With a Vengeance Read Online Free PDF Page A

instead of going into his pocket.
    “But that can wait a while, right?”
    Gabe shrugged. “When it goes, she ain’t gonna start for you.”
    “Great.” Zoe contemplated asking if there was anything else, but was afraid of his answer.
    The mechanic disappeared while Zoe handed her credit card through the cashier’s window to Bud Kramer, the wheelchair-bound owner of the garage who no longer tackled the hands-on part of the business. “Sorry to hear about Barry Dickson,” he said as she signed away money she hadn’t earned yet. “He was a real decent guy.”
    “Yeah, he was.” She didn’t mention that she was on her way to his autopsy.
    As she crossed the gravel parking lot, she heard someone call her name and turned to see Gabe jogging after her. He caught up, huffing. “I didn’t wanna say anything in front of the boss, but I’ll keep an eye out for a used starter for your Chevy. I should be able to pick one up for you lots cheaper than what we charge. And I’ll install it for half of what Kramer’ll gouge you.” He shoved a business card into her hand. “Call me at home. I’ll take care of you.”
    “Thanks,” she said, stunned.
    He gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder as he shuffled back to the garage.
    She pocketed the card and studied the rusty tailgate of her beloved old Chevy. Today’s repairs already had her in the hole. The additional ones, cut price or not, weren’t even in the ballpark of her current budget.
    But going into debt might be the high point of her day, considering her next stop.

Three

      
    “You’re getting better at these.” Only Franklin Marshall’s eyes were visible above the mask.
    Not enough of his face for Zoe to determine the degree of sarcasm in his words. “Am I?”
    The stench of an autopsy played havoc with her every time. The sight of a body opened up on the stainless steel table didn’t faze her. Nor did the pop of ribs being cut with clippers that looked like something a landscaper should be using to trim trees.
    Not even the grayish face of a man she’d known for much of her life was enough to send her running. No, it was the smell that drove her out of the morgue on more than one occasion since she’d taken on the deputy coroner role.
    The stupid surgical masks, worn to protect the living from whatever contagions the deceased might carry, did little to block the odors.
    Franklin chuckled. “You’re still in here, aren’t you?”
    For the moment.
    Forensic Pathologist Lyle “Doc” Abercrombie straightened from leaning over the body, holding a mound the size of a fist in his gloved hands. Barry’s heart.
    Doc carried it to a nearby table, setting the organ down as gently as if it were still beating. “Zoe. Photos please.”
    Swallowing the rising nausea, she stepped forward, camera in hand. Doc pointed out the damage he wanted her to document.
    Behind her, Franklin moved closer to the body, bending over to peer into the chest cavity. “This sniper is a helluva shot.”
    Doc left Zoe to her photography. “Not that he needed to be. He used a high-powered rifle. The bullet shattered a rib and shredded the aorta, his lungs, and everything else in its path. The victim never stood a chance.”
    She snapped the needed pictures and lowered the camera. She’d already photographed Barry while he was still wearing his paramedic’s uniform, the same as hers only much larger, as well as after he’d been stripped. The entrance wound—small, round, and pink—exhibited very little blood, but some fibers from his shirt clung to it. On the other hand, the bullet had ripped a huge, jagged hole upon exiting.
    Zoe flashed back to the night before, when she and Franklin had processed Barry’s body at the scene. He’d clearly bled out in less than a minute. Died in a pond of his own blood.
    She wondered who had been shot first. Barry or Curtis? What had it been like for the second victim? Seeing his partner gunned down, only then to be shot as well.
    Barry