Page 38 of The Perfect Divorce

“Yeah, helluva way to spend a Saturday night, Doc,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m Sheriff Hudson, and this is Chief Deputy Olson.”

“I’m Dr. Boyd. It’s nice to meet you both, although I wish it was under different circumstances.” He pulls his lips in.

I nod and cross the room, pausing at the side of the bed. The sheet is soaked red just under Ryan’s head, so I already have a good idea as to what I’ll find underneath. There’s no Schrödinger limbo here. I know he’s dead, and that’s not going to change by waiting. I slowly pull the sheet down, revealing the face of a man I’ve known for many years, but I’ve never seen him like this. His eyelids have disappeared up into his forehead. He must have opened them in shock, his last agonizing seconds spent staring up at the person who had just taken his life. Farther down is the wound that ended everything for him—a long, deep gash beneath his chin, spanning from ear to ear. Blood trickles down his neck. The white sheet has absorbed a great deal of it, allowing the stain to grow and spread even farther.

A thought creeps into my mind. The deputy said it was homicide, but I can’t be sure that’s true, at least not yet. I retrieve a pair of latex gloves from my utility belt and stretch them over my large hands. Given why Ryan was in the hospital in the first place, he might not have even been murdered. Honestly, as horrible as it is to think, suicide would be the better cause of death here. Otherwise, we’ve got a killer on the run. I glance over at Deputy Morrow for a moment, squinting at him in displeasure. His face is as white as the sheet used to be.

“Who found him?” I ask.

Morrow clears his throat. “I did, sir.”

“Did anyone move anything?” My eyes swing between Morrow and Dr. Boyd.

“I checked for a pulse and then pulled the sheet over his head to cover him,” the doctor says.

I bend down and look under the bed to see if any objects were dropped, say a scalpel. But there’s nothing. I then lift the pillow and Ryan’s head, sliding my hand beneath the tops of his shoulders, finding nothing.

“Olson, can you help me lift him?”

“Sure.” She puts on her own gloves and helps me with Ryan, tipping him to the right and then to his left.

“It’s very unlikely he would be able to do that on his own,” Dr. Boyd says.

I open Ryan’s hands, examining them for any marks or objects. Nothing there either.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“A person could only make a quick slash across their neck in a straight line before the body would go into shock and seize up but...” The doctor walks to Ryan’s body and indicates the starting point of the cut under the ear. “This cut pattern, going from under the ear, curving along the throat and back up to the other ear, would require a steady hand throughout. Plus, I mean I’m not an expert on postmortem wounds, but this cut is very deep and consistently so. The odds that he would be able to maintain that amount of force in that curve the entire time are extremely unlikely.”

I look down at the wound, inspecting it even closer this time. It’s nearly an inch deep throughout the entire incision. Never getting any shallower, even at the ends.

“Thanks, Doc,” I say, pulling off the latex gloves and tossing them into a nearby waste bin.

“Of course, Sheriff.”

I turn my attention to my deputy. “So, tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know. I was...”

“That part I already know. I already know that you don’t know what happened. I know that you don’t know who did this. I know you weren’t here and weren’t doing your goddamn job. All of that I already know. So how about you save me the time and skip to the part where you explain why the hell you weren’t standing guard at that door!” I seethe, gesturing to the entrance of the room.

Deputy Morrow’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“I don’t have time for you to clam up. We have a killer on the loose, and I need to know everything. So, where were you?”

“I was in the bathroom, sir.” Deputy Morrow is unable to look me in the eyes, choosing to stare at the floor instead.

“The bathroom? What were you doing in the bathroom that gave someone enough time to notice you were gone, sneak in, unplug a heart monitor, slit Stevens’s throat from ear to ear, and then leave, all with you seeing nothing? Were you installing a fucking toilet?”

“It’s the vending machine food and coffee here, sir. It runs right through me. I was in the bathroom pissing out my?—”

“Enough! I don’t need the details of you shitting your brains out, Deputy. Now, what time did you leave your post?”

“Uhhh, I think around one fifteen a.m.”

“And when did you return?”

He looks down at the floor and mutters, “One forty-ish.”

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