Walk the Wire (Amos Decker #6)(5)

“I like to know what I’m getting into.”

She looked at him curiously. “And what do you think that is, apart from a murder investigation?”

“This is the Wild West, Alex. It’s like the California Gold Rush of 1849, only on steroids.”

“So what exactly are you saying?”

“That the ordinary rules of civilization don’t necessarily apply up here.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

They drove down the main street that was bustling with people despite the coming storm, and reached a dead end when the first drops of chilly rain began to fall.

“Directions, please.”

“Next left,” said Decker.

They pulled to a stop in front of what turned out to be a funeral home.

Now Decker shot Jamison a curious glance.

“North Dakota is a coroner state, not a medical examiner state. The local guy here also runs this funeral home, crematorium, and mortuary. Full service.”

“You read up on it?” he asked.

She smiled impishly. “I’m a curious gal.”

“Is he at least trained in forensics?”

Jamison shrugged. “We can only hope.”

They barely beat the sheets of driving rain as they sprinted for the front door to see a dead person.





THEY INTRODUCED THEMSELVES to Walt Southern, the coroner and owner of the funeral home. He was medium height and in his midforties with thinning sandy-colored hair and a runner’s lean physique. He wore tortoise-shell glasses, his dark slacks were cuffed and pleated, and his sparkling white shirt seemed to glow under the recessed ceiling lights.

He looked at them in surprise. “But why is the FBI interested in this case?”

“Wait, didn’t you know we were coming?” asked Jamison.

“No, nobody told me.”

She said, “Well we’re here and we’ve been assigned to investigate this murder. We’ve read your post report. Now we need to see the body.”

“Now hold on. I can’t let you folks do that without checking with the detective on the case.”

Decker said, “Then call him. Now.”

“He might not be in.”

“You won’t know till you try.”

Southern moved off to a corner of the room, took out his cell phone, and made a call. He spoke with someone and then rejoined Decker and Jamison, not looking thrilled.

“Okay, I guess you Feds always get your way.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Decker.

“Well, let’s get to it. I’ve still got a body to prepare for a viewing tomorrow, and the family was real particular on her clothing and makeup.”

“Do you bury people here during the winter?” asked Decker.

“We prefer not to. Have to dig through the snow, and then the ground is iron hard. Hassle even with a backhoe. And who wants to stand outside saying good-bye to a dearly departed when it’s sixty below? Funny how quickly tears dry and people beat a retreat when their fingers, toes, and ears are getting frostbite. But most people these days opt for the quick-fried route anyway over a plot of dirt.”

“ ‘Quick-fried’?” asked Jamison.

“Cremation.” He chuckled. “I mean, doesn’t that mean they’re opting for Hell in a way?”

“Can we see the body?” said Decker with a frown.

Southern led them down a short hall, and they passed through into a small utilitarian room smelling strongly of antiseptic, form-aldehyde, and decomposing flesh.

In the middle of the room was a metal gurney. The bulge under the sheet was what they had come for. Hopefully, the body would tell them a story about who had killed its owner.

Jamison glanced at Decker, who was already seeing the room in electric blue. It was a testament to how many dead bodies he saw that this no longer bothered him. Well, almost.

“This is the first time I’ve done a postmortem on a victim who’d already been autopsied,” noted Southern.

“You’ve been trained to do this, I assume?” asked Decker bluntly.

“I’m properly credentialed,” replied Southern, who seemed to take no offense at the question. “Just because it’s not my main business doesn’t mean I don’t take pride in it.”

“That’s good to know,” said Decker curtly.

Southern lifted the sheet off the corpse, and they all three stared down at what was left of Irene Cramer.

“Cause, manner, and time of death?” asked Jamison.

“The cause and manner are pretty straightforward.” He pointed to a wound in the middle of the chest, appearing a few inches above the bottom intersection of the Y-incision. “Long, sharp, serrated knife penetrated here and bisected the heart. The manner was homicide, of course.”

“Killer was pretty accurate with the knife strike,” noted Jamison as she leaned in for a closer look. “Clean and efficient. Only one stab did the deal.”

“My thinking, too.”

“So, unemotional. No savagery or lack of control,” opined Decker. “Killer might not have known the victim. Or at least had no personal relationship with her.”

“Maybe not,” said Southern.