Snapped

by Laura Griffin

  “Fancy seeing you again!” she said brightly.

  But Woods wasn’t looking bright. He looked decidedly grumpy, in fact, and she wondered if he’d caught any flak for letting her slip out of the hospital the other night.

  “License and registration,” he said gruffly.

  Sophie smiled. “You won’t believe what happened. Actually, you probably will believe it—”

  “License. And. Registration.”

  All righty, then. Woods was pissed. Sophie leaned over and popped the glove compartment. Maps, flashlight, condoms. She smiled at Woods over her shoulder, but he didn’t look amused. She kept poking around and tugged an envelope loose from the pile. She peeked inside. Bingo.

  “Here’s the registration,” she said, and her heart was pounding only a little now. Traffic stops always did it to her. She handed up the insurance slip and dug into the tote bag on the seat beside her. “I don’t have my license on me, but I do have a credit card with a photo on it—you know, for security purposes? Maybe you could just—”

  “Hands on the wheel.”

  She glanced up, startled.

  “Hands on the wheel.”

  She slapped her hands on the wheel. Woods was clutching his holster now. She glanced up at his stern expression and followed his gaze to her tote bag.

  Where a black Beretta was visible amid all the junk in her purse.

  Oh, shit.

  “You have a permit to carry a concealed firearm?”

  “Actually, I don’t.” She smiled. “I was about to get one and—”

  “Out of the car, ma’am.”

  Sophie’s jaw dropped.

  “Step out of the car.” Woods kept a hand on his weapon and used the other to yank the door open.

  “If you’ll let me explain, I—”

  “Ma’am, I’m ordering you to get—”

  “I’m getting, I’m getting!” She thrust her hands in the air, then slid out of the pickup. She stood on the asphalt, hands up, feeling ridiculous as cars whisked by on the road beside her.

  “Hands on the car, ma’am.”

  “What?”

  “Palms against the vehicle, feet apart.”

  Sophie stared at him.

  “Now.”

  Sophie turned and rested her hands on the dusty truck cab. This couldn’t be happening. Woods stepped up behind her.

  “Feet apart.”

  Numbly, she spread her feet apart. Her stomach knotted as Woods crouched down and patted her legs through her jeans.

  “You carrying any other weapons, ma’am?”

  “No.”

  Traffic rushed back and forth behind her as Woods patted down her legs, her pockets, her sides. He ran his hand briefly between her breasts, and she cringed.

  “Any other weapons in your bag or your vehicle?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so. It’s not my vehicle, so—”

  “You’re under arrest for unlawful possession of a firearm.”

  Sophie’s stomach plummeted.

  “You have the right to remain silent.”

  Her vision dimmed at the edges and all she could see was the dusty window of Scott’s truck. He was reading her her rights. She was being arrested. Her cheeks burned as she pictured what she looked like from the perspective of one of the passing cars.

  This can’t be happening.

  Metal clinked behind her. Woods clasped her right wrist and pulled it behind her back. Then her left. She turned her head and saw a flash of silver.

  Panic shot through her. She yanked her arms free and jabbed him in the face.

  Jonah pulled into the apartment parking lot, and Allison glanced around. She saw no sign of the black Tacoma pickup Sophie Barrett was supposedly driving today.

  Jonah cursed vividly.

  “What about her gym?” Allison asked.

  “You think she went to work out?”

  “I don’t know what the hell she’s doing.” Allison checked her watch impatiently. “But I know we’ve got an autopsy in thirty minutes, and it takes forty minutes to get there. Did you try Mia voss?”

  “Not answering.”

  Jonah’s cell buzzed, and he jerked the phone to his ear. “Macon.”

  Allison watched as his face flooded with relief.

  “Good … all right. So, you’re bringing her in?” His brow furrowed. “What?” He leaned his head back against the seat. “Aw, shit. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Kelsey Quinn didn’t look happy when Jonah and Allison walked into the osteology section, and he figured she was still miffed about his pounding on her door the other night.

  “detectives,” she said curtly.

  Jonah introduced Allison, who had hardly said three words the entire drive out. She was still reeling from the fact that this college kid she’d interviewed might have been murdered.

  Jonah was reeling, too. From the new fatality, yes, but also from the knowledge that at this very moment Sophie was being booked and tossed in jail. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it right now, even if he’d wanted to.

  Which—truth be told—he didn’t. This recent death was another screaming wake-up call about how dangerous the case had become, and Jonah would rather have Sophie cooling her heels in lockup than running around providing another target for some assassin.

  “I’ve got a full load today,” Kelsey said. “I couldn’t wait to begin the prelim, so come in and I’ll catch you up. Is the sheriff planning to make it?”

  “One of his deputies is on the way,” Jonah said.

  Kelsey glanced at a clock on the wall as they headed for the room behind her. “Well, he’ll have to read the report.” She opened the door and ushered them into an autopsy suite, then pulled a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of her lab coat.

  Jonah stepped into the room and was immediately hit with the odor of burned flesh.

  “It’s bad, I know.” Kelsey handed out blue surgical masks. She applied a few drops of something to hers and then passed the bottle around.

  “What is it?” Allison asked.

  “Orange oil. Works better than vicks, at least for me.”

  Kelsey donned her mask and stepped over to a stainless steel table where a blue sheet was stretched over a large round lump. Jonah was still trying to understand the underlying shape when Kelsey pulled back the cloth.

  Behind him, Allison sucked in a breath. The charred remains were curled up in a fetal position.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. He put on his mask and stepped closer to the table. The childlike position underscored how young this latest victim was.

  And what a ruthless son of a bitch they were dealing with.

  “Can you confirm it’s a homicide?” Jonah looked at Kelsey.

  “In my opinion, yes.”

  Allison stepped up beside him. Her face had gone pale, and her eyes were wide and round above the surgical mask. This was probably her first postmortem, Jonah realized, and unfortunately it was someone she knew.

  “I know this looks shocking,” Kelsey said. “The victim is positioned this way because the heat causes the tendons and connective tissue to shrink, which makes the arms and legs draw up like this and the hands clench into fists.”

  It was impossible to look at the blackened remains without imagining intense suffering.

  “So … did he die from the burns, or maybe smoke inhalation?” Jonah asked, hoping for the second one.

  “Neither.”

  He looked up.

  “Fire is an overrated means to conceal a crime,” Kelsey said. “I haven’t seen a single cremation that consumed all the remains of a human body. What usually happens is that instead of disguising a murder, the fire gives investigators a big red flag that a crime has been committed.”

  “You’re telling us he was shot or something, and the killer tried to burn the evidence?” Jonah asked.

  She moved across the room to a light board and switched it on. Several X-rays were mounted on it. “The films don’t s
how any slugs or bullet wipe.”

  “Bullet wipe?” Allison asked.

  “Embedded metal fragments that would indicate a gunshot wound, even if the bullet passed through the body. Nothing like that turned up.”

  Jonah was running through scenarios in his head. As a detective, he tended to like bullets. They revealed all kinds of useful information about both the perpetrator and the crime itself.

  “So you’re thinking …?”

  “I don’t know for certain,” Kelsey said. “But the sheriff tells me the remains were recovered from the bed in this motel room. I think he might have been killed as he slept, or maybe killed and then moved to the bed to make it look like he died of smoke inhalation, when in fact he was murdered.”

  “Fire chief out there said something about faulty wiring at the motel. You’re saying arson?”

  “That’s not my area,” Kelsey said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes back later with a different take. What I can tell you about is this victim. Everything is burned, but pretty much intact, which gives us a lot to work with from an investigative perspective.” Kelsey pointed to something on the screen. “For example, I looked at the hyoid—a tiny bone in the neck. It’s broken.”

  “Manual strangulation,” Jonah said.

  “That’s what it looks like to me.” Kelsey glanced at Allison. “It’s different for children, but in most cases in which an adult is strangled manually, the hyoid is broken.”

  Jonah studied the film, then looked at Kelsey. “Any clues about how it went down?”

  “There’s no other sign of struggle, if that’s what you’re asking. No blunt-force trauma to the skull or bones that appear to have been broken around the time of death.”

  “What about an ID?” This from Allison, who was gazing at the body again. Jonah should probably get her out of here. She didn’t really need to see this, but she’d insisted on being involved.

  “I’ll need dental records for that,” Kelsey said. “The sheriff’s working on it. We usually do a tooth pulp analysis for confirmation, using DNA. If speed is an issue—”

  “It is,” Allison said firmly.

  “Then I can get the sample to Mia right away.”

  “We’d appreciate it,” Jonah said.

  Kelsey’s gaze met his, and she suddenly looked like a worried friend instead of a detached scientist. “This is related to the school shooting, isn’t it?”

  “It’s looking that way.”

  “I’m concerned about Sophie. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday.”

  “I have,” Jonah said. “And don’t worry—she’s somewhere safe.”

  The inside of the jail was a lot like a public restroom, only bigger and with worse smells coming up from the centralized drain. Sophie stared at it now, trying not to think about the odor as she shifted uncomfortably on the metal bench.

  “God, what I wouldn’t give for a cigarette.” The woman beside Sophie turned and looked her up and down. “You got anything?”

  “Sorry, don’t smoke.”

  The woman squinted at her. “What’re you in for, anyway?”

  Sophie’s throat tightened at the question. She looked away, but her gaze came to rest on the stainless steel toilet at the far end of the room—currently in use. She turned back to her neighbor.

  “Assaulting a police officer.”

  “No shit?” The woman looked impressed. “Damn, girl, you’re gonna be in awhile.”

  Sophie clenched her teeth and focused on the drain. Bodies shifted on the floor around it as people vied for space. Only midway through the holiday weekend and they were already full up on drunks and derelicts.

  “I’m in for public intox,” the woman said.

  Sophie had deduced this herself when the woman stumbled in here, spewing obscenities. She promptly collapsed in the corner, where she spent the next four hours snoring.

  Public Intox shifted beside her, and Sophie got a whiff of previously used alcohol. As revolting as it smelled, she would have traded her right arm right now for a stiff margarita.

  Or a chance to kick Jonah Macon in the nuts.

  “Goddamn, I want a smoke.”

  Goddamn, she wanted to kick him. Sophie sighed.

  “You got anything? Maybe some Nicorette gum?”

  “Sorry.” She glanced at the woman, curious now. Hadn’t they been through the same booking procedure? How would she have smuggled gum in here? They hadn’t even let her keep her shoes.

  But then, maybe Woods had given the guards special instructions about how to handle her.

  “Sophia Barrett.”

  Sophie glanced up, both mortified and insanely relieved to hear her name called. It was the guard from earlier, standing on the other side of the bars. Her brother must have come, finally.

  Sophie jumped to her feet. Dozens of bleary eyes turned to look at her as she picked her way through the sea of bodies. They were holiday revelers, mostly—women who’d either had too much to drink on the river or gotten into trouble at one of the local pubs. Sophie stood beside the bars and watched the dour guard open the cell. She wore latex gloves again, and Sophie shuddered to think where her hands had been recently as the door slid open with a heavy clink.

  Sophie followed the woman down a dim hallway, and her jail-issued rubber-soled shoes made squishing noises against the concrete. More foul smells. More drains. Sophie’s legs felt stiff and sore, and she didn’t know whether it was from hours of sitting or aftereffects of the car crash. She didn’t even want to think of what she looked like. Ted was going to be appalled. He’d grill her endlessly. But she was so desperate to get out of here, she didn’t care.

  “This way.”

  The next room was lit by a painfully bright fluorescent fixture. Sophie blinked up at it. Her eyes adjusted, and she noticed the man standing across the room, leaning against the wall.

  Not her brother, but Jonah.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away.

  She followed the guard to a counter, where a man was making notes on a clipboard.

  “Sign these.” He didn’t look up, and Sophie thumbed through the papers, signing beside the X marks. A large brown envelope appeared on the counter in front of her, and the man emptied it out.

  Her personal effects.

  “One pair silver earrings,” he droned. “One belt, leather. One tote bag. One pair sandals. One Visa credit card. One prescription bottle, codeine. One tube antibacterial ointment. One cellular telephone. One package contraceptive pills. One bottle Unisom—” She felt Jonah ease up beside her, but she didn’t look at him. “—one bottle sunblock. And one envelope containing … five hundred eighty-six dollars and sixty-two cents.”

  Sophie’s cheeks burned as she snatched up the tote bag and dropped the items inside.

  “Sign here, ma’am.” He slid a receipt of some sort in front of her, and once again she scrawled her name.

  Then she bent down and slipped off the shower shoes. She handed them across the counter and dropped her sandals onto the floor.

  “And my car keys?” she asked.

  “Scott has them.”

  She turned to look at Jonah, making eye contact with him for the first time. He looked calm, cool.

  “He picked up his truck earlier.” Jonah glanced at the man behind the counter. “We good here?”

  “That’ll do it.”

  “Hey, what’s the score on that game?” Jonah nodded at the small TV on the desk behind him.

  Sophie’s vision blurred with fury as she bent down to buckle her sandals. They were talking sports.

  “Eleven-ten, Rangers,” the man said. “Top of the ninth.”

  “Good to hear it. Thanks again, Phil.”

  Sophie cast one last glance around the room. The guard had disappeared, and Sophie hoped she never saw her again. She headed for the door marked with an Exit sign. Pretending to know exactly where she was going, she walked briskly down a corridor and took the first stairwell she spotted.r />
  Jonah’s footsteps echoed behind her. When they got to the bottom, he reached around her to push open the door. Another institutional-looking hallway, this one with linoleum flooring instead of concrete. Sophie made a beeline for a set of double glass doors.

  “Would you wait up?”

  She plowed through the doors and found herself outside the police station. It was hot and humid and smelled much less like a urinal than the room where she’d spent the past eight hours.

  She was at a side exit. Jonah’s pickup was parked beside the curb, and she took a deep breath. She was going to have to ride in it. With him. And she was so angry right now, she couldn’t see straight.

  She jerked the cell phone from her bag.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “My brother’s on his way down here from Dallas.”

  “Not anymore. I called him.”

  She snapped the phone shut and glared at him.

  He’d contacted her brother. He’d contacted Scott. He’d taken care of everything, and now he planned to drive her to some plot of dirt in the middle of nowhere where he probably expected to talk her down from the tower of rage she was standing on so he could get her naked tonight.

  She dropped the phone back into her purse and walked to his truck. The locks chirped, and she jerked her door open before he could help her. She tried to pull it closed, but he caught it.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s pretty late.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Shaking his head, he went around and hitched himself behind the wheel. He started up the truck and steered out of the lot.

  “You know, a little thanks would be nice.”

  She turned to look at him. He glanced at her and had the nerve to look irritated.

  “You want me to thank you.” She could practically feel the steam coming out of her ears.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I called in a crapload of favors to get you out tonight.”

  Her eyes widened with outrage. “You told Woods to bring me in! I heard you on the phone with him! He was out looking for me!”

  He glowered at her. “Yeah, and it never occurred to me you’d assault a police officer. What the hell were you thinking? The man has a shiner, Sophie. You know how hard it was for me to get him to drop the charges and forget about this?”