Page 86 of The Woman Left Behind

Now, though, Harry also had thirteen other cases they needed to run shit down on.

Wade had never made any murmurings of sitting the detective’s exam, but Karen and Sean had.

Wade had been on staff the longest, and Harry trusted him with his life.

But he needed to carve out some time to encourage all of his deputies to look toward future advancement.

Harry could see it would be tough to think about that when the person you’d be working with was a decorated ex-FBI agent who had closing some seriously high-profile cases on his resume.

For some, it was in their nature to compete, and that worked for a department when the win was closing cases. However, you never wanted to set yourself up to lose, and being a newbie going up against the best would be daunting even for the most competitive person.

For others, imposter syndrome could take hold, and you had to be too on the ball when investigating to doubt your every move and decision.

But they were in the thick of it and would be for a while.

He needed to promote somebody.

This was his thought when he saw Rus walking up the sidewalk.

When Rus met him, Harry asked, “Find Roy?”

“Left work early with a migraine. No one answered at home.”

Goddamn it.

“Dern called him,” Harry bit off.

“Dern called him, and worse, Harry, the guy ghosted when he did.”

“So we don’t think this is hinky, it just fucking is,” Harry summed it up.

Rus looked to the building behind Harry. “I sure hope Pfeiffer isn’t involved in this shit.”

Harry did too. As far as he knew, Dr. Theresa Pfeiffer, Fret County Medical Examiner, was a straight arrow.

But Harry sadly didn’t know everything.

They went into the building and directly to Pfeiffer’s office.

She was sitting at her desk, eating a sandwich.

Harry had no clue, with the smell of this place and the work that was done in it, how she could eat there, but again, he didn’t know everything.

She looked up when she noticed them in the doorway. “Hey, boys. Come in.”

They moved in, took seats across from her, and Harry set the Ballard file he’d brought with him on his lap.

Sandwich still in hand, she adjusted stuff on her desk until she pulled out her own file. She flicked it open and scanned it.

“Clifford Ballard, right?” she asked.

“Yeah. Suicide. But—” That was as far as Harry got before Theresa’s gaze shot to his.

“Suicide?” she asked.

Harry looked to Rus to see Rus’s eyes on him.

He turned back to Theresa. “Suicide.”

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