The Night Before Read Online Free PDF

she said as the M.E. arrived.
    Gerard St. Claire was brusque, short and balding. Pushing seventy, he was still fit and shaved what was left of his white hair about half an inch from his scalp, so that he had what Sylvie had referred to as the “high-fashion toothbrush look.” He smelled faintly of cigarettes and formaldehyde and was all business. “Nothing’s been disturbed?” he asked as he always did.
    “Nothing. We were waitin’ on you,” Diane Moses responded automatically. The same words passed between them at every scene. Forced to work together, they kept things professional, but their personalities were oil and water. “We’ve just done the preliminary walk-through to get a feel for the scene. Once you do your thing, we’ll tear the place apart.” She was being sarcastic, as usual. As the lead crime scene investigator, she was in charge and she knew it. Black, bossy and smart as a whip, she didn’t believe in handling anyone with kid gloves. Not even St. Claire. He glared at her through rimless glasses and she glared right back. “At first glance it looks like a suicide.”
    “No way.” Sylvie still wasn’t convinced, even with the evidence coagulating on the thick nap. She shoved her sunglasses onto her head, making the spikes even more pronounced.
    “Maybe he had financial worries,” Reed suggested. “We already know that his marriage was on the rocks.”
    “Bandeaux loved himself too much to slice and dice himself,” Sylvie insisted as she threw the deceased a final glance. “I did research on this guy, remember? Handsome bastard, wasn’t he?” She sighed as she took in Josh Bandeaux’s strong chin, high forehead and sightless brown eyes. “A shame.”
    “So you think he was murdered?” Reed asked.
    Morrisette nodded and her lips pinched together. “I’d bet on it. For one thing, there won’t be too many people in town grievin’ for our boy here.” She lifted one slim shoulder. “Josh made himself more than his share of enemies, that’s for sure.”
    “We got a suicide note,” one of the cops who’d been called to Bandeaux’s place offered up. “It’s still in the computer printer, right here.” He motioned toward the low filing cabinet situated behind the desk. Reed scanned the note without touching it.
    No one can help.
    “Oh, give me a break,” Sylvie muttered under her breath. “As if he was at the end of his rope. No effin’ way. Bandeaux wasn’t one to overdramatize.”
    “Maybe he was depressed.”
    Sylvie rolled her eyes expressively. “Oh, sure, because life here sucks so bad. The guy only had one BMW. But he did have a Range Rover and a Corvette, some race horses, this little place and a house in St. Thomas on three lots with a private bay. Yeah, he was certainly a prime candidate for Prozac.”
    Diane swallowed a smile as the M.E. looked over what was left of good old Josh. Morrisette, shaking her head at the image of Josh Bandeaux offing himself, scanned the room with its cherry wood and leather furniture, state-of-the-art computer, expensive stereo equipment and a glass humidor filled with cigars that were probably worth more than a beat cop made in a week. “The ‘poor me’ routine is a little hard to swallow!”
    Reed cocked an eyebrow. “Just how well did you know him?”
    “I knew of him, okay? Of him. And well enough to guess that he wouldn’t have wanted to mess up his Brooks Brothers shirts with a damned jackknife.” She cast a disparaging look at the bloody weapon.
    Reed did his own mental inventory. She had a point. From all outward appearances, Josh Bandeaux’s life seemed enviable; but that didn’t necessarily mean the guy hadn’t killed himself. Reed was keeping all of his options open. “What do we know?” he asked one of the cops who’d been called to the scene.
    “Not much. Bandeaux seemed to be working on this.” He pointed to a legal document peeking out of a manila folder, then slowly, using a pencil, flipped the file