it, then.” When she turned, Cameryn’s feet nearly slipped from beneath her. Justin grabbed her arm beneath the elbow. “Careful—there’s ice.” Even through her coat she could feel his warmth.
Halfway down the alleyway, at a doorway, stood Sheriff Jacobs, one leg propped against a wall. He was interviewing a man who frantically sucked on a cigarette. Although the man’s face was passive, Cameryn could see his fingers tremble as he brought them to his lips. It took her only a moment to place him: Barry Leithauser, the cook from High Noon Burgers.
She was about to pass them when Jacobs said, “Cameryn, hold on a tic. Barry, I’ll need just a second. This here is official business. This girl is the coroner.”
Barry nodded and let his cigarette dangle from his hand, its tip burning red against the brick.
Sheriff Jacobs wore the same clothing he’d worn to the scene of the car crash, minus the hat. The bank of lights illuminated one side of his face. His thin hair seemed to float above his scalp, and his sharp nose and chin obscured his face so that half of him was lost in shadow.
“The thing is—Coroner—you’re only seventeen. I’m not so sure you should be working a case like this alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Cameryn countered. “Justin’s with me.”
“I meant without your father. I know he thinks you hung the moon, but what you’re about to do is official business. From now on, it all counts.”
Through tight lips she said, “The coroner told me to start. So I’m going to start.”
Jacobs peered over his glasses, his eyes tiny, squinting. “Since you’re all hell-fired sure you want to go on, you might want to hear what Barry has to say before you start processing the scene. Give us a recap, Barry,” Jacobs commanded.
Barry wore a baker’s apron beneath an open parka. His red hair, as coarse as wire, had been pulled into a hairnet that hung at the base of his neck like an old-fashioned snood. There were grease stains on his apron, score-marks. His jeans were dirty.
“Well,” Barry said, sounding nervous. “Like I said, I was walking home when I ducked in the alley for a smoke. High Noon doesn’t like me to light up—”
Jacobs cut him off with a wave of his hand. “What did you see in the alley?”
“Well, I, uh, I looked down and I thought I saw something strange. I was thinking, What the heck is that, way down by the snow wall? So I got curious. I walked closer and there it was. At first I figured it was a mannequin, like maybe it was tossed off from the parade. When I got closer I saw the gun . . .” His voice broke. He stopped for a moment before going on. “I said, ‘Hey, kid, are you okay?’ Then I saw the hole in the head and the blood. That’s when I knew.”
“What did you do then?” prompted Jacobs.
“I called 911. The lady told me I had to stay until you guys arrived. She said I wasn’t supposed to touch anything. I didn’t. I gotta tell you, I’m creeped out by this whole thing.” He took a deep drag from the cigarette, and his shaking made the glowing ember dance. “It’s freakin’ weird. I kept walking around the body thinkin’ what a waste it was, killing yourself like that.”
The sheriff’s eyes were sharp. “So, Cameryn, how does this change the scene?”
“Well, for one thing the area around the body has been compromised,” Cameryn answered. “I’ll need to get a shot of Barry’s shoes.”
The sheriff looked at her with grudging respect. “That’s right. But the most important thing is the pictures of the gun. Photograph different angles of the vic holding the revolver—take as many as you can, from every which way. Remember to use the scale.”
“I’ll make sure it’s done right,” Justin said.
“ I’ll make sure it’s done right,” Cameryn corrected.
Jacobs made a note on his pad and said, “Start taking your pictures, Cammie. So, Barry,” Jacobs said, turning his attention to the cook,
Halfway down the alleyway, at a doorway, stood Sheriff Jacobs, one leg propped against a wall. He was interviewing a man who frantically sucked on a cigarette. Although the man’s face was passive, Cameryn could see his fingers tremble as he brought them to his lips. It took her only a moment to place him: Barry Leithauser, the cook from High Noon Burgers.
She was about to pass them when Jacobs said, “Cameryn, hold on a tic. Barry, I’ll need just a second. This here is official business. This girl is the coroner.”
Barry nodded and let his cigarette dangle from his hand, its tip burning red against the brick.
Sheriff Jacobs wore the same clothing he’d worn to the scene of the car crash, minus the hat. The bank of lights illuminated one side of his face. His thin hair seemed to float above his scalp, and his sharp nose and chin obscured his face so that half of him was lost in shadow.
“The thing is—Coroner—you’re only seventeen. I’m not so sure you should be working a case like this alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Cameryn countered. “Justin’s with me.”
“I meant without your father. I know he thinks you hung the moon, but what you’re about to do is official business. From now on, it all counts.”
Through tight lips she said, “The coroner told me to start. So I’m going to start.”
Jacobs peered over his glasses, his eyes tiny, squinting. “Since you’re all hell-fired sure you want to go on, you might want to hear what Barry has to say before you start processing the scene. Give us a recap, Barry,” Jacobs commanded.
Barry wore a baker’s apron beneath an open parka. His red hair, as coarse as wire, had been pulled into a hairnet that hung at the base of his neck like an old-fashioned snood. There were grease stains on his apron, score-marks. His jeans were dirty.
“Well,” Barry said, sounding nervous. “Like I said, I was walking home when I ducked in the alley for a smoke. High Noon doesn’t like me to light up—”
Jacobs cut him off with a wave of his hand. “What did you see in the alley?”
“Well, I, uh, I looked down and I thought I saw something strange. I was thinking, What the heck is that, way down by the snow wall? So I got curious. I walked closer and there it was. At first I figured it was a mannequin, like maybe it was tossed off from the parade. When I got closer I saw the gun . . .” His voice broke. He stopped for a moment before going on. “I said, ‘Hey, kid, are you okay?’ Then I saw the hole in the head and the blood. That’s when I knew.”
“What did you do then?” prompted Jacobs.
“I called 911. The lady told me I had to stay until you guys arrived. She said I wasn’t supposed to touch anything. I didn’t. I gotta tell you, I’m creeped out by this whole thing.” He took a deep drag from the cigarette, and his shaking made the glowing ember dance. “It’s freakin’ weird. I kept walking around the body thinkin’ what a waste it was, killing yourself like that.”
The sheriff’s eyes were sharp. “So, Cameryn, how does this change the scene?”
“Well, for one thing the area around the body has been compromised,” Cameryn answered. “I’ll need to get a shot of Barry’s shoes.”
The sheriff looked at her with grudging respect. “That’s right. But the most important thing is the pictures of the gun. Photograph different angles of the vic holding the revolver—take as many as you can, from every which way. Remember to use the scale.”
“I’ll make sure it’s done right,” Justin said.
“ I’ll make sure it’s done right,” Cameryn corrected.
Jacobs made a note on his pad and said, “Start taking your pictures, Cammie. So, Barry,” Jacobs said, turning his attention to the cook,
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