“Sheriff.” The ME stared at the body, assessing. “What do we know?”
“Her car has been parked at the base of the bridge since Friday night,” Bree said.
Matt set down the lights. The sunset turned his short red-brown hair and tight beard the color of burnished copper. His gaze caught Bree’s. Despite the gruesome situation, something inside Bree warmed as their eyes met for a few seconds. If they weren’t—once again—standing over a dead body, he would have kissed her. But standing over a dead body seemed to be their norm, and Matt was aware of how she felt about PDA. She blinked away, afraid everyone else would see how much she liked him.
How did you greet the criminal investigator you were dating when no one else knew you were dating him?
“Matt.” Bree cleared her throat. “Thanks for responding so quickly.”
He nodded as he helped Dr. Jones set up the lights on the riverbank, flooding the body and area immediately around it with day-bright light. The ME’s assistant moved in with his camera. When he’d finished, Dr. Jones crouched next to the body. Water sloshed around the ankles of her rubber boots. She reached one gloved hand toward the head, lifting the wet hair off the face as Bree had done. “The water temperature is probably somewhere in the fifties. So, the body isn’t classically bloated, but she’s starting to get soupy. She’s been in the water at least a couple of days.”
“Her husband says she left home Friday evening.” Bree wondered if she would be able to verify the timeline given by Owen Thorpe.
Dr. Jones looked thoughtful. “I’ll be able to give you a better answer after the autopsy. Let’s turn her over.”
Bree tugged on gloves and helped turn the body onto its back. A bloodless gash started on the forehead and extended into the victim’s hair.
Dr. Jones pointed to abrasions on the victim’s head and hands. “Most of these injuries look postmortem, possibly from hitting rocks and other debris in the river. Not sure about the head wound. I’ll need X-rays and better light to assess it.” She sat back on her heels. “There are too many variables for me to give you any more information now. I’ll schedule the autopsy for tomorrow afternoon.” The ME issued orders for her assistant to collect temperature readings and samples of the water and soil around the body. She drew a scalpel from her bag and opened the victim’s jacket and blouse to make an incision in the abdomen. Body temperature was the most accurate when obtained via the liver.
To give them room to work, Bree and Matt moved away from the remains.
“What do you think?” Bree asked.
Matt shrugged. “I’m not going to think anything until the autopsy, but circumstances do suggest suicide is a possibility. She could have hit her head on a boulder in the water.”
An hour later, the remains were transferred to a black body bag and secured to a gurney. Matt, Bree, the morgue assistant, and Deputy Collins carried the gurney up the slope to the ME van. Two news vans were parked down the road. Crews gathered on the other side of the sawhorses. Lights flashed as they photographed and videoed the gurney being loaded.
“Are you going to interview the husband tonight?” Dr. Jones asked Bree.
“I am,” Bree said.
Standing next to the van, the ME exchanged her rubber boots for athletic shoes. “In case the victim doesn’t have fingerprints on file somewhere, it would be helpful to collect her hairbrush or toothbrush from her home for a DNA comparison.” Dr. Jones stashed her rubber boots in a plastic bin and closed the side door.
“I will.” Bree nodded.
“Thank you.” The ME climbed into the driver’s seat and drove away.
Two additional deputies had arrived and assisted with the ground search. As Bree expected, they hadn’t found much. She walked back to Holly’s vehicle. Collins had the trunk open.
Bree joined her and stared down. The trunk contained a carry-on-size suitcase and an ice scraper. Bree took several photographs, then reached down and opened the suitcase with a gloved hand. A laptop computer sat on top of a pile of unfolded clothes. She snapped another picture.
“She didn’t take the time to fold anything,” Collins said. “She just shoved her stuff in and left.”
Bree closed the suitcase and walked around the vehicle to open the passenger door. Crouching, she moved the wallet aside to get a better look inside the purse. The contents were typical: lipstick, hand sanitizer, nail file, mints. Bree spotted an envelope at the bottom and pulled it out. The flap was tucked in rather than sealed. She gently opened the flap and slid out a folded piece of paper. Scrawled on the paper were the words I can’t anymore. It’s too hard.
“A suicide note?” Collins asked.
“Maybe.” About 30 percent of people who died by suicide left a note. Bree took a picture of the note, then returned it to the envelope. “Bag and tag it.” Then she gave instructions for Holly Thorpe’s car to be towed to the municipal impound facility, where it would be held as evidence until Bree released it. She turned to Matt. “I’m headed to see Owen Thorpe. Want to come?”
“I do,” Matt said. “I can leave my truck at your place.”
They dropped his Suburban in front of her farm. Bree cast a longing glance at the glow of lights in the kitchen windows.
Matt climbed into the passenger seat of her SUV. “You don’t want to run in and say good night to the kids?”
Bree checked the time. After nine o’clock. “Kayla will be in bed. I don’t want to wake her. She’s finally back to sleeping through the night. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize her routine.” Her eight-year-old niece had suffered terrible nightmares for the first few months after her mother’s death.
Bree entered Holly Thorpe’s address into her GPS. Then she pulled out of the driveway and onto the dark country road. She felt Matt’s scrutiny on her profile in the dark.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
“You just seem . . . tense.”
Bree tilted her head. “Just thinking about the case.”
“You’re not feeling any awkwardness working together now that we have a romantic relationship?”
Along with solving several cases together, she and Matt had been on a few dates over the past two months. “I don’t feel awkward with you at all. In fact, I think we make a good investigative team. But with my deputies and Dr. Jones . . .” Bree searched for the words. “I feel like people suspect something and are watching us.”
And judging her.
“Or you’re just hyperaware of how our relationship will be perceived by others,” Matt said.
“Or that.” She laughed. “I’ve only been sheriff for a few months.” Bree had been appointed to the empty position after she’d solved her own sister’s murder.
“This is a small town. People are going to gossip.”
“I don’t like being the topic of their rumors.” Bree halted at a stop sign, then made a left turn.
“First of all, I don’t think anyone knows. This might just be in your head. Secondly, there isn’t much you can do about it, except break it off with me. I really hope you don’t want to do that.”