Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
CHAPTER THREE
A well-tailored suit is perfect for both showing off and hiding your muscles. Which is perfect for distracting anyone in your vicinity.
–A Gravekeeper’s Guide to Dating
Conrad pulled on a pair of latex gloves as he checked the path outside the old business center for tracks. There. He found a set consistent with the size and tread of the victim’s shoes. Which meant Dr. Hotchkins had visited at least once. No evidence of a companion. Yet.
Ancient hinges screamed as the front door swung open. Conrad made his way inside a dim, dusty foyer. Heat swallowed him in an instant, as if he’d entered a human-sized oven. Musty air assaulted his nostrils. Glittering dust motes danced in beams of light that streamed through slats in the boarded windows. Decades of dirt and grime covered everything from rusting metal filing cabinets to scuffed wooden chairs. Cardboard boxes sat piled against one wall. On the other walls hung framed photographs of the cemetery, first in black and white and then full color, depicting the passage of time.
A bookshelf in back contained stacks of loose photos featuring a young Jane Ladling. Some were candid snapshots, while others were more formal school portraits. Picture after picture showcased her sparkling eyes and toothy smile.
He picked up an adorable image of little Jane in front of a doll’s casket. She pressed a hand over her heart and pretended to wipe away a tear. This. Worth the third-degree burns in his lungs.
Several frames balanced on a spiral album where he discovered even more photos of the fascinating woman as a young girl. The freckles had been more prominent back then, and her hair had often contained flower petals, twigs or leaves. Dirt smudges repeatedly stained her clothes and caked her fingers. She seemed to grow from the land itself.
In most of the photos, she tended a gravesite alongside a younger Fiona or an older couple he’d bet were her grandparents. Why were there no snapshots of her with her mother or father? Had she lost them as a child?
He jolted at the thought. Focus on the dead body. Right. Conrad prowled through the rest of the building. By a makeshift coffee station, near the backdoor, he found a clod of fresh dirt, still damp. Fallen from a shoe? Perhaps a shovel? Jane said she rarely ventured here.
Would he find more evidence of fresh dirt on the back porch? He scanned as he moved forward. Hmm. The porch appeared a little too neat and tidy, considering the state of the rest of the center. A clean up? That would indicate, what? The killer had planned ahead and brought supplies? There were usually only two reasons for such pre-planning. Love gone wrong or money.
On the lookout for any signs of foot traffic, he traversed the rear path. The same path the killer might’ve taken before and/or after doing the dirty deed. There. A partial footprint in a patch between stones. Someone had wiped away most of it but left the faint outline of the toes.
Details hit. A thick tread. Probably from a boot. Smaller than Hotchkins.
He placed an evidence marker to denote the spot, took photos, then hustled to the burial site and sent the forensic photographer to the marker.
Barrow spotted him and ended a call. “Hightower says news of the doctor’s death is spreading over a town app known as the Headliner. There’s also mention of a rumored affair between Dr. Hotchkins and a patient. Or two.”
“Did the sheriff track down the wife?”
“He did. She’s at home. He’s parked nearby, but he hasn’t gone to the door yet. He’s waiting for your go ahead.”
“Tell him to deliver the news, find out if the doctor’s car is parked in the garage, then bring the widow to his office for further questioning.” They walked a fine line with spouses, who were both suspects and secondary victims. He’d let Sheriff Moore, a familiar face, handle this one, as long as Conrad could observe.
Barrow made the call while they trekked to the SUV. The closer they came to the cottage, the more Conrad’s anticipation mounted. Would he soon enjoy his third encounter with Jane Ladling?
His shoulders rolled in. No sign of her nearby. She must have gone inside.
All right. No big deal. That was that then. So his gaze remained on the front door until the last possible moment, a part of him willing her to exit? So what?
The sheriff’s office surprised Conrad. A junior lieutenant buzzed him past a front counter that looked like it had come from a kitchen in the fifties before escorting him to a room with a cluster of mismatched desks, each acting as a time capsule from its era.
Barrow set up shop at the first empty desk to make more calls. Conrad explored and found a glass-walled conference room around the corner. He draped his jacket over a chair that was tucked into a square table alongside three others and settled in.