Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [26]
“Not so lucky after all, I guess,” said Doug the deputy, leaning as close as he could to the body’s crude clover tattoo.
“Jesus, Doug, Hart’s dead,” Lacey said. “You knew him.”
It had been well after four by the time he’d arrived, giving Lacey a solid half-hour alone with Hart. After Doug had taped off the crime scene, she’d told him the basics—how she knew it was Hart (the tattoo), but didn’t know what he was up to lately. She hadn’t seen him since spring.
She figured she’d probably have to repeat the story later to Ed or some other higher-up. Hopefully that would be the end of it. She went with the truth.
“Sorry. I’m not exactly used to this kind of thing,” said Doug, who had already demonstrated that fact with some vigorous barfing around the side of the house as soon as he’d come within smelling distance of the body.
“So, who gets called in for a thing like this?” Lacey asked.
“Everybody, I guess,” said Doug. “Ed should be here any minute. The crime-scene guy is coming down from Orendale.”
Lacey guessed that Sheriff Ed had instructed Doug to not fuck anything up, and above all not to touch the body. He’d succeeded on the second count, at least.
“Where’s your brother?” Doug asked.
“Up in Tulac. At his new girlfriend’s place.”
“How about that!” Doug said. “Good for him.”
Later, Lacey watched from the porch swing as Sheriff Ed finally showed up, just beating the sun. He gave her a sad little wave from across the yard, then went about checking out the body and its surroundings. Deputy Doug handed Ed his notepad and the sheriff proceeded to ask Lacey all the questions over again and a few more. Doug didn’t seem to notice that his work was being redone. He pulled out another notebook and copied down the sheriff’s interview verbatim. Lacey wondered why the sheriff had even allowed Doug to be first on the scene.
She knew Hart had some history with Sheriff Ed, and what Hart had told her about it was probably the tip of an ugly iceberg. With Hart, that was usually the case.
“Lacey,” he said, with an empathetic look as he approached the porch.
“Nice of you to join us, Sheriff,” Lacey said as he walked up the steps. She’d had enough of recent events.
Ed ignored the barb. “Where’s Paul?” he asked.
“New girlfriend.”
The sheriff raised his eyebrows a bit. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Lacey, I have to ask you to come down to the office this afternoon. Just a formality. Until then, you look like you could use some sleep. Will you be okay till Paul gets back?”
“Sure,” she said. She planned to stay on the swing until they left.
The crime-scene guy had arrived, and was now taking photos and samples. He seemed just as interested in the tire tracks as the bodies. Maybe Doug had blundered after all—it looked like he was getting chewed out for driving right up to the scene. Paul, for all his supposed level-headedness, had peeled away with their plants, leaving another, even fresher set of tracks that would be easy to match, even for Mercer’s finest. Maybe this would escape their attention—they hadn’t exactly been meticulous so far. No one had asked where her car was, for example.
Finally, the crime-scene guy wrapped up the body and he and Doug carried it to the cruiser. Maybe now it would stop following her around, Lacey thought. She had to remind herself that it was Hart.
Doug came up to the porch to say good-bye. “Lace, it was good seeing you. I’m so sorry for all this. I hope you know we’ll find whoever did this.”
He looked like he wanted to give her a hug but glanced back at Ed over by the cruiser and reconsidered. Instead, he reached for her hand and gave it a tender shake.
Then Doug looked at his palm. There was a little smear of blood on it. Lacey gave him a pleading look.
“Irving had a fight with a feral. I tried to separate