Under The Agent's Protection

Doctor Lambert stroked his beard again. “There’s no other explanation. No other trauma. No bruising anywhere. No signs of cardiac arrest. Nothing.” With a nod, he moved to the counter next to Carl and a tablet computer. After typing in a few notes, he said, “I’m calling it. Cause of death is accidental exposure. I’ll file the paperwork with the county office and the body will be ready for transport first thing in the morning.”

Carl quickly thanked the doctor and pushed open the door. He took in deep, gulping breaths as he strode down the basement hallway. A set of stairs led to the hospital’s ground floor. He avoided the main entrance and emergency room, sneaking out a side door instead.

A cold wind hit him in the face and blew away the remaining odor from the morgue. He pulled up the collar of his coat and shouldered his way through the gathering snow. Only two weeks, Carl reminded himself, and he’d be done with the bitter cold. Done with this job. Until then, a few things remained to be done.

He needed to meet with Axl Baker’s sister. And he was dreading the conversation.

Figuring she’d have checked into the Pleasant Pines Inn—since it was the only lodging in town—he headed in that direction. Walking down Main Street, he glanced in the window of Sally’s and stumbled. There, in one of the middle booths, sat Everly Baker along with Wyatt Thornton. No time like the present, he thought, so he pushed open the door and entered the restaurant.

Everly looked up and Carl lifted a hand in greeting. As he approached the booth, he said, “I saw you from outside and decided to stop. I hope you don’t mind, but I have news.”

Wyatt moved over in his seat, making room for Carl. “I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff. We have something for you, too.”

Carl didn’t exactly ignore the comment, but he didn’t want to be distracted. “I just spoke to the medical examiner. It seems your brother had a good bit of alcohol in his system. It decreases circulation and the cold and exposure likely affected his body temperature as well, no matter how good an outdoorsman you tell us he was.” He removed his hat, set it on the table and sat. “I’m sorry, Ms. Baker, but your brother’s death has been ruled as accidental.”

Everly’s cheeks reddened. “That’s impossible.”

“I know this is a shock and not what you’d hoped we’d find.” He wasn’t sure how to proceed and be delicate at the same time. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“It’s impossible,” she said again. “We have proof that he was murdered.”

Carl leaned back in the booth, looking skeptical. “Proof? What kind of proof.”

Wyatt spoke then. “When I was with the FBI, I investigated a string of killings. All the victims were white males and each body was left with half of a two-dollar bill in their pocket or wallet.”

“So?”

Wyatt pushed a sheet of paper in front of Carl. The sheriff recognized the list of Axl Baker’s belongings. Pointing to a line on the page, Wyatt said, “See...here—a two-dollar bill, and only half of it found with the body.”

“And this is your proof? That doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve gotten that money anywhere.”

“Tell me if I’m wrong but isn’t it odd to find only half a bill?” asked Everly.

“You’re wrong,” said Carl. “All you have is circumstantial evidence. You’re playing guessing games.”

“All the victims in Las Vegas had very high blood-alcohol content and had been left for dead.”

“Let me get this straight—you’re telling me that a murderer was killing people with booze? I’ve been a police officer for a long time. Too much drink will make you sick long before it’ll kill you. It’d be a tough way to murder someone.”