Page 36 of Rage

“Entrance wound?” I say.

“It is.”

“So they shot him in the front,” I say, thinking aloud.

He saw it coming …

Doc nods, then looks over his shoulder at his assistant. “Jared?”

The younger man approaches. Though he’s fresh out of college and relatively new here at the morgue, he’s completely unfazed standing in the presence of a human body that has been cut into eleven pieces.

“Let’s turn him over so we can get a visual of the exit wound,” Doc says.

I look away as they gently lift and roll the torso to a prone position. I try not to listen to the sound of moist flesh being released from the stainless-steel surface.

“As you can see, there’s quite a bit more damage involved with the exit wound,” Doc says. “Which is typical.”

The wound is an inch in diameter. The edges are jagged. A single drop of clear red-tinted fluid makes its way to the stainless-steel surface.

Doc Coblentz continues. “The X-ray revealed a fracture of the tenth rib. The transverse colon was damaged. Of course, we’ll know more once we complete the autopsy.”

“Do you have any idea what caliber bullet was used?”

“Larger caliber,” he says. “Likely not a twenty-two. When we go in, we may be able to pick up some fragments. That’s about all I can do on my end.”

I look down at what’s left of a twenty-one-year-old Amish man. I feel a shudder in my shoulders. The bitter taste of bile at the back of my throat. Outrage pulsing in my chest. “Yutzy was alive when he was shot?”

Doc Coblentz nods. “There is evidence of bleeding, particularly with regard to the abdominal gunshot wound. So, yes, his heart was beating when he sustained the gunshot wounds.”

“Were the gunshot wounds fatal?” I ask.

Doc makes a growling sound in his throat. “The gunshot wound to the head was fatal,” he tells me. “If I find anything to the contrary when we take a look inside the cranium, I’ll let you know.”

It’s nearly one A.M. when I pull into the lane of the farm I share with Tomasetti. The lights are on inside, telling me he’s already here. That he waited up for me.

One of the things I try not to do is bring my responsibilities as chief home with me. A homicide case in particular makes for very bad company. Of course, I rarely succeed. When you’re a cop, a homicide investigation hijacks every facet of your life; it’s all-encompassing, and despite your best efforts you live it 24/7. Tonight, the best I can hope for is some quiet time with my husband, some food, a shower, and sleep. All with the knowledge that both of us will be back at it before dawn.

Despite the late hour and my troubled state of mind, a sense of peace settles over me as I go through the back door. Tomasetti sits at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him. He looks at me over his shoulder. “Now there’s a sight for sore eyes.”

“Says the man who looks good after putting in a twenty-hour day.”

He smiles and another truckload of tension slips off my shoulders. I see a bottle of Pinot Noir breathing on the counter. A single glass next to it. The other on the table next to his laptop.

“You started without me,” I say.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it home tonight.”

“Jury might still be out on that.”

“In that case, let’s make the best of what might turn out to be a limited amount of time.” He rises and we meet between the door and his chair.

The unpleasantries of the day fall away when he puts his arms around me. A burst of something precious and sweet swells in my chest when he lowers his mouth to mine. It’s a chaste kiss. One that speaks of affection and comfort. It’s a stolen moment and I soak it in greedily because I know it’s fleeting.

Easing away from me, he goes to the counter and pours. “How did it go with the coroner?”

And just like that we’re cops again. The darkness of our profession has followed us to this place of reprieve. Everything else that means so much slides onto that blasted back burner. “The victim was shot twice,” I tell him. “Once in the abdomen. Once in the head.”

He hands me the wine glass. “Caliber? Fragments?”