Perfect Victim, The by Castillo Linda

that had had its feathers ruffled by an unassuming hen.
     
    "Her credit cards haven ' t been used . " He paged through the file . "No checks have turned up . "
     
    She nodded, feeling minutely better now that he was cooperating. "Do you have any suspects? "
     
    "Not yet . " He pulled a file from the drawer and walked back to the desk, dropping it in front of her. "Excuse me while I get a cup of coffee." Snatching a Cincinnati Reds mug off the desk, he stalked out of the office.
     
    Jerk , she thought with disgust, wondering how, in the span of just a few hours, this promising day had transformed into the afternoon from hell.
     
    Her gaze dropped to the file. She stared at it, not sure if he'd meant for her to look at it or if she was supposed to wait for him to return. It took her all of two seconds to open it.
     
    The police report was oil top. She scanned it first, making a mental note that there were no witnesses or suspects listed. She skimmed the particulars of the crime scene, the condition of the body, and the description of the weapon. She tried in vain not to allow the gristly details to affect her, but her hands began to shake despite her efforts.
     
    Next, she found the autopsy report. The cause of death was listed as massive blood loss due to the severance of the carotid artery. Other injuries listed were blunt force trauma to the skull along with an array of superficial knife wounds. The autopsy report had been signed by Dr. Stephen Westfall just over two weeks ago.
     
    Addison closed the file. Spotting a copier across the room, she rose, hoping to get the police and autopsy reports copied before the sheriff returned. She'd just reached the copier when a half dozen photographs slipped from the file and fell to the floor. Looking quickly over her shoulder, she bent to retrieve them. When she turned back and looked down at the photo in her hand, the sight that accosted her nearly sent her to her knees.
     
    The photograph was of the crime scene, in horrible, vivid color. She saw blood. A shock of dark hair. Pasty flesh. Addison stared helplessly for what seemed like an eternity, unable to breathe, unable to move or tear her eyes away from the horrific sight. There were no inscriptions on the photo, but she knew with utter certainty that the twisted, butchered heap was her mother.
     
    She straightened, felt the room around her begin to spin. The file slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a resonant thud, scattering the papers it held . Addison fought back a crushing wave of nausea. She closed her eyes, trying to erase a sight that would forever be etched into her brain.
     
    Knowing the r e would be no more conversation with Sheriff McEvoy , she staggered to the desk and pulled her coat from the back of the chair. Still not sure if her lunch was going to stay down , she left the file on the floor and rushed out of the office, nearly running into the sheriff as he passed through the door with a cup of coffee in hand . He called out to her as she pushed open the front door, but she didn't stop . He didn't bother to come after her .
     
    Once outside, Addison stopped a nd stood vacillating for a moment before grasping the rail with both hands and taking a deep breath. She took another and another until the nausea passed . Slowly , she became aware of her surroundings, the hiss of tires on wet pavement , the sound of sleet hitting the sidewalk.
     
    But it was the cold that brought her back. The wind slithered through her coat and wrapped around her, sending involuntary shivers through her until she was shaking uncontrollably. Grappling in her bag for the car keys, she started for her car.
     
    She sat behind the wheel another five minutes with the heater running full blast , waiting for the chattering of her teeth to subside. Agnes Beckett had met a terrible end. Violent . Senseless . Addison knew she must deal with that . But even as she struggled to accept, she couldn't help but wonder how much her