Kimberly Van Meter - The Killer You Know

The coroner looked up, annoyed. “If you’d like to continue your conversation elsewhere, that would be appreciated. I’m trying to do my job.”

“My apologies,” Silas said, shooting Quinn a look as if she was the problem and not him.

Quinn chose to ignore Silas for the moment and concentrate on taking in every detail she could without losing her breakfast.

Rhia Daniels, young, beautiful and dead.

Black-and-blue smudges betrayed where fingers had gripped her slender neck, squeezing the life out of her.

The hands looked large on her small body. Quinn struggled with the little voice inside her head that disapproved of being there.

It seemed...disrespectful.

Silas’s expression remained stony, stoic—devoid of emotion as the doctor went about his exam, speaking his notes out loud to his digital recorder.

“Victim is female, age sixteen, healthy, with visible defensive wounds on her arms and legs. Bruising around the neck that suggests strangulation.”

Quinn couldn’t imagine how terrified the girl must’ve been. Had a stranger done this to her? Or was it someone she’d known?

A jealous boyfriend, perhaps?

“A sexual assault exam, as well, Doctor,” Silas reminded the coroner, which was not appreciated as the older man cast Silas a dour look.

“You do your job; I’ll do mine.”

Silas didn’t bristle at the rebuke.

Probably because the man was made from stone.

He wouldn’t know a genuine emotion if it was dumped on him.

Harsh, Quinn. Don’t play into the stereotype of a heartless journalist.

Quinn managed to hold herself together until the doc started the incisions, then she had to excuse herself.

Quickly.

Gulping big breaths of fresh air, Quinn struggled to keep from upchucking her breakfast burrito.

Moments later Silas joined her, a small smirk on his chiseled face.

“Maybe you could do a narrative piece on your first autopsy.”

“What makes you think it was my first?” Quinn bluffed, still feeling hot and shaky. She pressed a cool hand against her cheek, fishing a bottled water from her purse.

“Because you look green, which surprisingly isn’t a good look with your red hair.”

“Okay, it was my first,” she said, blowing out a breath before guzzling the water. Quinn wiped her mouth. “I take it you watch autopsies in your spare time?”

“I’ve seen my share—and it’s never something I take lightly.”

Darkness rippled around Silas like an aura, emanating mystery.

There was something primal about Silas, something alluring. She caught herself when she realized she was leaning toward him, trying to catch a whiff of whatever spicy, manly cologne he was wearing.

“Eau de FBI,” she murmured, mostly to herself but Silas caught it.

“Excuse me?”

Heat flushed her cheeks and she shook her head, saying quickly, “Nothing,” before adding, “Sheriff Mankins says I should steer clear of you. Says you have your own agenda. What would that be, I wonder?”

Instead of denying the claim, Silas just shrugged and said, “You ought to listen to your sheriff.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe he’s right.”

“So what is your agenda?” Quinn asked boldly.

Silas regarded her with a quiet intensity that she felt like a physical thing as he replied with a faint smile, “That would be my business, now, wouldn’t it?”

And then he left her standing there, looking like a dope.

Quinn groused to no one. “Well, that went swimmingly,” and tossed her empty water bottle in the trash before heading to her car.

She wasn’t sure what she could use from the autopsy and she’d learned less than nothing from Silas.

Time to do some more digging on her own.

* * *

Silas left the autopsy and headed for the sheriff’s office. Spencer’s case file should be ready as well as the preliminary report from the investigating officer on the Daniels case.

He entered the building and went straight to the receiving window where a woman sat behind thick glass.

He flashed his credentials. “I’m here to pick up the case files on Spencer Kelly and Rhia Daniels.”

The woman nodded and pulled two manila envelopes then pushed a log book under the window opening. “Just sign here.”

Silas scrawled his name across the book and accepted the envelopes, tucking them into his jacket to protect them from the weather.

It wasn’t raining yet but the dark clouds signaled that a deluge was imminent.

He was nearly to his car when he ran into someone he would’ve been content to avoid while in Port Orion.

“Well, look who’s gracing Port Orion with his presence. Big shot Silas Kelly...what are you doing around here?”

Marc Boggs, former friend turned adversary, still wearing his jealousy over Silas’s accomplishments like part of his uniform, eyed him with banked dislike.

“Marc,” Silas acknowledged with a small nod. “Just doing legwork on a case.”

“Here? In Port Orion? It’s gotta be that young girl we fished out of Seminole Creek.” Marc didn’t wait for Silas to confirm or deny. “Hell, that girl is giving our little town as much publicity as the last time a kid was found in that place.”

Silas narrowed his gaze at Marc. “Yeah, it would seem.”

Marc sighed as if he felt some kind of empathy for Silas but Silas knew better. Marc only cared about Marc. But it seemed he was interested in playing the part of “long-lost friend” and threw out an offer to get a beer. “Me and a few buddies, you know those of us who chose to stick around, we get together on Saturday nights to blow off some steam down at The Pier. You’re welcome to come by and join us.”

“Sorry, another time. I’m on the clock.”

Marc chuckled. “Damn, Silas, loosen up. Big shot now, can’t hang with the lowly peasants, right?”

“Not here for a good time,” Silas said.

The subtle downturn of Marc’s mouth gave away his displeasure at being rebuffed. Likely the scenario that played out in Marc’s head was a night of getting under Silas’s skin with veiled insults and condescending jokes.

Yeah, no thanks, Silas thought.

“Catch you later, Marc.”

He didn’t wait for Marc’s reply.

Silas sat in his rental car, wondering how many sour apples he’d run into while in town.

Damn this place. Same people, same buildings. Same bullshit small-town politics.

Everybody talking about everyone else’s business with little regard for how their tongue-wagging might hurt someone else.

He preferred the anonymity of a large city. His neighbors didn’t bother him or poke their noses where they didn’t belong.

Quinn came to mind and he grimaced, though not entirely for the same reasons as he would’ve liked.

That red hair...it was like a halo of fire around her head, which only accentuated the green of her eyes.

She looked out of place in Port Orion but she’d fit right in walking the shores of Ireland.

An odd moment of whimsy struck him. Ireland with Quinn.

The discordant thought twanged like an out-of-tune guitar string.

Shake that shit off. What was he doing thinking of Quinn in any way aside from professional?

It was the strain of being here, he rationalized. His brain was clawing at any possible way of providing relief, a distraction from the bone-deep grief that remained lodged in spite of how many years had passed.

Quinn was annoying, a pest. And way too young. He preferred women with more seasoning.

But that hair was distracting.

Flowing down her back in wavy ripples, curling at the ends.

The stubborn cowlick near her forehead probably gave her fits.

Silas shut his eyes, trying to push Quinn from his mind.

But all that did was provide a rich curtain for thoughts that immediately caused him to shift inside his trousers.