Chapter Six

Jasper

“Doctor Connor Floyd,” I say, stepping through the doors into his office.

Floyd looks up from the examination table he's sitting at – and the chewed-up meat that was once a body that sits on top of it – and gives me a smile. He pushes the mask of his face shield up and quickly pulls off his gloves, dropping them into a can between the two autopsy tables.

“Jasper Neville,” he says, his smile wide and warm. “It's been a little while.”

I nod. “It has,” I say. “It's good to see you again, Dr. Floyd.”

“You too,” he says. “And I'd tell you to call me Connor again, but I know you won't.”

“Take it as a sign of respect, doctor,” I say. “I know how hard you worked for your degree and your license.”

His smile is somewhat shy. “Thank you for saying that.”

“So, Luca tells me you have a girlfriend?”

Floyd's cheeks flush. “Fiancée now, actually.”

“Really?” I ask, grabbing his hand and shaking it. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he says. “It was really great. We were at a Scrabble tournament a couple of weeks back and I'd arranged it with the tourney directors and all. Anyway, before my actual match started, Ariel was in the audience and I got to use my tiles to spell out a proposal. It was up on the big screen and everything. It was awesome.”

I laugh. Only Floyd can make something so nerdy sound so normal. And it makes me happy for the guy. Floyd is a good man. A little eccentric at times, but a good man.

“I'm really happy for you, Dr. Floyd,” I say.

“Thanks, Jasper,” he says. “I'm pretty darn happy too.”

“How'd you do at the tournament?” I ask, knowing the only thing he loves more than his fiancée is his Scrabble.

“Ariel did better than me,” he says with a sigh. “As usual.”

I chuckle. “The dangers of being with a smart woman.”

“Tell me about it,” he says. “I don't think I've won a single game against her since we got together.”

“I'm sure your time is coming, Dr. Floyd.”

“Darn right it is,” he says. “All this losing is only making me better.”

“That's the spirit.”

“Anyway, I'm sure you didn't come here to listen to my Scrabble tournament sorrows and woes,” Floyd says. “What can I do for you?”

I point to the two lumps of meat on the slabs. “Actually, I'm looking into that,” I say. “I think.”

“Ahhhh yes, a murder mystery,” he says, his eyes seeming to brighten.

“A murder mystery Sheriff Richards is bound and determined to pin on us,” I reply.

“Is there a crime that happens in this town he hasn't tried to pin on you guys?”

I laugh. “No, not really,” I say. “I'm sure he'd pin the JFK assassination on us if he could.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” he says. “He's always had a special dislike of you guys.”

I shrug. “Don't know what we did to the guy, but whatever.”

“Don't take it personally,” Floyd says. “Some people are just born jerks.”

I give him a smile. “True enough.”

“I will tell you though,” Floyd says, “that he's on a bigger warpath than usual, so you guys really need to watch yourselves.”

“Why's that?”

“For the first time since he was elected Sheriff – what ten years ago now? – he's got a challenger for his seat.”

“A challenger? Really?”

Floyd nods. “Yeah, and he's a real nasty one too,” he says. “Makes the Sheriff's attitude toward you all look downright loving.”

“Charming.”

“Tell me about it,” Floyd says. “It's hard enough working for Sheriff Richards sometimes. To have to work for somebody like Brooks Green? I may quit and go live on a Scrabble commune somewhere.”

He laughs so hard that he snorts, and I just shake my head. Knowing Connor Floyd like I do, him living with his fiancée out on a Scrabble commune somewhere doesn't actually sound all that far-fetched.

I look again at what's left of the two bodies on Floyd's tables and suppress a shudder. I'm not normally a man who's squeamish, but those torn up bodies are something else.

“Yeah, it's pretty horrible,” Floyd says.

“What can you tell me about it?”

“I can tell you that these are numbers three and four,” he says.

“Four?” I ask. “I thought it was only two?”

Floyd shakes his head. “No, these two were brought in last night,” he says. “Hikers found them out in the woods.”

“So, what about the first two?”

Floyd motions for me to follow him and he leads me over to the refrigerator storage drawers. He opens two of them and pulls the trays out.

“These two, we don't have ID's on,” he says. “We're running fingerprints, but there wasn't enough dental work left to salvage to make a positive ID. We're hoping somebody calls and reports them missing.”

“Grim,” I say.

I recognize the two bodies though. These were in the pictures Richards had tried to rattle Luca and me with the other day. And yeah, they look just as grisly live and in person as they did in the pictures. I look closely at the torn and shredded bodies of the two people and notice what I had in the photos. Which only reaffirms my belief that whatever did this wasn't a bear.

I turn and look at the two bodies on the tables in the middle of the room. And the first thing I notice is that the two fresh bodies are in a lot worse shape than the first two. They're more ragged. More torn up. I step over to them and see that the claw marks are wider, deeper. Something big and powerful ripped through these bodies. Something like a bear, perhaps.

It's a thought that sends a chill through me. We either have a rogue bear in the area or maybe, one of our Clansmen are doing a little freelancing. Either way, I know that Asher and Luca won't be pleased.

I look at the first two bodies and then the second pair again, just to be sure I'm seeing what I'm seeing.

“These two couples weren't killed by the same thing,” I say.

A grin spreads across Floyd's face and he bounds over to the tables in the middle of the room, looking positively giddy. Like a child holding a secret he's just dying to share.

“That's what I thought at first too,” he beams. “But, then I got to really looking at things – because that's what I do.”

I laugh. “Yes, it is,” I say. “And I know I can speak for Asher and everybody else when we say that we appreciate it. You've gotten us out of some pretty tight jams.”

He waves me off, though I can tell he enjoys the praise. “Just doing my job.”

“And we appreciate that you're so diligent at it.”

His cheeks color and he looks away. Floyd works in a pretty thankless job – and for a boss who probably doesn't give him, or anybody really, the appreciation and recognition they deserve. Floyd is great at what he does, and yet Richards still sees fit to treat him like garbage.

“Anyway, it's a good thing I dug a little bit deeper, because I found something very interesting,” he says, a smile on his lips and a light of pride in his eyes, clearly back on his game. “Though, I fear the good Sheriff isn't going to like it.”

Ever the showman, Floyd is really drawing this out. I know he doesn't get a lot of visitors down here and probably even fewer who take an active interest in his work. But – can you blame people, really? I mean, he does work with corpses.

“What did you find, Dr. Floyd?”

“Well, I found marks on these two fresh bodies that match marks I found on the originals,” he says.

I look at the two corpses in the drawers and then back at the two on the tables. “I'm obviously not an expert,” I say, “but it looks to me like these two sets of people were killed by entirely different creatures.”

“And I would guess that's because that's what somebody wants you to think.”

I raise an eyebrow and look at him. “Are you saying these were staged?”

“Somewhat,” Floyd says and motions me over to the table.

I step up beside him and put a hand over my nose and mouth. The stench is horrible, and I don't know how Floyd deals with it.

“You get used to it,” Floyd laughs. “Eventually, you go noseblind.”

“No offense, but I don't know that I ever could,” I choke out. “You're made of sterner stuff than I am, Dr. Floyd.”

Floyd chuckles as he uses some of his instruments to peel back what's left of the flesh on the body we're looking at. It's a woman and I happen to glance down at her hand, noticing the large diamond engagement ring on it.

“They were engaged,” I said.

Floyd nods. “Sheriff's already been in touch with the families,” he says, his voice suddenly grim. “Jacob Lochlan and Dana McGovern. They were camping over the weekend. Jacob's father said he was planning on waiting until Christmas to propose, but he apparently couldn't wait.”

“Sad,” I say, shaking my head. “Really sad.”

“Yeah, happy holidays, huh?” Floyd says. “Anyway, take a look at this.”

I peer down into the cavity but can't see through all of the muck inside. Floyd adjusts his light and all that seems to do is make all of the blood and carnage inside the body brighter and more vivid.

“I'm sorry, Dr. Floyd,” I say. “I still don't know what I'm supposed to be seeing here.”

He uses his scalpel to tap an exposed bone. “The furrows dug into the bone,” he says. “They're narrow and pretty clean. Just like the slash marks on the first two victims. And if you look closer at the body, you can see traces of those thin, narrow furrows here and there.”

I look at the bodies and I can sort of see what he's talking about. Although, it's hard to see anything clearly with how badly the bodies have been mutilated. The confusion is apparently clear on my face because Floyd gives me a patient smile.

“The large, ragged gashes you see in these two bodies were all inflicted post-mortem,” he says.

And then the light bulb goes on in my head. “So, you're telling me that whatever killed the first couple, killed the second couple –”

“And then somebody or something, came in behind it and mutilated the corpses.”

I stand up again and run a hand through my hair, a million different thoughts rocketing through my brain. I'm not a trained investigator, but I know I'm a pretty sharp guy. And I know that Asher has put his trust and faith in me to get to the bottom of all of this.

To get to the truth though, I know I need to retain a healthy dose of skepticism. I can't just seize on the first answer because it makes us look better. I'm not Richards. Which means that I have to entertain the idea that it is one of us doing these terrible things. And if it is, be willing to act on it.

“Is it possible an animal got to the bodies after the initial attack?” I ask. “Tore them up while feeding normally?”

“It's possible, of course,” Floyd says. “But, to me, it looks like the secondary wounds were made in an effort to obliterate the first wounds. To hide them and make it look like something it's not.”

“Something like a bear attack?”

“Precisely.”

I let out a long breath and ponder the possibilities in my head. So, somebody wants to frame the bears for multiple murders. But, why? And who would stand to gain the most from it? Maybe the person who's been riding our collective asses so hard for so long?

“I know Sheriff Richards is a jerk,” Floyd says, as if reading my mind. “But, even he wouldn't stoop to something like this.”

I rub my hand along my jawline, the stubble making a scratchy sound beneath my fingers. “Yeah, I know you're right,” I say. “He's a prick, but not necessarily an unethical prick.”

“Exactly.”

“What about this other guy?” I ask. “You say he hates us even more. Could he be behind this?”

Floyd shrugs. “I don't know a whole lot about him other than he was a prosecuting attorney,” he says. “Was on track to be the next DA in Seattle, but he's apparently decided he wants to be the Sheriff here instead.”

“Huh,” I say. “That doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Why give up a big-ticket job like DA to be Sheriff in a small, podunk town.”

“Well, to be fair,” Floyd, who's always had a healthy amount of civic pride, says, “Black Salmon Falls is growing at a tremendous pace. Faster than any other city in Washington. And it's routinely ranked as one of the best places to live on the West Coast –”

“All of that is true,” I say, “but, it's still not Seattle. And town Sheriff – even in a city growing as fast as this one – isn't the same as DA in a major metropolitan area.”

Floyd rubs his chin and nods. “That is true. It's a curiosity.”

“Something I'm going to have to look into a little more closely,” I say. “Dr. Floyd, thank you for everything. You've been a tremendous help. As always.”

“Always happy to,” he replies. “Oh, and could you tell Mariana I'm going to be a little late for our Scrabble date tomorrow?”

My mouth falls open as I look at him. “You and Mariana play – Scrabble – together?”

He nods eagerly, the smile back on his face. “A few of us get together every week and play. My friend Raymond has developed quite the crush on her.”

“Is that so?” I say, an amused smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“She's actually quite good,” he says. “She's not setting the world on fire or anything, but she's not too bad. Better than you might expect. She just needs to expand her vocabulary a little bit and remember that curse words aren't valid. And not throwing the board across the room when she loses would help too – especially in a tournament setting.”

“I – I'll relay the message.”

“Great. Thanks!”

I turn and head out of Floyd's office, walking back down the hallway to the rear entrance of the building, careful to avoid Richards. The last thing I want to do is have to explain my presence in the ME's office to him.

And I'm also doing my level best to stifle my laughter – I'd hate for Floyd to think I was laughing at him. But, when I get to the parking lot and am heading for my car, I can't contain it any longer. The laughter bubbles over, and as I get behind the wheel, I'm laughing like a madman.