“The orbits are empty,” she noted quietly. “The edges aren’t clean. Could scavengers have done this?”
Elijah narrowed his eyes at the feed. “It’s consistent with scavenger activity, especially if she was left exposed during the warmer months. Rodents, birds...But there’s no way to know for sure without testing the tissue inside the sockets.”
May swabbed carefully along the edges of the eye sockets, collecting any residue that might offer clues. She sealed the swab in a vial and added it to the evidence tray.
She adjusted her view of the body, taking in the dried remnants of blood near the scalp and the frostbitten discoloration along the arms and torso. Even with the preserved tissue, the signs of early decomposition from the summer heat were still visible—the papery thinness of the remaining skin, the way some of the muscles had shriveled.
“You’re doing a good job,” Elijah said.
“Thanks.” May took a slow breath, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the grim circumstances. “Is there any chance we can get her body to Anchorage?”
Elijah’s expression darkened. “Not for weeks. Not with that storm coming in. But you’re already doing everything we would do at the lab.”
She gave a brief nod. The evidence had to be preserved as best as possible until transport became feasible. Freezing the body again would slow further decay, but it wouldn’t stop everything.
“Understood,” she said, pressing her lips into a tight line. She noted the samples she’d collected—tissue, fibers, hair, and residue—and organized the sealed vials and bags in the evidence tray.
“Good work, May,” Elijah said after a pause. “I’ll make sure this case is flagged as a priority once we can receive the body.”
May exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”
He grinned, now off duty. “Maybe you can escort the body and we could get that drink this time.”
She forced a smile, having no intention of leaving the safety of Knife’s Edge again. Ever. “That would be lovely.”
“Good.” Satisfaction tilted his lips. “I’ll see you then.” He ended the call.
She stood there for a long moment, staring at Tamara’s lifeless form. Finally, she peeled off her gloves and disposed of them before walking to the hospital reception area, where Brock and Ophelia waited on black leather chairs. “It’s done,” May said softly. “Cause of death is homicide.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Brock’s gut twisted like a steel coil. Someone had killed Tamara—brutally—and he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d been half-living since Hank died, trudging through the motions, barely paying attention to the world around him. That had to stop. He shouldn’t have left town for so many months, but he’d needed the time. To heal.
Poor Tamara.
True, most of the town—including Leo—had figured Tamara had simply gone off to party somewhere else, wanting to escape the weight of responsibility. But someone should’ve looked deeper into her disappearance. Someone should’ve cared enough to ask more questions.
He now sat in Leo’s home next to Ophelia on a loveseat, facing Leo and Loretta sitting on a matching sofa as he gave them the notification.
The man’s face crumpled. Tears filled Leo’s eyes along with shock. Loretta had clutched his hand, pale and trembling.
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell the kids,” Leo muttered, shaking his head.
“We’ll tell them together,” Loretta said softly, her voice steady despite the tears. “I think...I think we all knew Tamarawasn’t coming back. But having it confirmed...it’s terrible.” She looked up at Brock, her expression fragile but fierce. “Who would do this to her? It doesn’t make sense.”
Brock’s eyes felt like somebody rubbed sandpaper in them. He and Ophelia hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. “I don’t know.” He kept his voice low. He didn’t mention the missing eyes. Their removal hadn’t caused Tamara’s death, and Leo didn’t need to know that haunting detail. “We’ll find out, though,” Brock promised.
Leo’s expression shifted. “So...you’re taking the sheriff’s job?”
Brock didn’t answer.
Ophelia cleared her throat, her presence calm but commanding. “We’ll need to interview you both later—once you’ve had time. But, Leo, I’d like you to walk me through the last time you saw Tamara.”
Loretta began to speak, but Ophelia raised a single finger, stopping her mid-sentence. “No, thank you, Loretta. Just Leo, for now.”
Brock leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He knew what Ophelia was doing—she didn’t want to give them time to get their stories straight. He understood that from a law enforcement perspective, but as a neighbor and friend, it grated on him.
Leo scrubbed a hand over his face, pressing his ring fingers into the corners of his eyes. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. “It was sometime in May. She’d come and go. Sometimes she’d show up to take the kids for a weekend. Sometimes she’d call—if there was cell service.” His shoulders sagged. “But I can say for sure I saw her at the kindergarten graduation mid-May. But she did not attend the Knife’s Edge annual town meeting on June first, and I thought it odd. We elected Brock sheriff that day.”
