Page 49 of In Her Bed
An officer Jenna didn’t recognize approached, clipboard in hand.“Sheriff Graves?Colonel Spelling said to expect you.”
He lifted the yellow crime scene tape for them to duck under, then led them toward the tent.“The medical examiner’s still working.It’s...it’s not pretty in there.”
As they approached the tent, Colonel Spelling emerged, his tall figure blocking the entrance momentarily.His uniform was impeccable as always, but his face showed the strain of the morning.
“Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins,” he acknowledged them with a nod.“Glad you could make it quickly.”
“What do we know so far, Colonel?”Jenna asked, slipping easily into the professional rapport they’d established over previous cases.
“Female victim, preliminary ID confirms it’s Sandra Reeves, 48, owner of Melody Forge Studios.”Spelling’s voice was measured, clinical.“Discovered at 0745 by a maintenance worker conducting routine checks on the tower’s warning lights.Cause of death appears to be strangulation, consistent with your first victim.”
“And the positioning?”Jake asked.
“See for yourself.”Spelling held open the tent flap.“But brace yourselves.”
Inside, portable floodlights created harsh islands of brightness in the otherwise dim space.The air was tinged with the copper scent of blood and the sharper notes of disinfectant and latex.
Sandra Reeves’s body was suspended from the tower’s framework, just off the ground.Her arms were splayed wide, bound at the wrists with copper wire that glinted dully in the artificial light.Her legs were similarly bound, stretched downward in a grotesque parody of a star.Her head hung forward, dark auburn hair obscuring her face.
Jenna’s breath caught.
The Cable County coroner and his assistant were carefully cutting through the bindings, while a third person photographed each step of the process.
“Time of death?”Jenna asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
The coroner, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, glanced over his shoulder.“Preliminary estimate puts it between midnight and 3 AM.I’ll know more after the autopsy.”
As the assistant shifted position, Sandra’s face became visible.Despite the discoloration and the vacant stare, she was recognizable as the vibrant woman whose photograph had hung in her studio—the woman who had visited Jenna’s dream with urgent, fragmentary messages.
“We knew her,” the coroner said softly, pausing in his work.“My wife used to buy her records, back when she was touring.Said she had the voice of an angel.”
The simple humanity of the comment hit Jenna harder than the clinical details had.Sandra Reeves was not just a victim, a body, a case.She had been a person with a life, with fans, with a voice that had touched others.
They watched in respectful silence as Sandra’s body was finally freed from its macabre display and gently lowered onto a waiting gurney.The coroner covered her with a white sheet, the fabric settling with a soft finality.
Colonel Spelling gestured toward the exit.“Let’s continue outside.”
The sunshine felt almost obscene after the grim tableau within the tent.Jenna blinked against the brightness, momentarily disoriented by the transition.
Chief Morgan was waiting a few yards away, deep in conversation with a State Police detective.When he spotted them emerging, he broke off mid-sentence and strode over.
“I need a word,” he said, his voice tight with barely contained frustration.His gaze locked on Jenna.“Now.”
Then Morgan turned toward Spelling.
“With all due respect, Colonel, there’s something not right here.”Morgan’s neck had flushed red above his collar.“Sheriff Graves somehow knew about this victim before the body was discovered.Somehow knew exactly where to find the place where she was taken.I’m supposed to just accept that it’s all coincidence and good police work?”
His words cut through the ambient noise of the crime scene, drawing the attention of nearby officers who tried to appear busy while clearly listening.
Jenna felt exposed, pinned by Morgan’s accusation and the curious glances now directed their way.The moment she had dreaded had arrived, and she found herself without a plausible explanation.
“Chief Morgan,” she began, not knowing how she would finish the sentence.
To her surprise, Colonel Spelling stepped forward, physically positioning himself between her and Morgan.“Chief, I’ve worked with Sheriff Graves on multiple cases over the past several years.Her methods may be unconventional, but her results speak for themselves.”
Morgan wasn’t mollified.“Unconventional is one thing.But don’t try to tell me she’s a psychic or something.We all know that psychic is a fake, a cover.”
“I never claimed to be psychic,” Jenna said, finding her voice.“I follow leads, make connections.Sometimes I see patterns before they’re obvious to others.”
