Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) by Catherine Finger Page A
Authors: Catherine Finger
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hand on the other. We’re working on tox screens now, but whatever it was it gave the killer plenty of time to do his worst. Slow things down, give him a chance to enjoy the show.” Mitch’s shaking hands kept the camera bobbing up and down as she scanned the evidence boxes.
“At least our perp used a gun. A small mercy maybe?” Her voice betrayed her struggle to maintain her composure and finish this gruesome task.
“I thought you said it wasn’t a shooting.” Invisible fingers crushed the soft flesh under my chin. My brows shot up.
“No, I said it wasn’t a fatal shooting.”
Tiny beads of sweat dampened my forehead. I closed my eyes, fishing for anything to say to lighten the mood and pull my attention away from this horrible death at the hands of a mad man. Even Del didn’t deserve this.
“Don’t make me paint the scene for you, Mitch.” My jaw ached. I unclenched my teeth.
“Make up your mind. Are we breaking this down together or not? What about your ‘less is more’ axiom?” Mitch moved the camera along the shelf of tagged evidence boxes and bags.
“Oh, brother. I don’t know any more. This is a lot to take in. Did you get a sense from the M.E. of the length of time it took for them to go? Lie to me if you have to… please tell me their death wasn’t as horrific as the scene suggested.” I had to stop, cradle my head between my hands. My living room was spinning.
“It’s pretty nasty.” She stifled a gagging sound as she spun the camera back to the evidence bay. Focusing in on the shelf, she passed the bags and pulled a large evidence storage box to the floor. Setting the lid aside, she zeroed in on a see-through tube sporting a hypodermic needle.
“Is that the killer’s drug kit?” It couldn’t be anything else.
“Check.” Her voice had quieted to just above a whisper.
Asking the questions, sticking to the facts, helped ease the tension in my body.
She followed my lead, kept acting more like a cop, less like a person who’d just lost a former colleague.
“Where are the other two weapons? And why use three when two would do?”
“Better safe than sorry. This was a careful killer. He—or she—she wanted them dead, really dead.”
“But why the belt and suspenders? Why use a gun when you have a disabling drug?”
“Because he needed to buy himself some time? Maybe he wasn’t very strong? The surprise factor would only last a few seconds. He shot them in the legs first and then got close enough to drug them. He must’ve been pretty good at it. It would take a lot of finesse to get the drop on two people, especially if one of them was a cop. Even a crappy one.” Mitch paused and cleared her throat. Her voice sounded raw. Was she crying?
“I know.” I didn’t want to hear what had happened next. But I had to. I’d seen the way the bodies were positioned. I had an idea of how things had gone down. My hands were clammy, and the phone slipped a little in my hand as I strained to hear Mitch on the other end.
“He shot them both in the knees, and then he would’ve gone to Del first. He’d have been reeling and heading into shock. The killer would have had no problem drugging him into submission while keeping him awake to watch.”
I nodded. My face iced over and the walls undulated like late-morning coastal waves. “Must’ve taken a heckuva lotta force to bludgeon a man and a woman to death with a sledgehammer.”
The walls were shifting toward me. The roof of my mouth was sandpaper, tearing up my tongue.
“Or a heckuva lotta anger.” Mitch sniffled.
“Lotta angry men out there.” I threw it out as a shield.
“And a few angry women too.” Mitch held the phone back up to her face. She wore a concerned expression, but her voice was cold hard steel.
“Now all we gotta do is find the right one.”
I stomped through my bedroom, opening and closing drawers—pulling out jeans and a sweatshirt. I threw on the clothes and headed downstairs. In
“At least our perp used a gun. A small mercy maybe?” Her voice betrayed her struggle to maintain her composure and finish this gruesome task.
“I thought you said it wasn’t a shooting.” Invisible fingers crushed the soft flesh under my chin. My brows shot up.
“No, I said it wasn’t a fatal shooting.”
Tiny beads of sweat dampened my forehead. I closed my eyes, fishing for anything to say to lighten the mood and pull my attention away from this horrible death at the hands of a mad man. Even Del didn’t deserve this.
“Don’t make me paint the scene for you, Mitch.” My jaw ached. I unclenched my teeth.
“Make up your mind. Are we breaking this down together or not? What about your ‘less is more’ axiom?” Mitch moved the camera along the shelf of tagged evidence boxes and bags.
“Oh, brother. I don’t know any more. This is a lot to take in. Did you get a sense from the M.E. of the length of time it took for them to go? Lie to me if you have to… please tell me their death wasn’t as horrific as the scene suggested.” I had to stop, cradle my head between my hands. My living room was spinning.
“It’s pretty nasty.” She stifled a gagging sound as she spun the camera back to the evidence bay. Focusing in on the shelf, she passed the bags and pulled a large evidence storage box to the floor. Setting the lid aside, she zeroed in on a see-through tube sporting a hypodermic needle.
“Is that the killer’s drug kit?” It couldn’t be anything else.
“Check.” Her voice had quieted to just above a whisper.
Asking the questions, sticking to the facts, helped ease the tension in my body.
She followed my lead, kept acting more like a cop, less like a person who’d just lost a former colleague.
“Where are the other two weapons? And why use three when two would do?”
“Better safe than sorry. This was a careful killer. He—or she—she wanted them dead, really dead.”
“But why the belt and suspenders? Why use a gun when you have a disabling drug?”
“Because he needed to buy himself some time? Maybe he wasn’t very strong? The surprise factor would only last a few seconds. He shot them in the legs first and then got close enough to drug them. He must’ve been pretty good at it. It would take a lot of finesse to get the drop on two people, especially if one of them was a cop. Even a crappy one.” Mitch paused and cleared her throat. Her voice sounded raw. Was she crying?
“I know.” I didn’t want to hear what had happened next. But I had to. I’d seen the way the bodies were positioned. I had an idea of how things had gone down. My hands were clammy, and the phone slipped a little in my hand as I strained to hear Mitch on the other end.
“He shot them both in the knees, and then he would’ve gone to Del first. He’d have been reeling and heading into shock. The killer would have had no problem drugging him into submission while keeping him awake to watch.”
I nodded. My face iced over and the walls undulated like late-morning coastal waves. “Must’ve taken a heckuva lotta force to bludgeon a man and a woman to death with a sledgehammer.”
The walls were shifting toward me. The roof of my mouth was sandpaper, tearing up my tongue.
“Or a heckuva lotta anger.” Mitch sniffled.
“Lotta angry men out there.” I threw it out as a shield.
“And a few angry women too.” Mitch held the phone back up to her face. She wore a concerned expression, but her voice was cold hard steel.
“Now all we gotta do is find the right one.”
I stomped through my bedroom, opening and closing drawers—pulling out jeans and a sweatshirt. I threw on the clothes and headed downstairs. In
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