Page 12 of Liar's Point

Intrigued now, Nicole bent closer, studying the waxy white skin through the glass. In the center of the blotch was a dark brown dot.

“Twenty-three-gauge needle.”

“So... she was shooting up when she ODed?”

He glanced at the ceiling, clearly impatient. “Nicole, look.”

She looked again, taking note of the awkward way he’d positioned her arm.

“That’s a weird angle for an injection.”

His eyes brightened. “Exactly.”

A cold feeling swept over her.

“Most people are right-handed,” she said. “But even if she wasn’t, this would be a nearly impossible angle for a self-injection. She’d have to be a contortionist.”

“Right.”

“Which means someone else injected her.”

She watched David’s eyes over the mask as he carefully tucked the arm beside the body and re-covered it.

“In my professional opinion, yes, that’s precisely what happened.”

“So, you’re telling me—”

“I’m telling you what I’m putting in my report,” he said. “The manner of death is homicide.”

***

Emmet walked into the bullpen and went straight for the break room. He had a monster headache today. He fed some money into the vending machine, and a Red Bull thunked down.

“You’re late.”

He turned around to see Denise in the doorway. She wore her Sunday earrings, which looked like little silver hubcaps.

“How was church?” he asked, grabbing his drink.

“Why don’t you come sometime and find out?”

“I will.”

Denise taught Sunday school at Lost Beach Unitarian, where her husband was the assistant pastor.

Emmet popped the top on his drink and took a long swig.

“You’d better get in there,” Denise said. “They started ten minutes ago.”

“What, the staff meeting? What’s the big deal?”

Her eyebrows tipped up. “You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“The death at Lighthouse Point. The ME said it’s a homicide.”

“Seriously?”

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