Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [22]
His arms were akimbo. His head was at an unnatural angle, tilted to the side. Because of the excess blood on his neck, I couldn’t tell if the wound was from a bullet or a knife. I couldn’t see his face, thank God.
Or his vacant, accusing eyes.
I saved you. Why didn’t you save me?
Startled by the wraithlike words, I stumbled back.
Night became day. The flattened grass became chalky sand. The clothing turned into desert camo. The vehicle became a smoking, overturned Humvee. And I knelt next to the young marine as I tried to keep his guts from spilling out of his belly.
He’s dead. Get up and move on. They’re coming to get the body.
I blinked, and I was back in South Dakota. Sitting next to J-Hawk’s body, my past intruding on my present.
Despite feeling light-headed, I wobbled to my feet.
In the last few years I’d been unfortunate to discover more than my fair share of dead bodies. Even during my time in the army. I found Private Madison in his bunk with his belt wrapped around his throat. I discovered an Iraqi interpreter bludgeoned to death directly outside our “safe” zone. Coming home hadn’t changed my bad luck. I’d found my nephew and his girlfriend.
And now this. J-Hawk. Dead.
My gut clenched as a horrifying thought occurred: Had J-Hawk been waiting for me? Like he’d been the last few nights?
Surely someone would’ve noticed him lying out here? The kind of gun that left a hole that size made a pretty goddamn big bang, too. Surely someone would’ve heard gunshots?
The whys raced through my head until the sounds of sirens broke the stillness and my communal with the dead. An Eagle River County patrol car pulled in first, kicking dust into ghost clouds against the inky sky. An ambulance, a fire truck, and other vehicles blocked off the parking area. Who were these people? Why were they here?
Fucking voyeuristic bastards.
Car doors opened and closed. I didn’t move.
“Mercy?”
I faced Dawson. No surprise he’d responded to the call—homicides were rare in Eagle River County, but it made me highly curious about where he’d been at two in the morning that he was first on the scene. “Sheriff.”
“You all right?”
“Besides discovering another dead body?”
“You do have a knack.” He realized our banter was a little too easy, and I saw the shift in him immediately. “I appreciate you sticking around. Do you know the victim?”
Admitting my past relationship with J-Hawk now, while we were standing over his bullet-riddled and carved-up body, might cause problems I wasn’t prepared to deal with. I kept my response simple. “Yeah. It’s Jason Hawley. The guy from Titan Oil.”
“Has anything been moved?”
His question was far less accusatory than the last time we’d had this conversation. “No. Everything is exactly as I found it.”
“Good. Now I’m gonna ask you to head on over to the ambulance and wait.”
“I can’t go home?”
Dawson frowned. “We’ve done this enough times that you know the drill by now.”
“Stay close but stay out of the way,” I said to his retreating back.
I tugged my jacket more securely around me and joined the people clustered between the patrol cars and the ambulance. Kiki nodded to me before she joined Dawson at the scene.
Three firemen were talking in a closed group. All guys I didn’t know. There’d been a time I knew everyone, their brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and even the names of their dogs in our small community.
Rome Hall, my friend Geneva’s younger brother, sauntered up. “Hey, Mercy.”
“Rome.” I pointed to his coffee. “Got any more of that?”
“Huh-uh. But I’ll share this one with you.”
“No way. You’ll give me cooties.”
He snorted at our long-standing joke. “Maybe you should reopen the bar and brew a pot for everyone. We’ll probably be here awhile.”
“If I open the bar I can guarantee you the last thing I’ll be drinking is coffee.”
“I hear ya there.” He sipped. “So who’s the stiff ?”
“Jason Hawley.”
“Name isn’t ringing a bell.”
“He works for Titan Oil, and he’s here drumming up support for the pipeline.”
“How’s that going