Dark Paradise

“And this time they took a human life instead,” Mari said grimly.

He glanced back at her and shrugged a little, bulging shoulder muscles straining the seams of his khaki uniform shirt. “Happens now and again. ’Spect it’ll happen more and more with the increase in tourism and second-home owners coming up here out of big cities. Most of these people don’t know beans about handling firearms. They get all dudded up in their L.L. Bean safari jackets, sling a big ol’ elephant rifle over their shoulders, and off they go.

“The guy that shot your friend? He didn’t have a clue. Didn’t know he’d hit her. He didn’t even see her. Took two days before the body was found.”

“Who was he?” Mari asked numbly, needing a name, a face she could picture and attach guilt to. He hadn’t even known. Lucy had died up there all alone, had lain there for days while the jerk who killed her went on with his vacation, oblivious.

“Dr. J. Grafton Sheffield,” Qui

“The ballistics matched up, I take it?”

Qui

“I was a court reporter for six years, Sheriff,” Mari explained. “I know the drill.”

He rubbed one corner of his mouth with a stubby forefinger as he studied her, considering. Finally he nodded, selected a thin sheaf of typed pages from the file, and handed them across the desk. She sca

“There wasn’t anything left of the bullet that nailed her,” Qui

“You mean it’s over already?” Mari said, stu

Qui

“Sheffield is in jail, then?” Mari said, sounding hopeful and knowing better. Plastic surgeons from Beverly Hills didn’t go to jail for accidents they readily owned up to.

“No, ma’am.” Qui

He was out the door and barreling toward the melee before Mari could react. She stared through the window at the surreal scene for a moment, Qui

She glanced at the notes made by the deputy who had originally been assigned to the case, then at Qui

The battle raged on in the squad room, the biker smashing cups, coffeepots, computer screens with the chair attached to his butt. Good thing Qui

Across the desk lay the file folder that held whatever other meager comments on Lucy’s death Qui

A roar that sounded like an enraged moose sounded beyond the door. The men went down in a heap of tangled arms and legs. Mari scooted up out of her chair and slipped around the desk to flip open the manila folder. Her heart stopped, wedged at the base of her throat just ahead of the breakfast she was still digesting.

The only things left in the case file were the crime scene Polaroids. Lucy’s body. Lifeless. Grotesque. She had lain there at the edge of that meadow for two days. Nothing about the corpse bore any resemblance to the vibrant woman Mari had known. The brassy blond hair was a dirty, tangled mat. The fingernails that had been meticulously manicured and lacquered at all times were dirty and broken. Features were unrecognizable, the body bloated out of shape like a Macy’s parade balloon. The bullet had hit her square in the back and exited through her chest, leaving massive destruction.

Hideous. God, she’s hideous. She would have hated to die this way.

Alone.

Ripped apart.

Left for the carrion feeders.

Tears spilled over her lashes. Chills raced down her from head to toe. Trembling, she dropped the reports on top of the pictures and ran out of the office, choking on the need to vomit and the necessity to breathe. The biker was being dragged off to a holding cell. Qui

“I-I-thank you for your help, Sheriff Qui

The sympathy in his eyes nearly undid her. “Sorry about your friend, Miz Je

The images from the Polaroids burned into the backs of her eyes. Bile rose up in a tide. She managed to nod. “I-I have to go.”

“Stop by and see Miller Daggrepont,” he called as she hurried toward the door.

The name went in one ear and out the other. The only stop she had on her mind at the moment was the ladies’ room down the hall. Saliva pooled in her mouth. Lucy. Oh, Christ, Lucy. But she pulled up at the squad room door, the one question she had forgotten to ask stopping her short. Bracing one hand on the jamb to keep herself upright, she looked back at Qui

“Who found her body?”

“That’d be Del,” he said with a nod. “Del Rafferty.”