Cold Truth Read Online Free PDF Page A

eyes, but all she could see was the body of that dark-haired young woman sprawled out upon the rock.
    Oblivious to the sweat that covered her face and dampened her light blue T-shirt down to her waist, she sat immobile and tried to control the emotions that churned within her. Of course, she’d seen dead bodies before, but she’d never reacted like this.
    Well, hadn’t her therapist warned her that this might happen someday? That if she persisted in a career in law enforcement, sooner or later she might have to deal with something that might take her back to a place she’d rather not go?
    The ringing of her cell phone jarred her, and she answered it on the second ring.
    “Burke.”
    “Are you on your way in?” Spencer asked, his voice tense.
    “Yes.”
    “Good. I’ll meet you there. I just heard from Denver.” He paused. “Apparently we have a situation.”
    “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She hung up and slid the phone back into her jacket pocket.
    She sat for another few moments and watched the heron grab something from the water, throw its head back, and swallow its meal in one quick motion. The wind hissed through the cattails, the hushed sound soothing her as few things could. She remembered countless nights when she lay awake in the room under the eaves, right up there on the second floor, listening to that very same sound as she fell asleep. It had comforted her then and it comforted her now.
    A moment later she was walking toward her car, her hands steady, her pulse almost normal, wondering what, on this day marked by murder, constituted a “situation.”
     
    Craig Denver sat in the chair the town council had surprised him with as a gift for his twenty-fifth year on the job and simply stared out the window next to his desk. For years, he’d wondered what he’d do if this day ever came, and now it was here, and he was still wondering.
    He spread the piece of paper that had arrived earlier that day in a plain white envelope that bore no address. Phyl had found it on the floor of the lobby, near the front door, when she was on her way into the building after having picked up lunch for herself and the chief. She would have tossed it, except for the fact that it was sealed. Her curiosity piqued, she’d opened it, and having glanced at the message once, took it immediately to the chief’s office.
    The paper itself was undistinguished, everyday computer stock, the kind that could be purchased at any one of a number of chain office-supply stores. It was the message that had caught Phyl’s attention, a message comprised of glued letters cut from newspapers and magazines, much as a child might do for a homework assignment.
    Hey, Denver! Have you found her yet?
    She’d carried it down the hall, holding it between two fingers to avoid getting her prints on it, walked into the chief’s office without knocking—something she rarely did—and dropped it on his desk. He had unfolded it, then stared at it for the longest time.
    Finally, he asked quietly, “Where did this come from?”
    “I found it on the floor in the lobby.”
    “You didn’t see anyone . . . ?”
    “No one. I’d just picked up lunch from Stillman’s, I wasn’t gone ten minutes. I didn’t see anyone on my way out, or on my way back in.”
    “Okay.” He’d nodded slowly. “Thank you.”
    Most of the force was still out at Wilson’s Creek, so he dusted the envelope and the white sheet of paper for prints. There were none except for the smudged partials that he suspected would prove to be Phyl’s. He’d reached for the phone, and called in Spencer and Burke.
    Denver sat back in his chair and sighed deeply, wanting nothing more than to start this day over and have it turn out differently.
    Coincidence, or copycat?
    Either way, it wasn’t good.
    Either way, shit was going to be stirred up, sure enough, and he wasn’t the only one who was going to have to deal with it.
    He rubbed his eyes wearily and waited for his detectives to