From Shadow of Doubt

“What is it? Is something wrong?” She leaned over the windowsill then saw the gun in his hand. “What is it, Nathan?”

“Don’t touch anything.” He pulled her back from the opening, one hand on her bicep. “Margaret, don’t look.”

“Oh, dear.” She looked up at Nathan, her eyes big. “Is he—?”

He steered her past the desk and toward the antechamber. “Don’t touch anything, okay? It’s a crime scene.”

“Is he—?” Margaret stopped when they entered the small foyer outside the office door.

“I’m guessing he is, but I need to check. Wait here.”

“Should I call 911?” Margaret reached for her Coach bag then saw Nathan already had a cell phone out and was talking into it.

“FBI Special Agent Nathan Stokes, calling from Possum Bottom, Lac Qui Parle County, Minnesota. 925-B Main Street. A male victim is down in the alley behind the building. It appears to be homicide. Hold the line; I’m going to verify status.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at Margaret. “Stay here. Promise me.”

She nodded weakly as he whirled and headed for an exit door opposite the steps they’d ascended. “Nathan?”

He paused and looked back at her.

“Homicide?”

He nodded. “Lots of blood.”

“Oh.” She leaned against the wall. “I see.”

He noted her white face and the way she clutched her handbag. “I wish you hadn’t seen. I’ll be right back.” He headed for the door, cursing the bad luck that tossed a dead body in his path while he was on the most important vacation of his life.

As he’d hoped, the door led to a staircase, dimly lit and stark. One flight down and he was out the back door, angling it open with his shoulder while raising his gun, the cell phone tucked into his coat pocket.

He was in an alleyway, one dark red truck near a trash container but otherwise empty. Low buildings on the other side of the alley faced away, presenting the appearance of rude spectators who chose not to look at the bloody body on the ground. Deep tire tracks in the snow showed where the truck had come through the alley.

Nathan knelt next to the body lying on the only clear spot of pavement. He was careful not to step in the blood pool extending beyond the man’s head in a fan-like pattern. The victim was dressed in dark pants and a brown sweater, the body on its side and head pressed against the pavement. When Nathan touched an out-flung wrist, he realized the man was frozen to the ground. He stood and backed away carefully, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. The agitated sound of the voice on the other end told him how often they got calls from FBI agents in Possum Bottom, Minnesota.

It was shaping up to be a very, very interesting vacation.

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