“Hey, Sheriff.”
“Dr. Ruiz,” said Greer. “This is Special Agent Wells and Special Agent—”
“McLane,” said the young medical examiner, looking at Ava. “We met a while back. Or is it Special Agent Callahan now?”
“Not yet,” Ava answered. “The wedding is this summer.” She glanced at Zander. “Dr. Ruiz handled my DB on a case at the coast last fall.”
Dead body.
The medical examiner straightened as he removed a thermometer from the slit he’d cut at Copeland’s liver. He checked the reading and then gently bent the body’s arm back and forth at the elbow. “No rigor,” he stated as he also moved the officer’s fingers. “Body temperature is only a few degrees below normal. What’s the temperature in here?”
Zander stepped to the thermostat on the living room wall. “Seventy.”
Dr. Ruiz tipped his head as he studied the body. “He’s been dead about two or three hours.”
The sheriff exhaled loudly. “Midmorning. Not long, then.” He turned and motioned to a deputy near the door. “Start a canvass of the neighborhood. See if anyone heard anything.” The man nodded and left, stepping around a crime scene tech with a camera.
Greer waved her in. “You got here fast.”
“Hearing it’s one of ours lights a fire under everyone,” she said. She frowned at the medical examiner, clearly unhappy that he was working in the crime scene.
“I took my own pictures before I touched the body,” Dr. Ruiz told her. “I’ll get them to you, and I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”
Ruiz turned back to Copeland as the tech started to circle the edge of the room, snapping pictures nonstop. The medical examiner shone a flashlight in Copeland’s mouth. “Entrance wound through the hard palate.” He gently palpated the skull. “Good-size exit wound.”
Based on the blood and brain matter splattered on the chair and wall, Zander had already assumed that. Copeland’s weapon lay in his lap, his hand at his side. Zander stared hard at the gun and the position of Copeland’s hands and arms. He didn’t see anything that indicated Copeland hadn’t shot himself.
But he was keeping an open mind.
Is someone tampering with this investigation?
Dr. Ruiz glanced at Greer. “We’ll check his hands for GSR.”
“Of course he’ll have gunshot residue on his hands,” Greer pointed out. “He handles guns every day. For all I know he took his weapon to the range yesterday.”
“The particle count from the residue will tell us,” Dr. Ruiz said. “It’ll be very high if he fired the weapon right here.” The doctor removed his gloves and set them near the gun. “I assume I’ll be working on this one?” He glanced at Greer. “Or are you sending it to Portland like yesterday’s deaths?”
Sheriff Greer looked to Zander and Ava.
“No offense, Doctor,” said Ava, “but since Seth Rutledge has already seen two bodies from this case, I think he should see this one.”
“You think it’s related to yesterday?” Ruiz asked.
“We can’t rule it out,” answered Zander. He looked over the living room, noting the furniture and decor seemed a couple of decades old. “Do you know if Copeland lived here alone?” he asked the sheriff.
“Yesterday he told me he lived with his parents,” answered Ava. “He also said they were in Mexico for several weeks.”
“Who found him?”
“One of the other deputies—Daigle—was to pick him up this morning,” said Sheriff Greer. “They had plans to go to Short Sands. A beach south of here,” he clarified. “Daigle called it in after he found him.”
“He still around?”
“I saw him out front.” The sheriff strode to the door and looked out. “Daigle! In here,” he shouted. “Please,” he tacked on almost as an afterthought.
The deputy who appeared wore sagging jeans and a heavy coat. His round face was blotchy and his eyes swollen. He deliberately kept his gaze on the sheriff, avoiding the sight of the body.
Zander felt for him. Daigle looked barely out of high school. The same thing he’d observed about Copeland yesterday. To him all the deputies appeared very young, and he wondered if he was simply getting old.
He didn’t feel old. Forty wasn’t old.
Except maybe in the eyes of twentysomething-year-olds.
Ava frowned at the deputy, two lines forming between her brows, and Zander wondered if she was having the same thoughts.
The deputy shook hands with Zander and Ava as Greer introduced him. Polite. Exceedingly polite. Often what Zander had seen from fresh graduates of the state’s police academy before they had much experience.
“When did you last talk to Copeland?” Ava asked.
“Last night, ma’am,” Daigle said as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “We agreed I’d drive and pick him up around noon.”
“He sounded interested in the trip?” asked Zander.
“Yes, sir. We were both looking forward to getting out of town for the afternoon.”
“It’s cold, damp, and windy,” Ava pointed out. “Why would you go to the beach?”
The sheriff snorted lightly as Daigle answered earnestly. “If we waited for perfect weather around here, we’d never leave home. We’re used to it. Shorty’s has some protected areas where you can build a fire and stay out of the wind.”
“What do you do there?” It sounded miserable to Zander, protected or not.
Daigle shrugged, looking at his feet.
Drink. Smoke pot.
Zander exchanged a glance with Ava, whose lips twitched. He wondered if Daigle had drawn the short straw to be the driver.
“Nate needed to get away after his shitty morning yesterday,” Daigle explained.
“How’d you get in the house?” Zander asked.
“Door was unlocked. I rang the bell, and no one answered. I could see—see him through the window, so I opened the door.”
“Copeland ever say anything in the past that made you worry for him?” Zander continued.
“No, sir. I understand what you’re asking. I never dreamed this would happen in a million years. I’d say I’m his closest friend, and I never saw this coming. If he had depression, he never told me about it.”
“Many people won’t discuss it,” Ava said quietly. “Even with their closest friends or family. We’ll check for some antidepressants.”
“I can’t believe he did this knowing I’d be the one to find him,” mumbled Daigle. “Fucker.” He wiped an eye.
Ava’s eyes were gentle. “Maybe he trusted you.”
“Still sucks. Never gonna get that out of my head.” He glanced briefly at the body and shuddered.
The sheriff raised a brow at Zander and Ava. They nodded. “You can go, son,” he told the deputy. “We’ll talk later.”
Daigle left without a word.
“Has anyone reached Copeland’s parents?” Zander asked.
“I left a vague message for them to call me. Nothing yet,” answered Greer. “Let’s take a quick look around.”
The three of them split up. Zander took the single bathroom, where he checked the medicine cabinet and under the sink. He found medication containers, but the names on them were John and Helen Copeland. Except for a blood pressure prescription, he wasn’t familiar with the names of the drugs.
“Nothing in the bedrooms,” stated the sheriff as he walked down the hall.
“No medication in the kitchen,” Ava said from the rear of the house. “But come take a look at this.”
Zander and Greer joined her in the kitchen, where she stood in front of the open refrigerator. “See that?” She pointed at a six-pack of Miller Lite on the top shelf. “It’s right next to an unopened container of ranch dip.” She gestured at the counter, where three bags of potato chips sat next to a small cooler. “Looks like he intended to go somewhere today.”