A Beautiful Corpse

‘Something wrong, Harper?’ As he took in Bonnie’s red face and swollen eyes, he rose from his chair. ‘Is Bonnie hurt?’

Harper had known Dwayne since she was twelve. He’d been one of the cops who took her under his wing after her mother was murdered.

These days, he was one of only a handful of cops she still considered her friends.

The rest had shut her out. They believed she’d betrayed the force by exposing Smith’s crime.

She’d had a solid year of shrugs and turned backs. Of phone calls that began with her giving her name and ended a second later with the click of a phone being put down. Of getting pulled over for minor traffic offenses she knew she hadn’t committed.

So she was grateful every time Dwayne greeted her kindly.

‘She’s not hurt,’ Harper assured him. ‘You heard what happened on River Street?’

‘The shooting?’

She nodded. ‘She knows the victim. Daltrey asked us to come give statements.’

His expression grew somber. ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that.’

While Harper led Bonnie to a hard plastic chair, Dwayne disappeared behind his desk, reappearing a second later with a paper cup.

‘Here’s some water,’ he told Bonnie. ‘I’m sure you could use it.’

She accepted it numbly. ‘Thank you, Dwayne.’

‘Detective Daltrey won’t be too long,’ he said, squeezing her arm.

He was wrong about that, though.

Harper and Bonnie waited for more than half an hour in the arctic lobby.

Periodically, the buzz of Harper’s phone broke the silence as Miles sent her cryptic messages from the scene.

Cop source tells me purse untouched but phone missing.

Reading this, Harper’s brow furrowed. Surely no one had murdered Naomi over a phone?

She texted a quick reply:

What about wallet/money?

She stared at her phone, waiting impatiently for his response.

It killed her not to be out there with him. There was so much she could be doing right now, instead of sitting here.

When her phone buzzed again, though, it wasn’t with the answer she expected.

Told Baxter you knew the vic – she’s thrilled. Wants you in the office by nine.

Harper shoved her phone back in her pocket with more force than necessary.

When a police car pulled up out front, she craned her neck to see if it was Daltrey. Instead, a pair of uniformed officers got out, leading a handcuffed suspect to the back for processing.

By the time Daltrey finally walked through the bulletproof glass door, they were half-asleep. Bonnie had curled up in the plastic chair, her head resting on Harper’s shoulder.

It was nearly four in the morning. The night had begun to feel endless.

‘Sorry you had to wait,’ the detective told them crisply. ‘Come with me.’

They stood up slowly, muscles aching from the hard seats.

Bonnie’s eyes were puffy; her skin blotchy from crying. She was so out of place in this official world, with her turquoise hair and cowboy boots, it made Harper’s heart hurt.

At his desk, Dwayne pressed a button, unlocking the security door with a jarring buzz.

The long back corridor was lined with offices – this was where the real work of the police department got done. During the day it would be teeming with detectives, 911 operators and uniformed cops. At this hour, it was shadowy and still.

‘This way.’

Daltrey’s voice echoed as she guided them to the right. They walked past several doors before reaching the room she wanted.

Flipping on the light, she set her bag down next to a metal folding chair.

‘Have a seat, ladies,’ she told them with a brief twist of a smile.

The room was small and windowless, holding only a scarred wooden table and four chairs. A narrow sliver of mirror glittered coldly on one wall.

Daltrey waited as they settled into place across from her. In the harsh fluorescent light, Harper could see the long night was showing on her as well. There were shadows under her eyes, and the humidity had left a sheen on her skin.

‘This won’t take long,’ she said, pulling a notebook and a ballpoint from her bag. ‘I’d like you each to tell me in your own words about tonight. Your impressions of the victim.’

Harper knew she wouldn’t have much to say. All she knew was that three hours ago, Naomi had been alive – small and absorbed in her work, her heart-shaped face serious as she scrubbed The Library’s bar with a towel, her motions fast and angry. She’d barely looked at Harper when she sat down, and Harper hadn’t paid any attention to her. She was focused on her own problems. And on the margarita on the rocks Bonnie was setting in front of her.

Daltrey motioned at Bonnie. ‘You first, Miss Larson. I understand you knew her best.’

Bonnie glanced uncertainly at her.

‘I don’t know what to say …’

‘Anything you noticed could be helpful,’ Daltrey coaxed. ‘Start with the basics. How did she seem tonight? Happy? Unhappy? Frightened? Or did anything strange happen on her shift?’

Knotting her fingers on the tabletop, Bonnie thought it over.

‘Well,’ she said cautiously, ‘she seemed fine most of the night. Like, normal.’

Daltrey cocked her head.

‘You said “Most of the night”. What did you mean by that?’