Itwas another grey day in the wee town I'd grown up in, and as I sipped my coffeeand traveled to the office, a raindrop softly landed on the windshield, takingme back to that day in the woods. The woman's body, laying haphazardly againstthe smooth, white stone. Her left leg, ending abruptly where her foot had oncebeen, while her right leg wore a shoe too inappropriate for a walk in thewoods. I hadn't been able to chase the scene from my head since I'd been inthat clearing in the middle ofCoilleFeannag, and all the questions that accompanied it wereaffecting my sleep.
Howhad she gotten there? Who had she been with? Was it at all possible she had, infact, gone for a wee stroll and simply tumbled from the cliff? Could it be thatI had stupidly overlooked something? Was I truly that desperate for somethingexciting to happen in this fuckin’ shite town?
Withall ofthose questions, and all of that thinking, Inearly missed the station. The tires squealed with fury as I took a sharp turninto the car park and pulled into a spot. The lot was unsurprisingly empty,with only a few cars occupying the stalls, and I sighed with the melancholicmemory of once upon a time being much more useful than I felt now.
Butyou can make it right with this woman, I thought, as I headed intothe office with the thermos of coffee in hand.
“Goodmornin’, Brodie,” Constable Sharp said with a dash ofsnarky sarcasm.
“Don’tstart with me, Sharp,” I muttered, walking past him and through the musty roomto my desk.
“Whathappened this time? Ye slept past the alarm again?”
“Aye,”I said, nodding. “Yermother kept me up too late lastnight.”
“Ah,ye’re a funny one, Brodie. No wonder ye’re so popular around here.”
“Ah,just what I’ve always wanted. To be popular.”
Sharpsighed, shaking his head. “Whatever, mate.”
Iwatched as he walked away, reminding me of an overweight penguin. He was thetype of bloke whose legs were short, and his bottom was wide, and I wondered ifI pushed him over, whether he’d fall flat on hisarsewithout any hope of getting up, or if he’d just wobble about a wee bit beforesettling back on his feet.
TheChief Inspector’s door openedat the momentmy thermosand satchel hit my desk, and out walked Frasier with a woman at his side. Shewas tall, with legs any sensible man would love to find themselves tangled in.Her hair was the color of molasses, all piled on the top of her head in therattiest looking nest I’d ever seen. Christ, she was bonnie, and staring at hernow reminded me of how long it had been since I’d received any affection fromthe fairer sex.
“So,we’ll just send her body to the crematorium,” Chief Inspector Frasier said,leading her to the front door. “Constable Sharp will give ye a ride over there,if yedinnaehave a car with ye.”
Shenodded as she walked, looking shaken and abundantly sad. “Okay, that would be,um … that would be great,” she said quietly. “Thank you … for everything.”
Myears perked up at the sound of her voice. Husky, smoky, and just sensual enoughto intrigue. And, most importantly, American.
Iwatched her and the Chief Inspector, as they walked to the front entrance. “Iwish there wassomethin' more I could do for ye,lass,” he said, offering a textbook spiel. “Breaks my heart what happened toyersister.”
Itirked me to the bone how impersonal he was behaving. I knew her name wasRosalynn, and if she were speaking to me instead, I'd be treating her with therespect she deserved in this dark moment of her life. Hell, she should havebeen speaking to me in the first place. It's what I had asked of her just theday before, but of course, I had stumbled in here too late to intercept beforeshe'd been dragged in to see Frasier. That was my fault. I couldn't blameher—or him, for that matter. But Christ, I couldn't control the aggravationtwisting and coiling through my veins, as he laid a stiff hand against hershoulder.
Then,he said, “I'm sorryyerfirst trip to Fort Crowcouldnaebeen under happier circumstances.”
Sheoffered a small smile that clearly took more strength than she believed shehad. “Me, too. Thank you for everything.”
Then,she walked through the door with Constable Sharp, and I was leaving my desk tostop Frasier before he could retreat to his office.
“Wasthat the American's sister? Rosalynn Allan?” I asked in a demanding tone I hadno business usingin regard tomy superior.
Headdressed me with a hard glare and a firm mouth. “Aye. What about her?”
“Whereis shegoin'?”
“Thecrematorium,” he replied brusquely, before moving on toward his door.
“What?Why?” I asked, staying close behind him.
“Well,Brodie, usually folks go to the crematorium to collect the ashes of theirdeceased loved ones. Not sure what the fancy inspectors from Edinburgh dothere, though,” he muttered, his voice thick with sarcasm, as he entered theoffice and plonked himself down behind the desk.
“Ashes?They'recrematin'her?Butwhat about the investigation? What about the—”
“Brodie!Christ, man! Enough about the investigation!” he shouted, smacking a heavy palmto the surface of his desk. A picture of his three children wobbled and fellover, landing on its glass face. “The daft woman tripped over a rock andtumbled to her fuckin' death. That's what happened to her. And I am notgonnawaste the time of my Constables, to figuresomethin' out that's already been decided! Now, get thefuck out of my office and gettofuckin' work!”
Adeep, unsettling sensation overtook my stomach and churned the coffee in mygut, as I backed out of his office and headed straight to my desk, to ringWilliam, the department's medical examiner. After a few moments, he finallyanswered in a grumbled monotone.
