A Beautiful Corpse

Ducking low, the two of them threaded between the parked patrol cars. None of the police noticed them. Everyone was too focused on the scene unfolding.

Leaning against the tree to steady himself, Miles raised the Canon.

‘That’s better,’ he breathed.

They were so close, Harper could see the panic in Shepherd’s wide, frightened eyes as he swung the gun wildly.

It was impossible to square this Wilson Shepherd with the one she’d seen sitting at The Library, waiting for Naomi and nursing a beer.

He looked ten years older. His clothes were stained and disheveled. He appeared deranged, waving that gun at the police, tears and sweat streaming down his round cheeks; snot running from his nose.

‘No, no, no,’ he kept screaming hoarsely. ‘It wasn’t me. Why won’t you listen?’

The cops weren’t in any mood to do what he wanted. They were concentrating on that gun. Shouting constant commands in a kind of hyperactive, almost hypnotic wall of sound.

Harper wondered how long their patience would last.

Not long, as it turned out.

A shadow moved, low and slow, in the darkness to the left of the pickup’s front tire.

She touched Miles lightly on the arm, pointing.

Turning the camera, he zoomed in.

Glancing up at her, he whispered, ‘SWAT team.’

They both crouched low.

It happened quickly.

Two shadowy figures leaped onto Shepherd’s back with machine-perfect timing, knocking the gun loose, and sending him sprawling.

Harper was close enough to hear the sickening slap of his face hitting the pavement.

A uniformed officer kicked the gun away. Then the others descended on him.

With four adrenaline-fueled cops on top of him twisting his hands behind his back, Shepherd was done.

Through it all, though, he repeated the same words over and over like a mantra. Sobbing them into the ground.

‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.’

Miles jumped to his feet. ‘Let’s get closer.’

But the two of them had taken only a few steps from the sheltering trees when a cop, large and sweaty, wired from the excitement of the arrest, moved in on them.

‘Get back,’ he ordered.

Harper didn’t like the look of him. Cops get itchy whenever they’ve had to pull their weapons.

This one’s hand was dangerously close to his holster.

She and Miles took an automatic step back into the glow of the headlights.

To her surprise, the cop’s demeanor changed abruptly.

‘Oh, hey, Miles,’ he said. ‘I didn’t recognize you in the dark. How’s it going?’

‘I’m great, Bob,’ Miles said, keeping his hands clearly in view nonetheless. ‘Trying to get the front-page picture for tomorrow’s paper.’

‘You go ahead.’ Bob waved him on. ‘Try to stay out of their way.’

‘I’ll keep my distance,’ Miles promised.

‘Be sure and get my good side,’ Bob joked, turning sideways.

Laughing politely, Miles moved past him toward the crowd of cops who were now lifting Shepherd to his feet.

When Harper started to follow, though, Bob’s pleasant demeanor evaporated.

‘I didn’t say you could get closer.’ The warmth left his voice. ‘Traitors stay at the edge. In fact …’ He pointed behind the row of parked patrol cars. ‘Why don’t you go over there?’

‘Come on,’ Harper pleaded. ‘I won’t get in the way. Can’t you give me a break?’

Bob’s face hardened.

‘I don’t have to do a thing for you,’ he said. ‘And right now, you’re trespassing on a crime scene and failing to obey an officer. Actually, you got some ID? I’m writing you up for disorderly conduct.’

‘What?’ Harper couldn’t believe it. The cops always harassed her these days, but they didn’t go this far.

She squared up to him. ‘You can’t do that. I’m a member of the press. I have a right to be here. This is a public highway.’

His face reddened. He reached behind him to where his handcuffs hung from his utility belt.

‘That’s it. Turn around.’

Before she realized what he was planning, he grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around and shoving her roughly against the nearest car.

Harper struggled, but he was twice her size. She never had a chance. Her face was pressed hard against the glass.

‘Goddamn it,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘Let me go, you dickhead.’

Suddenly, another voice spoke over her.

‘What’s going on, Bob? Caught yourself another suspect?’

This voice was cool and steady. It was saying all the right things, but with an underlay of threat that indicated the speaker didn’t like Bob very much.