With the near-empty cup in his hand, Jesse stood at the boundary of yellow tape strung in a wide, misshapen circle around pine trees, oaks, and maples. At the far side of the circle were Tamara Elkin and the body of the man presumed to be King Curnutt. Inside the circle to Jesse’s right was a blue Subaru and an old, weathered toolshed, its door flapping in the morning breeze. Peter Perkins, in a Tyvek suit and booties, was taking photos of the car.
“I need to talk to the ME,” Jesse said, calling to Perkins. “Get me a pair of gloves and walk me over to her and fill me in.”
Peter came to where Jesse was standing, handed him gloves, and lifted the tape. Jesse limboed under it, wincing as he did. Taking careful, measured steps, the two of them made their way slowly toward the ME. As they went, Perkins pointed to some tire tracks. Car’s stolen from some small town near the New Hampshire border. One set of tire tracks are definitely from the Subaru. Don’t know about the other. He pointed at faint impressions in the dirt that vaguely resembled footprints. I’m pretty sure one set belongs to the vic, but there are lots of imprints around because runners use this area.
“How was he killed?” Jesse asked.
“Close range. One to the head, one to the heart. I couldn’t see any exit wounds. Another thing, Jesse,” Perkins said. “If he used an automatic, the killer collected his brass.
“Something else. The vic was armed. I’ve bagged a Glock Nineteen that I found in very close proximity to the body. Killer must’ve surprised him.”
“Or Curnutt knew him,” Jesse said as they reached the ME and the body.
“Thanks, Peter.”
“No problem. I’m almost done anyway. Just have to pack up and make some notes.”
Jesse waited for Perkins to leave before kneeling down.
“You look almost as bad as him,” Tamara said. “At least you smell a little better.”
Jesse gave a slight nod toward the body. “I don’t feel so well, either, but let’s talk about him.”
“I’m sure Peter already told you.”
“Uh-huh. Been here for a day-plus. Killed by two at close range.”
“Probably a .22 caliber,” she said. “Small entry wounds, no exit wounds. None that are visible, at least. I’ll know more when I get him on the table and cut the clothes off him.”
“Can I pat him down?”
“One more thing, Jesse. The body was moved. Rolled over, I think, at least once,” she said, pointing at a small patch of dried blood on a smashed-down area of brown grass and dirt to the left of the body.
“You think it was my man who moved him?”
“Unlikely,” she said. “Perkins is too OCD to do that. My guess is it happened shortly afterward.”
“Thanks, Doc. That it?”
“Now he’s all yours. I’m going to go give my guys the okay to come get him. Your car here?”
Jesse stared up at her, puzzled. “Why?”
“I’ll leave some pills for you in your front seat.”
“Thanks.”
He turned back to the body, but Tamara wasn’t quite finished.
“Jesse.”
“Yeah.”
“Slow down. For goodness’ sakes, please, slow down.”
He knew what she meant. She knew he would, but she didn’t want to stay to argue about it.
The body was on its back. The head wound was small, though obvious enough against the dead man’s bloodless pale skin. The chest wound was less obvious, but that wasn’t Jesse’s concern at the moment. He checked the pockets of the dead man’s cut-off sweatshirt and the front pockets of his jeans. No wallet. No ID. Nothing. He ran his gloved hands along the front, outsides, and insides of the victim’s legs, and felt around his ankles. Again nothing. But he didn’t come up empty when he gently turned the body over and patted down the vic’s back pockets.
“Peter,” Jesse said. “Bring an evidence bag over here.”
Perkins didn’t ask why, just carried a bag over to his boss. “What is it, Jesse?”
“An old index card with some letters and numbers written on it. Log it in and then bring it over to Lundquist. I think the state lab should get a close look at this asap.”
“You think it’s significant?”
Jesse didn’t answer immediately, continuing to pat the victim down to see if there was anything else on him. When he was done he looked up at Perkins.
“Significant? I don’t know, but it’s the only thing he’s got on him.”
“No wallet?”
“No nothing except that faded old card. Tell Lundquist I’ll be right over.”
When Jesse was done, he looked hard at Curnutt’s remains. As far as Jesse could tell, what was left didn’t amount to much. He hoped the same wasn’t true for the index card.