Sean grimaced.“Uncle Dan’s been bragging again, huh?”
“You got it.”He leaned against one of the patrol cars.“Anyway, neither of my two lead detectives on this was available tonight.Brad Lynch is in D.C.at his son’s wedding.You remember Jack Lynch, right?I think he was in your class.”
“Yeah, I remember him and his dad.Last time I saw Brad though, he was still in patrol.What’s Jack doing these days?”
Griffin scratched his head.“Besides getting married?He’s a doctor now.Cardiologist, I think.And from what Brad says, he’s doing very well for himself.”
Nodding, Sean brought the conversation back on track.“Who else do you have on this?”
“Brad’s partner, Dave Farrell, but the idiot fell off a fucking ladder yesterday afternoon getting his daughter’s kitten out of a tree.The kitten survived, but Dave’s ankle didn’t.He needs surgery and will be out for the next few weeks.Brad is back on Tuesday.In the meantime, I’m taking the lead on this until he returns.I’ll call him in the morning and fill him in.”
Any further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the coroner’s black van.Two men got out, and one approached the sheriff while the other walked to the rear of the van and opened the back doors.
“You’re starting to make my life hell, Matt,” the gray-haired coroner said as he reached them.
Griffin chuckled wryly and held out his hand.“Sorry to bother you, Pete.”
“Sure you are.”There was no mistaking the sarcasm as the man shook the sheriff’s hand.“Who’s this?”he asked curiously, tilting his head toward Sean.
“Sean Malone,” Matt answered.“Special Agent with the FBI, and a friend.Sean, this is our head coroner, Dr.Peter Hansen.”
The two men exchanged hellos and shook hands.Pete wasted no more time and started his inquiry.“Is it another one?”
“Yeah,” Griffin replied.
“Terrific.Where do these fucking psychos come from?”
The sheriff snorted.“If I knew that, I’d be rich and famous.”
Sean waited until the coroner and his assistant stepped over to the crime scene, then turned to Matt.“Call my supervisor in the morning.”He took a business card out of his wallet and asked to borrow a pen.After scribbling his new boss’s name and the main office number on the back, he handed the card and pen to the sheriff.“Special Agent in Charge Clay Osbourne.He’s a good guy.I worked with him in Jacksonville for a few years before he got promoted.Tell him you’re requesting me and why.He might assign someone else to work with me, but since I don’t know anyone else in the unit yet, your guess is as good as mine on who it’ll be.”
He paused and glanced back over to the buzzing crime scene.“Well, if there’s nothing more for me to see, I’ll head home.When should I meet you at the station?I want to go over everything you’ve got on the other two cases.”
Running a hand through his hair, Griffin sighed heavily.“Make it noon.I won’t be out of here for another hour or so, and I’m running on fumes.I’ll have Pete wait for us before he starts the autopsy.”
“Sounds good.See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Sean.I appreciate whatever help you can give us.”
Sean gave the older man a fist bump and started walking back toward his car.He doubted he would dream of anything except the dead woman for the rest of the night.
Shit.
Chapter3
At ten minutes to twelve on Monday morning, Sean walked into the Dare County Sheriff’s Department, located in Manteo, wearing a gray sports jacket over a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans.His weapon, holstered on his hip, was hidden by the jacket.He hadn’t planned on working for another few weeks, so his suits, along with most of his personal possessions, were in a storage unit he’d rented while waiting for his apartment to be ready.He’d have to stop by and grab a few of them if he was going to be officially working the case.
He held his identification up to the bulletproof glass for the deputy at the front desk and was told Sheriff Griffin was already in his office waiting for him.The deputy slid a visitor’s tag through a slot in the window and pressed a hidden button under the desk.A buzzing noise sounded, and he gestured for Sean to proceed through a wood and glass door a few feet to his left, which had been unlocked electronically.Halfway down the hallway on the left-hand side was the department’s detective bureau, and at this time of the day, the room was brimming with activity.Some of the dozen or so detectives were at their desks, either going through reports or talking on the phone.Three others were sitting at a conference table in the middle of the room, leisurely eating a lunch of deli sandwiches while discussing some case.It looked like almost every other detective bullpen Sean had ever walked into.
He strode past the unit and entered the next door on his right.The lettering on the tinted glass read Sheriff Matthew C.Griffin.The secretary’s desk was empty, so he approached the door to Griffin’s office and knocked.A deep “come in” was the immediate response.
Sean opened the door and found a ragged-looking Griffin, wearing his navy blue uniform and gold shield, sitting behind a large oak desk burdened with files, paperwork, and a desktop computer.The office was large and comfortable.In addition to the desk and two upholstered guest chairs, there was a conference table surrounded by eight straight-backed chairs.Beyond the table were three six-foot-tall bookcases overflowing with law enforcement manuals and pictures of the sheriff with various dignitaries, deputies, and family members.Scattered amid all that were a variety of trophies and plaques won by, or presented to, Griffin over the years.A large flat-screen TV on the same wall as the door completed the décor.
“Welcome to my nightmare,” the sheriff said wryly.
Sean stepped into the room but didn’t sit.“Didn’t get much sleep, did you?”
Stifling a yawn, Griffin didn’t verbally answer but nodded his head.
