Page 13 of The Wolves Come at Night
I’m sorry
“Think the gun is under him?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus said, face white. “But if we don’t take this outside and get some air, I might boot all over him.”
“Puss,” one of the patrols said, and Marcus tossed him a grin. “Your mother.”
“Boys, play nice,” Taylor said, tamping down her own inappropriate giggle. Crime scenes always made people uncomfortable, and they all reacted differently, but gallows humor and smart-ass comments were the primary forms of coping. She pulled her phone from her pocket. “Linc, you still with me? What’s the ETA of the ’gators?”
“Forensic Medical is an hour out, at least. Another scene across town. You okay cooling your heels, or do you want me to send someone to get you?”
“I’m fine, I’ve got my car. We’ll be on the porch for the time being, but send a tent. I don’t want to set up the command close to the house. This scene’s been marinating, and without lights, I don’t want to risk messing anything up.”
“Suicide?”
Taylor looked down at the mess of a man lying at her feet. “Maybe. I don’t know. If this is the guy who killed Georgia Wray, murder-suicide could be a logical call. The head of the label said their relationship was strained, that he’d been making threats. There’s no visible weapon, though, so until we get this processed, I don’t want to make any judgments.”
“Roger that.” Lincoln sighed.
“What?”
“I’m just thinking about how Huston’s going to come down on you. Back in the field five minutes and you’ve already got yourself another body.”
“I’m a magnet,” she said, smiling at his teasing. “Don’t worry about how Huston reacts. Let her know and tell Dan we won’t be able to do that presser until tonight. And Linc?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for having my back. I appreciate it.”
“Always,” he said, and the phone went dead.
Taylor turned and took in the scene, and the three men watching her. “All right. Y’all know the drill. Crowd control, tight lips, no video from the neighborhood lookie-loos. Start a canvass, see who knows what about Osborne’s movements over the past week. Get me the contractor, too, name’s on the sign out front. If we can get a schedule of when their people were in and out of the house, maybe we can narrow down when this occurred. And someone find me a Diet Coke, yeah? It’s going to be a long afternoon.”
Seven
By the time they cleared the scene and the ’gators had removed the body, the skies had followed suit and moved from gray to black. The cold front responsible for the storms had swept through, dropping a couple of nasties from the sky but leaving the evening air in its wake crisp and clean. Taylor dug a North Face puffer vest from her back seat and donned it to ward off the chill. She stood under the tent, her third Diet Coke of the afternoon discarded on the table in favor of a hot Earl Grey tea wrestled up by a thoughtful patrol officer. The little tab of the tea bag swung in the breeze until she tucked it into the paper holder.
Justin Osborne was, so far, a relatively open book. They’d found a series of journals in the second-bedroom closet, one that was staged as an office/music room. His hurt and resentment of Georgia Wray was so visceral Taylor couldn’t help but assume that he’d been the one who shot the girl.
That was my song…mine! I wrote the whole thing.
* * *
How dare she give in to them?
* * *
Why does she hate me? She won’t answer my texts or calls anymore…
* * *
Fuck her. The world would be a better place without her…
* * *
I miss her so much…
There were a few oddities, though. Justin did have two weapons registered to him—a Winchester .22 rifle and a Taurus 9mm handgun, and both were located in his gun safe in the garage. The gun that was found under him was a Glock 40—hence the gaping face and head wounds—with the number filed off. A street gun. The shell casing retrieved from the scene was an initial match to the casing found on the mountain. The bullets would have to go through forensics to see if the rifling matched the gun, but there was a strong chance the weapon found under Justin’s body was the same one used to murder Georgia Wray. If Justin Osborne planned to kill himself, why go to the trouble of procuring a street gun instead of using his own Taurus?
