Page 21 of Hold Your Breath
“Sixty-five-ish.” To Lou’s surprise, Belly seemed perfectly willing to share. “Caucasian, diabetic, five-ten or thereabouts, one hundred and fifty pounds, gray hair—although the hair on his head might be different from the hair on his body—probably died of some kind of head trauma.”
“How can you tell it was head trauma if he, ah, didn’t have it on him? His head, I mean.”
“Well, it had to be, didn’t it?” Belly asked. “The rest of him was fairly healthy—except for the diabetes—so it was either a bullet to the head or something hit him really hard. I’d need to see the head to tell you for sure.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Lou thought for a second. “How’d you know he had diabetes?”
Belly gave her a flat look. “Do you really want to hear about a dead man’s pancreas?”
“Um…not really.” She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to understand what the coroner told her, anyway.
“Plus,” Belly added, turning back to her beer, “he was missing two toes on his right foot.”
“Had they been amputated before he died, or was it part of the whole Sawzall thing?”
“Amputated. Few months before, I’d guess. Pretty common for diabetics. Nerve damage and poor circulation can lead to nonhealing foot ulcers. If they’re not treated quickly, the resulting tissue damage can require part of the foot or leg to be amputated.” Belly sounded impressively coherent for a small woman with several beers under her belt. Glancing at Callum’s untouched beer, Lou realized that Belly was the reason Callum had brought her to the bar. The coroner was their research source.
“Hmm.” Great, now she was doing the humming thing again. Lou tried to think of any other questions she could ask the coroner. “He didn’t have any birthmarks or tattoos or anything, did he? I don’t remember any, but I was a little distracted by the dead body and the shock and everything at the time.”
Belly gave a short laugh. “Yeah, you have a pretty good excuse for not noticing his back had been ripped to shit at one point, a long time ago. Looked like shrapnel scars, from Vietnam, I’d guess—just a guess, mind you, since he’s about the right age, plus he had an Army tattoo on the left side of his chest.” She patted halfway between her breast and collarbone. “Served our country and then someone chopped him up and tossed him in the reservoir. There’s respect for you.” Turning her head, she spat in the general direction of the floor. Lou hurriedly yanked her foot back before the loogie could land on her boot.
“Thanks, Bel.” Callum gave Lou a light time-to-go pat on her shoulder before tossing another bill in the bartender’s direction. “Have a good night.”
“Yes, thanks for talking with us, Belly,” Lou echoed as she slid off her stool. “Good-bye.”
Belly waved, focusing on her beer as they moved away from the bar.
* * *
“I feel kind of dirty,” Lou admitted as they walked through the bar’s snow-packed parking lot.
Callum’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Excuse me?”
She gave an uncomfortable shrug. “Like we took advantage of Belly’s, you know, tipsiness or something.”
“Oh.” He was quiet for a moment. “She wouldn’t have said anything to just anyone, if that makes you feel better. She also, most likely, would have shared all that with you sober.”
“Really? What makes me special? I just met her, so it’s not like she really knows me well.”
Callum stopped at the driver’s door of her truck as she pulled it open. “You’re one of us now.”
Cocking her head to the side, she just stared at him, confused.
“Fire, paramedics, cops. Search and rescue. You’re not just the barista making Belly’s coffee anymore—you’re her colleague.”
“Oh.” A warm sensation slipped over her at the thought of being part of a group, of a family consisting of not only the dive team, but of all Field County’s first responders. It was a nice feeling…comforting.
“Just make sure you keep the information confidential,” he warned. “What we see on the scene or hear from others, like Bel, stays among us, got it?”
She climbed into the truck. “Got it.”
When he unexpectedly leaned closer, her breath caught with a sudden mix of panic and startling hot anticipation. Mostly panic. Maybe. Seemingly unaware of her response, Callum reached an arm out and flicked the gaudy pendant hanging from her rearview mirror.
“This is illegal, you know. It obstructs your view and could create a blind spot.”
She blinked, crushing any possible disappointment into rubble. “Oh.”
With a frown, he glanced around the cab. “Don’t you ever clean your truck?”
