Cold Judgment by Joanne Fluke Page B

in the middle had been cordoned off and the victim’s body lay in the center of the area, covered with a sheet.
    Mac stood to the side as Curt introduced himself to the officer in charge. He reached for the sheet and flipped it down. It was the body of a man in his early forties, dressed in jogging shorts. Mac gasped when he saw the man’s face.
    â€œGunshot wound to the head.” Curt nodded and the assistant coroner moved to cover the body again. “Looks like a small caliber from the entrance wound. No ID on the body. They’re working on it now.”
    Mac swallowed hard. His voice sounded flat when he finally spoke. “The victim’s name is Jerry Feldman. He’s a dentist. I knew him.”
    Curt glanced at him sharply and then turned to the officer in charge. “Notify the relatives and then let the press in. We’ll write it up as a routine mugging for now.”
    Mac nodded. Curt hadn’t missed the fact that Jerry’s expensive jogger’s watch was still on his wrist. An accomplished thief would have taken it. Both Mac and Curt knew this was no ordinary mugging, but there was no sense in speculating at the scene. The real investigation would come later, after the press had left.
    The reporters were arriving now and Mac knew he should leave. He had known the victim. The department had strict rules about emotional involvement in cases like this. He was just heading for the doorway when he saw Debra.
    She was impeccably dressed in gray slacks with a dark blue blazer, camera bag slung smartly over her shoulder. She pulled out her camera and took several shots. Even though she looked every inch a professional, Mac had the feeling she had to force herself to focus on the white-sheeted body. By now Debra knew who was under the sheet. Her hands trembled as she interviewed the officer in charge.
    Mac made his way to her after she had finished. “Debra? Are you all right?”
    He took her arm and she flinched. Then she looked up at him and swayed slightly.
    â€œOh, Mac!”
    Her voice was shaking and grateful. Mac patted her arm and she did not pull away this time. She no longer looked cold and unapproachable. She looked scared, and he stayed by her side like a shadow as she took the rest of her pictures and called the story in.
    â€œDo you need a ride to the paper?” Mac opened the door for her and they stepped out into the storm.
    â€œYes, please!” Debra pulled her collar up and slipped on her gloves. “I was going to call a cab, but I’d rather ride with you. I just have to drop off this film.”
    It took only a moment to drop the film at the lab. Debra seemed to be just fine as she gave instructions to the technician. Several people called out greetings to her as they walked down the corridor and left the building. Mac began to think he was wrong. Perhaps Debra didn’t need him after all.
    They stood in the parking lot outside the Tribune building. Blowing snow whipped at her hair and ice crystals stuck and glistened on her long, dark eyelashes. Her car keys were in her hand, but she was shaking too hard to unlock the door.
    â€œI . . . I don’t want to go home alone, Mac. Could we have a cup of coffee?”
    â€œSure.” Mac felt a surge of compassion as he led her to his car. She was in no condition to drive. Debra had used the last of her courage to finish her story and now she was exhausted and frightened.
    She started to cry the moment he drove from the lot, huge wracking sobs that she tried to hide by turning her face to the passenger window. It hurt him to see her so vulnerable, but he didn’t know how to help her.
    â€œI’m taking you to my house, Debra.” The moment the words were spoken, he knew it was the right thing to do. In a brightly lit coffee shop, the waitress and customers would stare at them curiously.
    Debra made no protest. She just nodded shakily. She was still crying, twenty minutes later, when