the conversation. “This one was too stupid to take into account the tide. Looks as if the body was dumped over there”—he pointed across the harbor—“near the hotel, probably in a nice hidden cove, but the current carried it right here, to one of the most popular tourist spots on the waterfront.” He laughed, then, remembering the bystanders, bent his head to hide his face.
“Stupid criminals are my favorite kind,” David said.
“They make it easy,” Avery agreed. He looked at Elise. “Aren’t you still on medical leave?” He was working at his normal nonchalance, but during Elise’s hospital stay he’d called her several times, and he’d even stopped by with flowers.
“I’m just kind of tagging along,” Elise said.
“Well, we miss you.” The words came grudgingly.
“So what do we have?” David asked.
“I just got here, but I’m guessing drug deal gone bad. Victim is a white male, sixteen years of age. Somebody in the wrong place, wrong time.”
“ID?” David asked.
“Ran it. No previous arrests. Name is Edwin Kingfield.”
“Of Kingfield Yachts?”
Avery shrugged. “Maybe.”
“They’re one of the wealthiest families in town,” Elise said, searching her smartphone for more information.
“Slumming?” David asked.
“Thought I’d heard that name before.” Elise scrolled down a page on her phone. “He’s a local football hero. Was being wined and dined by some of the biggest franchises even though he still had two years of high school left.”
“So maybe it was robbery, not drugs,” Mason said, joining the group.
“I don’t know,” Elise said. “Some of these rich kids are getting deep into meth and coke.”
John Casper, everybody’s favorite medical examiner, straightened away from the body and motioned for them to step closer.
“You’ll want to see this,” he said. “At first we figured fish had gotten to him, but upon closer inspection—” He pointed, and all three of them pulled in a sharp breath.
“Damn,” David muttered, while Elise thought the same thing.
In the center of the victim’s chest was nothing but a gaping hole. It almost looked as if someone had reached into the chest cavity and ripped out the heart.
A familiar MO.
“We called the hospital right away,” Avery said. “Just to be sure Tremain was still there. Just to be sure he was still in a coma.”
“And?” David asked in a voice that didn’t hide the stress they were all feeling.
“Vegging like a good vegetable. And anyway, this isn’t quite the same MO. Similar, but not exactly.”
“I’m thinking copycat,” Mason said.
“Maybe.” David continued to stare at the gaping hole. “Maybe not.”
Looks were exchanged.
Everyone, from the FBI to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, had agreed with the theory that the Organ Thief murders had been committed by Atticus Tremain in order to get Elise’s attention. What do you give a homicide detective? Not flowers and candy, but dead bodies. And with those dead bodies, the trap had been set. But the evidence against Tremain for the murders hadn’t been overwhelming, and most was circumstantial.
“What do you mean, maybe not?” Avery asked.
“Maybe we were wrong about Tremain,” Elise said, taking up where David had left off. “Maybe Tremain was never the person removing body parts. Maybe Tremain never killed anybody. Maybe the kidnapping and the Organ Thief murders aren’t connected in any way.”
“Shit,” Mason said with a drawl so heavy it came out more like shee-it.
Elise followed the direction of his glare to see a familiar white van with the local news logo on the side and a broadcast dish on the roof.
“The media is going to spin the hell out of this,” David said under his breath. “And make a victim out of Tremain.”
CHAPTER 11
H ome sweet home,” David said with fresh disapproval as he deposited a pizza box and Elise’s black messenger bag on the kitchen table. They were back at the
“Stupid criminals are my favorite kind,” David said.
“They make it easy,” Avery agreed. He looked at Elise. “Aren’t you still on medical leave?” He was working at his normal nonchalance, but during Elise’s hospital stay he’d called her several times, and he’d even stopped by with flowers.
“I’m just kind of tagging along,” Elise said.
“Well, we miss you.” The words came grudgingly.
“So what do we have?” David asked.
“I just got here, but I’m guessing drug deal gone bad. Victim is a white male, sixteen years of age. Somebody in the wrong place, wrong time.”
“ID?” David asked.
“Ran it. No previous arrests. Name is Edwin Kingfield.”
“Of Kingfield Yachts?”
Avery shrugged. “Maybe.”
“They’re one of the wealthiest families in town,” Elise said, searching her smartphone for more information.
“Slumming?” David asked.
“Thought I’d heard that name before.” Elise scrolled down a page on her phone. “He’s a local football hero. Was being wined and dined by some of the biggest franchises even though he still had two years of high school left.”
“So maybe it was robbery, not drugs,” Mason said, joining the group.
“I don’t know,” Elise said. “Some of these rich kids are getting deep into meth and coke.”
John Casper, everybody’s favorite medical examiner, straightened away from the body and motioned for them to step closer.
“You’ll want to see this,” he said. “At first we figured fish had gotten to him, but upon closer inspection—” He pointed, and all three of them pulled in a sharp breath.
“Damn,” David muttered, while Elise thought the same thing.
In the center of the victim’s chest was nothing but a gaping hole. It almost looked as if someone had reached into the chest cavity and ripped out the heart.
A familiar MO.
“We called the hospital right away,” Avery said. “Just to be sure Tremain was still there. Just to be sure he was still in a coma.”
“And?” David asked in a voice that didn’t hide the stress they were all feeling.
“Vegging like a good vegetable. And anyway, this isn’t quite the same MO. Similar, but not exactly.”
“I’m thinking copycat,” Mason said.
“Maybe.” David continued to stare at the gaping hole. “Maybe not.”
Looks were exchanged.
Everyone, from the FBI to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, had agreed with the theory that the Organ Thief murders had been committed by Atticus Tremain in order to get Elise’s attention. What do you give a homicide detective? Not flowers and candy, but dead bodies. And with those dead bodies, the trap had been set. But the evidence against Tremain for the murders hadn’t been overwhelming, and most was circumstantial.
“What do you mean, maybe not?” Avery asked.
“Maybe we were wrong about Tremain,” Elise said, taking up where David had left off. “Maybe Tremain was never the person removing body parts. Maybe Tremain never killed anybody. Maybe the kidnapping and the Organ Thief murders aren’t connected in any way.”
“Shit,” Mason said with a drawl so heavy it came out more like shee-it.
Elise followed the direction of his glare to see a familiar white van with the local news logo on the side and a broadcast dish on the roof.
“The media is going to spin the hell out of this,” David said under his breath. “And make a victim out of Tremain.”
CHAPTER 11
H ome sweet home,” David said with fresh disapproval as he deposited a pizza box and Elise’s black messenger bag on the kitchen table. They were back at the
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