Matt whistled. "You got a hot one there, Wash. Better watch out."
"Keep running your mouth like you always do. Doesn't make any difference to me. I'm still going to wipe the floor with you like I always do." Mr. Granade opened the door for me, and I gave an acid look to Matt as I walked out.
"Not this time, Wash. Your guy is as dirty as they come, and I'm going to make sure he gets the death penalty."
"Sure, Matt. Sure. Say hi to Fawn for me, would you?"
"Don't even say her name, Wash." Matt followed us into the hall.
Carla looked at us over the ledge of the reception desk, her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline.
"I don't even have to say hers. I'm sure she says mine every night." Mr. Granade pushed the door open for me, Matt hot on our heels.
"Don't you fucking talk about my wife!" His yell reverberated around the reception area.
"Have a nice day, Matt. Thanks for the docs." Mr. Granade kept his hand at my back as I tried to walk as quickly as possible to the car.
My heart was galloping out ahead of me, both worried and excited that I was going to see a throwdown, all the while pretending they were fighting over me instead of "Fawn."
"This ain't over, Wash." Matt didn't give chase any further, but his voice carried on the crisp fall air.
Mr. Granade's hand left my back for a moment and then returned. Something told me he'd just flipped Matt off.
"What the fuck was all that about?" I slid into the leather seat and wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt.
Mr. Granade tossed the evidence into the backseat and pulled away from the curb. "Nothing you need to worry about."
"Is that so? Seems like I do need to worry about it. I thought he was going to clock you there for a second."
Mr. Granade's lip twitched and then stretched into a smile. "Even on that asshole's best day, he could never clock me."
"Cocky much?"
He shrugged. "Just stating a fact."
"Who's Fawn?"
"Matt's wife."
I groaned. "You do realize I graduated from law school, right? That I did well enough on the LSAT to get into law school? That I, oh, I don't know, graduated high school, and even middle school? So, while I appreciate you stating the obvious for me like that, what I was asking was who is Fawn to you."
"And therein lies the lesson. Ask what you mean to ask. Tailor your questions precisely and you may just get the information you're after." He pulled up to the sheriff's office and jumped out of the car before I even had a chance to continue my short-lived interrogation.
I followed him, but he managed to stay a few steps ahead of me this time, his hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. I wanted to reach up and yank on it to get him to talk to me, or at least let me talk. He wisely stayed out of range. Besides, even I knew that pulling your boss's hair in broad daylight in front of the sheriff's office might not be the best career choice.
We signed in and were led to another stark conference room-everything metal and dingy. The evidence clerk brought in two storage containers marked with bright yellow tape and indecipherable codes in Sharpie.
"This it?"
"Aside from the bodies at the morgue, yeah." The deputy seemed none too pleased about helping us.
Mr. Granade dug some gloves from his suit. It should have creeped me out that he'd been wandering around all day with rubber gloves in his pocket, but I was just impressed that he came prepared.
He handed me a set. "All of it's been processed and dusted for prints, but there's no telling what's in here, and it's probably stuff you don't want to get on your hands."
"Noted." I snapped the gloves into place as the deputy shut the door and took up his post down the hall.
A camera in the corner kept an eye on us as we got to work. He cut the tape sealing the first bin and flipped the lid off. A manifest lay on top of the items, each piece of evidence neatly logged in a precise hand.
"We'll get a copy of their log, but go ahead and catalog everything I pull out. We never rely on anyone else's work but our own." He reached for the item on the top of the pile. It was a pale blue scarf that reeked of cheap perfume. A deep brown stain colored one end.
I scribbled down the description.
"We should have the tox and blood results on the docs Matt gave us. Once we get back to the office, give it all a once-over and match up the items with the test results. Then we'll know which victim goes with what. Got it?"
"Yes."
He placed the scarf on the table and dug out the next item. A white T-shirt covered with even more brown stains.