandoned building to talk . . .

I have to draw the line with Gunther. My knee is shaking at a frantic tempo. It takes all my effort to keep it from spreading.

“How did you get the bruise?” he asks again.

“I’m not here to talk about that,” I say feebly.

“You’re here to talk about whatever I ask you.”

I look up at the camera facing down on me. “I think I want to speak to an attorney now.”

“You haven’t been accused of anything.”

I think about the fact that someone else will see this video. “I’m happy to talk to someone else. Just not you.”

His face flashes with anger. To anyone watching this, I’ve professionally embarrassed him. He was hoping to get me to say something that would implicate me in some way. I was talkative. Now I’m not, because he’s an asshole.

Gunther pushes himself away from the table, knocking it hard enough to bump into me.

If he’s a cop they didn’t arrest, I’d hate to meet the ones they did.

He stands up and leans on the surface. “You think you’re so fucking smart?” His hand goes into his pocket and pulls out a key ring.

It’s the key he used to start the video camera recording.

Shit. He’s walking back to the cabinet with the VCR. “Everyone saw you come in here all bruised up.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

There’s a knock. Gunther jerks his head toward the door, pissed about the interruption. “What?”

Palmer speaks through the doorway. “Whitmyer wants you on the scene.”

“What the fuck? I’m talking to the witness.”

She motions for him to step into the hall. He goes, reluctantly, glaring at me every step of the way.

The door is open a crack. I hear her whisper.

“. . . he says they found a body.”

“Then I should be getting him to talk,” Gunther growls.