Page 257 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

She sniffled. “He helped me and I said terrible things about him.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I wish I could stay right here with you.”

She shook her head. “We’re fine.” She kissed him again. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” He jogged out to the Tahoe and flipped on his blue lights, then booked it toward Highway 1. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he found Matthew’s number and dialed.

“Hello?” Matthew answered in a voice deep with sleep.

“Matthew, it’s Nate.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Mac and Denny just found Captain Bob. He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Mac said there’s a gunshot wound to the head. Looks like suicide. Lucky’s gone too.”

“Dear God in heaven.”

“I’m going to need your help. The scene’s secure, but I’ll have to take some pictures before we call in an ambulance and you take him off my hands.” A conversation he and Matthew had never had before. Matthew was Carter County’s elected coroner. He’d been called out to a couple of scenes over the years for elderly vacationers’ deaths, but never for anything like this.

“Sure thing. I’ll be there as soon as I’m dressed.”

“I appreciate it.” Nate hung up as he approached Lookout Lane and turned left, heading down the pothole-riddled road he’d driven down mere hours ago. He slowed as he came upon the cruisers lined along the side of the road, and pulled off. He got out, grabbed a bag of equipment from the back, and walked over to his deputies, the horror and sadness in their eyes unmistakable. “How’s everyone holding up?”

“We’re hanging in there,” Mac answered for all three of them.

Nate nodded. “We’ll take some time to talk things through later, but we need to take care of Bob and Lucky first—make things as right for them as we can.”

All three men nodded.

“Shawn, I’m going to have you canvass the area. There aren’t many neighbors around, but let’s knock on doors and find out what people heard or if they saw anything. Start with James since he called it in. I want to know what time he heard the shots—what was he doing. Get me all of the details.”

“It was all we could do to keep him from coming down,” Mac said. “He wanted to make sure things were okay.”

Nate steamed out a breath, thinking of the shockwaves that were about to start running through Sanderson. “I think it’s safe to say he’s not going to take the news well. You’re going to need to convince him to stay home so we can do our jobs here. After that, I want you to head into town and man the phones in case we get a call or I need you to bring me something from the office.”

Shawn nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Nate looked at Denny, saw that his eyes were haunted but steady. Not even six months ago the two of them had assisted in a Coast Guard search and rescue and ended up pulling a body out of the water after a rough storm. They’d both been shaken up, but Denny had kept it together. “Denny, I’m going to have you grab a video camera and head into the house—take a look around. Keep your eyes open for anything that seems off—stuff that might be missing or things there that don’t seem like they should be. Bootie up and make sure you’ve got gloves.”

Denny nodded.

“Mac, I want you staying back here. You’re in charge of the logbook and helping me keep the integrity of the scene. No one gets in except for Matthew. When Matthew’s ready, we’ll call in for an ambulance. We’re going to need some help transporting the body to Matthew’s office. No lights and sirens. The fewer spectators the better.”

Mac nodded.

Nate started toward the house, doing what he could to prepare himself for what he was about to see. He gloved up and opened the side door, pausing in the bright lights of the garage when the stench of blood and residual gunpowder filled his nose. He spotted Captain Bob in the corner, damaged and bloodied, slumped over his beloved dog. “Dear God, Bob. What did you do to yourself?” he shuddered out, blinking back his emotions for a man he’d known his entire life—who he’d respected and liked a lot. He took a steadying breath and forced his mind to click into a different gear, raising his protective shield against all things horrible. Breathing deep again, he waited for the rushes of adrenaline to ebb and his heart rate to steady as he looked around the dirty, dusty space, doing his best to study the grisly scene objectively. He bootied up and walked closer to the bodies, noting the blood spatter and tissue all over the dingy walls. He swallowed, staring at Bob’s gruesome wound and the gun that had landed on the floor next to him, then frowned as his gaze followed the trail of bloody dog prints—as if Lucky had lived long enough to walk around wounded before Bob had finished the job.

Getting on with the work of sketching and processing the scene, he took several pictures from various angles, letting his mind wander through the different scenarios of how Bob and Lucky’s last few minutes alive had most likely played out. His frown returned as he crouched down, examining Lucky’s wounds more closely. Two shots—one in the side and another to the head—which wasn’t adding up quite right for him. He reached for his radio. “Mac, I need for you to call in Michelle. I want her to come out and have a look at Lucky.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He put the radio back and stood again, walking closer to the woodworking table when the white piece of paper covered in spatter caught his eye.

I can’t live with it anymore so I won’t.