The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(7)

“Yeah. I suck at botany. I could never remember all the names.” I point to a small, barbed weed. “It’s not milk thistle. Related, though.” I point to the weeds in the other photos. “It’s only in the ones I piled here. Which means these were taken at the same time of year.”

He picks up a photograph and stares at it. “Weeds?”

“Yes, weeds.” I wave my hand at the other photos. “I organized the others for different reasons.” I point to the old woman photos and ones I thought were related to them. “There’s distortion in the lens. You can see that in the lower corner where the straight lines are.” I touch another stack. “These are clearly film prints transferred to digital using a scanner. Probably from the 1990s.”

“Probably,” Glenn echoes as he softly shakes his head.

There’s a knock on the door, and someone calls for Glenn to join him in the hall.

“Excuse me,” he says before stepping out.

I can hear them talking but not the words. I’m curious but try not to look too interested, because the camera is still watching me.

Detective Glenn walks back in and falls into his seat, somewhat relaxed. “Can I give you some advice, Dr. Cray?”

“I’m sure I could use it.”

“If you ever find yourself in a situation like this again, god forbid, don’t say anything until you talk to a lawyer.” He taps the stack of photos. “That’s some spooky stuff. You might even say incriminating.”

“I was just being honest.”

“I noticed. Almost to your own detriment. Speaking of which, I was curious why you lingered on the head trauma photo.”

“So, that was planned?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “I wanted to see if you had a normal revulsion response or wanted to start touching yourself.”

“And I lingered . . .”

“Yep. Cops and doctors do, too.”

“I was a paramedic.”

This gets a raised eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes. But that’s not why I lingered. I was looking at how the blood dripped across the white grout between the tiles. It had me thinking of bone.”

Glenn squints one eye. “Bone? You’re an odd one. I don’t know if you realize how odd.” He passes his hands over the photos. “Want to know what was most interesting to me?”

“Please tell.”

“Never once did you mention the bodies. You noticed everything except them.”

Even I have to admit that’s a little peculiar. “I guess people are not my area of expertise . . .”

He lets out a small laugh. “I’m realizing that.”

“So . . . am I free to go?”

“You were free at any time. Technically, we never arrested you.”

I eye the door suspiciously. “When you say I’m free,” I say, “am I free free? Or is this the kind of thing where you’re going to keep after me for . . . god knows what this is about?”

“You’re free. You’re not our guy.”

“Your guy? Can you tell me what this is about now?”

“Yes, Professor. For a hot moment you were our number-one suspect in a murder investigation. The district attorney was already trying to decide what tie to wear to your lethal injection.” He eyes the camera again, then lowers his voice. “Out here they’re a little jumpy when it comes to this kind of thing. They were eager to get to you to preserve any evidence of your guilt.”

I feel a bit numb. “Me? Why me?” The photos should have made it obvious, but sometimes I’m so detached I don’t draw straight lines.

“Are you kidding? You’re a wet dream of a suspect. Aloof genius scientist. You come in here talking about apex predators. It was too good.”

I feel a kind of burning on my skin as this washes over me. Glenn is relaxed, yet I’m afraid it’s still an act.

He notices my discomfort. “Seriously”—motioning to the door—“you can walk out right now.”

I turn my head toward the door, half expecting to see armed guards waiting to haul me away. “If this is a game, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Cray. I know this is all a bit of a head trip.”

I step outside myself for a moment and see how I must appear. As an EMT, I saw shocked people all the time. That’s what I’m feeling right now.

My eyes fall to the topmost photo. A woman’s hand, soft, almost elegant in its pose, dangles in the frame, splatters of red dripping from the fingertips. Her palms are caked in dirt and her own blood.

I spread the other photos out on the table and look at each one again.

Detective Glenn had mentioned I noticed everything except the people in them.

I’m noticing now.

There’s no picture of her face.

It all makes sense now. I know the reason why I’m here.

A different kind of weight sinks onto my shoulders. After a long pause, my eyes drift up to Glenn. He’s watching me intently.

I find the strength to say what I don’t want to. “I know her . . .”





CHAPTER SIX


FIELDWORK

Detective Glenn watches me for a reaction as he says the name. “Juniper Parsons.”