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Sloan took a sip of water.
“So if the same coroner who performed Baker Jauncey’s autopsy also did your father’s, and both reports were blatantly inaccurate, the guy was either a hack or . . .”
“Or someone was in his ear telling him what they needed the reports to say.”
Sloan took another swig from her water bottle. Sweat poured from her body, causing her shoulders and arms to glisten in the sun.
“So we have confirmation that someone killed Baker Jauncey and then tried to make it look like a hit-and-run. The fact that Annabelle’s car was planted at the scene indicates that whoever killed Baker wanted Annabelle to take the fall. The discovery of Annabelle’s blood at her home, and the attempted clean up, proves foul play was involved.”
“And,” Eric continued, “someone injected my father—the man investigating both crimes—with enough heroin to place him in a coma, or close to it. A second dose killed him. Then, if I’m figuring things correctly, they pushed his car into Cedar Creek so that it would look like an accident.”
“Which it did to everyone except your grandfather.”
“And your boss.”
Sloan nodded. “So we’ve got three murders—Baker Jauncey, Annabelle Margolis, and your father. Someone wanted Baker Jauncey’s death to look like a hit-and-run, and your father’s to look like an overdose. And since your father was investigating the disappearance of my birth parents and me at the time, it’s logical to conclude that all three crimes are linked. The question is how.”
A bird crooned loudly and both Eric and Sloan looked up to see a black-tailed Cooper’s hawk perched on the roof of the cabin. As soon as they spotted it, the hawk took flight, soaring overhead before diving down into the gorge behind the cabin.
After the workout they each showered and got back to work at the long oak table. For hours they pored through the case files looking for any hints the pages might hold to help them piece together the mystery. They worked until midnight without a break, reading page after page of detective’s notes, reviewing interview transcripts, and combing through the list of evidence collected from Annabelle and Preston’s home. They looked through crime scene photos of the house, images of Sandy Stamos’s squad car dripping water after being freshly pulled from Cedar Creek, and snapshots of Annabelle’s car and Baker Jauncey’s body taken by accident investigators with the Nevada State Highway Patrol. Despite their efforts, when midnight came they were no closer to finding answers than when they had started.
Sloan looked up from the report she was reading.
“Anything?”
Eric shook his head. “No. And I think I’ve hit a wall. I’m not even sure what I’m reading is making it into my brain at this point.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty spent myself.”
Sloan looked at her phone.
“Oh my God, is it midnight already?”
Eric checked his watch. “Damn. Time flies when you’re trying to solve three thirty-year-old crimes.”
Sloan smiled. “This is not the most pleasant of topics, but I can think of worse ways to spend the day. It’s been eye-opening.”
“To say the least.”
She stood and stretched.
Eric stood as well. “Thanks again for getting your boss’s help on my dad’s autopsy.”
“Sorry it confirmed what you feared.”
“It’s better to know than to live in doubt.”
Sloan nodded and offered a dejected smile. “I guess that’s true. I better get going.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you drive those mountain roads this late at night. None of them are lighted and it gets dicey in the dark.”
Sloan looked out the window and imagined herself attempting to navigate the steep, winding roads this late at night.
“I can drive you back to town,” Eric said, “but you’d have to leave your car here and grab it tomorrow. Or . . .” he paused. “You can stay the night. The extra bedroom’s all set—sheets are clean, and you already know I’ve got clean towels in the bathroom.”
Sloan looked back from the window. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
