Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“Oh, shit. That bad?” Jeff says, but he’s smiling like I’m being silly as he drops to sit.
“Yeah.” I look at the trash spread out all over my morgue, not seeing the work it’s going to take to get it clean to my exacting standards, but rather, the smoking gun I’ve found. I feel like Blake should be here to present this since we’ve done so much of it together, but Jeff needs to hear this immediately. “Remember when I told you there were some unanswered questions about the Richard Horne autopsy?”
Jeff narrows his eyes sharply, drawling out, “Yeah . . . and I remember telling you the case was closed. Heart attack.”
My shoulders draw up at the reminder of how far outside the lines I’ve gone. Usually, I would never. I don’t want attention, preferring to hide from everyone, but I needed to know the truth. I needed to understand for my own professional excellence.
And for Blake. Don’t forget that part, my brain whispers.
“I couldn’t let it go,” I admit.
Jeff sighs as he leans forward to run his hands through his hair. Putting his elbows on his knees and frowning, he orders, “Out with it.”
Oh, shit, that’s his Sheriff voice, the one reserved for misbehaving DnDs—drunk and disorderlies.
So I get professional right back. “There was something bugging me about the second report. Long story short, Yvette Horne poisoned her husband. Here’s the proof of what she bought off the internet to do it.” I point at my mostly reassembled puzzle of paper bits, only now noticing the coffee stains and overall wrinkliness that make it a less than impressive smoking gun. “It’s a supplement known to have high levels of lead, arsenic, and mercury. Trifecta of poison for when you want to make sure they’re really dead.”
“Mighty serious allegations, Zoey,” Jeff says. “I know you can investigate, but you’ve always kept me in the loop before since I’m the one who would have to snap the cuffs on.”
I don’t blink under his considerable glare. “I know.”
Hands on his thighs, he pushes up to stand. “Okay, then, show me what you got.”
I wave him to the prep table where his eagle eyes take in the work I’ve done. “Here,” I point to the logo in the corner. “This is the online pharmacy, and I use the word loosely. They specialize in folk remedies shipped in from overseas, no FDA approvals or safety checks because they’re ‘supplements’.” I do finger quotes, and Jeff’s brows drop an inch. “Not medicinal.”
Moving lower, I point to the specific item Yvette bought. “I did some research. Independent lab studies have shown this contains measurable amounts of lead, arsenic, and mercury that all exceed the safety levels mandated by the FDA.”
As Jeff scans the paper, he hums thoughtfully.
This is it! He’s going to tell me good job and go arrest Yvette. Richard Horne will get the justice he deserves.
“What I see is that Yvette Horne ordered something from an online company. No proof she got it, no proof if she used it herself or gave it to Richard or that damn dog, nothing to show she used enough of it to throw two lab tests out of whack. Hell, she could’ve ordered for Richard and he could’ve been dosing himself for all you know. It’s all circumstantial. I don’t like it,” Richard says gently when he sees my jaw getting lower with every word, “but there ain’t nothing illegal about buying shit off the internet. If there were, we’d be arresting every Tom, Dick, and Harry buying those penis-enhancing pills that don’t work.”
“What?” I murmur in surprise.
Clearing his throat, Jeff adds, “Not that I’d know about those pills. I’m just saying . . .”
I shake my head, finding some spine. “Not that! How can this not warrant some investigation, at least?” I hold my hands out wide, framing the paper again, thinking maybe he just didn’t really see it.
“How did you get this? You left that part out of your story.”
He can plainly see the trash laid out across three tables, a mixture of food wrappers, junk mail, used tissue, and more.
“Yvette Horne’s trash,” I say, quickly continuing, “and there’s evidence she was having an affair too. That’s motive. Plus the supplement is our means.”
I swear, has he never seen a detective movie in his life? I’m laying the whole case out for him on a silver platter!
Okay, a stainless-steel table, but the idea’s the same.
“An affair?” Jeff asks. Of course, like everyone out here, he’s most interested in the salacious gossip angle.
“Yes! I’ve got the proof for you. It needs to go out to the lab for testing, but I put it in an evidence bag.”
Okay, that might be pushing it, but a baggie from my kitchen was all I had, and I did date and sign it with a Sharpie I found in my junk drawer. I go over to the fridge in the corner. It’s the medical-grade one, not my personal one. I wouldn’t put a used condom in with my snacks, even if it is sealed in a Ziploc baggie.