courtyard. "It looked like she fell from that window on the third floor."
The detective cocked his bald head and stared at Ray like he was trying to reach a conclusion about him. He continued studying the scene from its periphery, then turned and looked at them with wide eyes as though he'd had an epiphany.
"Who was in that ambulance I just passed?" he asked.
"She was," Billy said.
"Mrs. Wallace," Ray said.
The detective craned his neck to look at the window and his head followed what must have been the woman's trajectory down into the bushes. He took several cautious steps closer, carefully choosing where to place his feet.
Ray leaned close to Billy. "What's his name?"
"Detective Daniel Pritchard," Billy answered.
"Pritchard!"
It came out a little more loudly than he intended. The detective gave him a quizzical look.
"Nothing," Ray said dismissively.
When it seemed the detective had collected all possible data, he stepped away from the shards of broken glass glistening like dew in the grass, carefully removed his polished wing-tip shoes, placed them side by side below the bottom step, and joined the other two men on the porch.
"Did you two come straight here after you left Whitlock?" he asked.
With a slow start, Billy explained how they were responding to a complaint about excessive noise the dispatcher had handed him when he went on duty. He detailed the route he had taken and, by Ray's recollection, gave an accurate accounting of their activity since arriving at the Wallace farm.
"Is that correct?" Pritchard asked Ray.
Ray nodded.
"There's nothing you want to add?" Pritchard said.
"No," Ray answered, surprised by the question. "Deputy Merrill covered it all."
All three men turned to face the driveway as two more police cars emerged noisily from under the trees. A woman in a beige uniform stepped out of the passenger side of the first vehicle holding an unwieldy camera that, by comparison to Ray's new digital model, looked like something out of a 1950s sci-fi movie. She loaded a roll of film into the back of it, gripping it by the thick shaft connecting the ridiculously oversized flash. Pritchard called instructions to her from the porch. She immediately set to work photographing the alcove where they had found Correen Wallace.
The remaining two deputies were ordered to walk single file toward the barn, following in each other's footsteps. Pritchard wanted them to look for anything out of the ordinary in the barn and then conduct a search of the vehicle. One of the men retrieved latex gloves from his cruiser and handed a pair across to his partner. He tossed another pair to the woman, who almost dropped her camera trying to catch them. The two male deputies proceeded toward the barn as the woman with the camera clicked her way along the gravel path from the driveway. Crunch, crunch, click. Crunch, crunch, click.
Ray looked down at the camera hanging around his neck. Pritchard seemed to take notice of it, as well.
"Did you take any pictures after you arrived here?" Pritchard asked.
"Um..." Ray had to think about it. "Yes. Some inside, then a few out here before I realized she wasn't dead."
"Can you show me, please?"
With the strap still looped around his neck, Ray held out the camera and pulled up its contents so the detective could view them on the small screen. He scrolled through twenty-seven pictures, starting with the most recent of Correen Wallace in the bushes and working backward until reaching the pictures from Sunday's groundbreaking. Pritchard leaned in uncomfortably close as he watched.
"I'm going to need copies of any pictures you've taken," the detective told him. He leered at Billy. "Especially since the two of you did such an excellent job of stepping all over my evidence. We can go through the necessary formalities, or I could seize the camera now as evidence, but it would be much easier for everyone if the Citizen Gazette simply emails hi-res images to me by
The detective cocked his bald head and stared at Ray like he was trying to reach a conclusion about him. He continued studying the scene from its periphery, then turned and looked at them with wide eyes as though he'd had an epiphany.
"Who was in that ambulance I just passed?" he asked.
"She was," Billy said.
"Mrs. Wallace," Ray said.
The detective craned his neck to look at the window and his head followed what must have been the woman's trajectory down into the bushes. He took several cautious steps closer, carefully choosing where to place his feet.
Ray leaned close to Billy. "What's his name?"
"Detective Daniel Pritchard," Billy answered.
"Pritchard!"
It came out a little more loudly than he intended. The detective gave him a quizzical look.
"Nothing," Ray said dismissively.
When it seemed the detective had collected all possible data, he stepped away from the shards of broken glass glistening like dew in the grass, carefully removed his polished wing-tip shoes, placed them side by side below the bottom step, and joined the other two men on the porch.
"Did you two come straight here after you left Whitlock?" he asked.
With a slow start, Billy explained how they were responding to a complaint about excessive noise the dispatcher had handed him when he went on duty. He detailed the route he had taken and, by Ray's recollection, gave an accurate accounting of their activity since arriving at the Wallace farm.
"Is that correct?" Pritchard asked Ray.
Ray nodded.
"There's nothing you want to add?" Pritchard said.
"No," Ray answered, surprised by the question. "Deputy Merrill covered it all."
All three men turned to face the driveway as two more police cars emerged noisily from under the trees. A woman in a beige uniform stepped out of the passenger side of the first vehicle holding an unwieldy camera that, by comparison to Ray's new digital model, looked like something out of a 1950s sci-fi movie. She loaded a roll of film into the back of it, gripping it by the thick shaft connecting the ridiculously oversized flash. Pritchard called instructions to her from the porch. She immediately set to work photographing the alcove where they had found Correen Wallace.
The remaining two deputies were ordered to walk single file toward the barn, following in each other's footsteps. Pritchard wanted them to look for anything out of the ordinary in the barn and then conduct a search of the vehicle. One of the men retrieved latex gloves from his cruiser and handed a pair across to his partner. He tossed another pair to the woman, who almost dropped her camera trying to catch them. The two male deputies proceeded toward the barn as the woman with the camera clicked her way along the gravel path from the driveway. Crunch, crunch, click. Crunch, crunch, click.
Ray looked down at the camera hanging around his neck. Pritchard seemed to take notice of it, as well.
"Did you take any pictures after you arrived here?" Pritchard asked.
"Um..." Ray had to think about it. "Yes. Some inside, then a few out here before I realized she wasn't dead."
"Can you show me, please?"
With the strap still looped around his neck, Ray held out the camera and pulled up its contents so the detective could view them on the small screen. He scrolled through twenty-seven pictures, starting with the most recent of Correen Wallace in the bushes and working backward until reaching the pictures from Sunday's groundbreaking. Pritchard leaned in uncomfortably close as he watched.
"I'm going to need copies of any pictures you've taken," the detective told him. He leered at Billy. "Especially since the two of you did such an excellent job of stepping all over my evidence. We can go through the necessary formalities, or I could seize the camera now as evidence, but it would be much easier for everyone if the Citizen Gazette simply emails hi-res images to me by
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