I don’t breathe too heavily. I don’t touch anything but the corners, because I get the distinct feeling this entire storage container will be evidence inside a courtroom soon.
Turning the first photo over, I study the image of a destroyed car.
The front, folded back like an accordion, and the roof, zippered straight off, like a layman’s attempt at creating a convertible. Moonlight and flashlights illuminate the scene, and glass twinkles on the road, like glitter sprinkled to commemorate a party.
The car remains fused to the bottom of the truck, their engines melded together as though trying to become one.
Blood smudges mar the tops of the seats and dribble along the smaller vehicle’s tan interior. And though I catch sight of a body, the first photograph captures only her shoulder.
Flicking to the next image, we come closer to Holly. The photographer stands by the driver’s side door, leaning over so the image comes from above.
Blood pools in both front seats, while Holly wears a white winter coat, marked in garish crimson. She lies slumped over on the passenger side. If she could sit up straight, I’d imagine the roof removal the truck performed would’ve taken her head, too.
“Why wasn’t she sitting up when she collided with the truck?” I hand the second photograph to Aubree, and next take in the third. Pills strewn across the passenger side floor, pill bottles with their caps unfastened and tossed aside, whether by the impact of the truck, or because Holly or someone else tossed them there. Frowning, I glance back to Aubree. “Why is she down?”
“It’s possible she was already unconscious.” She accepts the next photo when I offer. “Maybe she was reaching for these? Drops her pills, leans across to grab them, veers into oncoming traffic.”
“Maybe.” I push up to stand and leave Aubree sitting. Studying. “Let’s run with that last theory. She’s had a long night at work. Tox says she’s running low on her meds. She’s driving, she intends to take a pill. Drops the bottle, leans across, veers. Doesn’t even realize she’s crossing over till it’s too late.”
“It’s reasonable.” Setting her elbows on her knees, Aubree watches me pace. “It’s entirely plausible.”
“But is it?” I move toward her again and snag the photograph of Holly slumped on the seat. “If she’s in this position, going seventy miles per hour. She’s on the freeway and has no reason to slow. She collides with the truck. That’s going to snap her neck. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time a head was decapitated from the force.”
“Well…”
“But she’s lying there almost like she’s asleep. M.E. report doesn’t mention a cervical fracture. In fact, if this is a coverup and they were looking for an easy out, that would’ve been the logical way to go about it.”
“They don’t actually mention cause of death at all.” Snatching the report, Aubree reads it front to back. “Says she died in a car collision, reason: suicide. But nowhere does it say what actually killed her.”
“Lazy,” I snarl. “Lazywork!”
“Doctor Mayet?”
“What?” I spin toward the door and pin poor Seraphina with a glare.
Behind her, two men from maintenance take a step back and hide behind the fearless assistant.
“Er…” She looks me up and down, pursing her lips together in distaste. “Someone pee in your shoes, or…?”
“No. Sorry.” Exhaling and sliding a hand across my face, I quietly count to three before I look up again. Then I glance to the maintenance men cowering behind the executive in heels. “I’m sorry. Are you here to move our files?”
“Yes.” Seraphina looks at the boxes we’ve already set outside. “Guess they can start on those. Do you care about the order they’re re-stacked in?”
“Maybe keep the year groups close together.”
Turning back to Aubree, I snag Holly’s file and wait for the photographs to be dropped inside. Closing the folder and setting it under my arm, I hold my phone in the other hand.
“We’re going out for a bit,” I tell Seraphina. “But I’d really appreciate this being done. Then if you could also organize someone to digitize them… label, sort, get everything in ord—No, wait.”
Evidence. Reopening closed cases.
“Crap.” I shake my head, a gesture that has the maintenance guys taking another step back. “Don’t digitize yet. In fact, don’t even open the boxes. Put them somewhere safe, then erect a boundary and ensure no one else touches them. Aubree?”
“Yeah?” She jumps up from her seat and follows me out of the storage container. “Where are we going?”
“Do you miss your former chief?” I switch off the flashlight on my phone, now that we’re in the light again, then I stride toward the elevators and smack the call button. “We need keys, a car, and an address for the former Chief Medical Examiner Chant.”
“Oh man.” Aubree selects the ninth floor once we step in, then she steps back as the doors close. “I’m not saying I hated Doctor Chant. I would never speak ill of my superiors.” She turns to me and grins as we shoot nine floors into the sky. “But if she was on fire, I probably wouldn’t use my nonfat vanilla latte to help put her out.”