“I knew there was more to your negative attitude about relationships than bad statistics, darling,” Maggie said softly. “I’m sorry you were hurt but I’m glad it happened.”

He chuckled. “Want to know something? So am I.” He kissed her until they were both breathless, then whispered, “I’ve been thinking of a honeymoon in a nice warm place, maybe Hawaii or the Bahamas. What do you think?”

“A honeymoon?” Maggie leaped up from her spot on the sofa and straddled his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes…yes…yes!”

“Looks like we’re going to get married,” Josh said with a big grin.

All Maggie could manage was another “Yes!”

Dear Reader,

When I was first asked to participate in this project, a book covering a single crime from the perspectives of forensics, detectives and lawyers, each by different authors, I thought it was a great idea. It sounded like something I’d really like to read, which is the best sign for something you’re going to write!

My second thought was “Gee, I wonder which part they want me to do?” I’m joking, of course. With my background, I knew I’d be doing the cops. But I was excited about this new twist; my story would not only have to mesh carefully with the others, but when it was done, I’d get a chance in fiction to do what I rarely got to do in real life. I’d be able to follow a case closely even after it left my little section of the law-enforcement world and was investigated, documented and handed to the prosecutors, a chance to be there every step of the way to the verdict.

It turned out, however, to be much like reality; I knew my part of the process in great detail, but the rest only in a general way. I’ll have to wait until the book is in my hands to find out exactly how the rest happens. So I’ll be reading just as you will. After getting to know Joan and Jackie and our tireless editor on this, Ann Leslie Tuttle, I think we’re all in for a treat!

I enjoyed writing “Behind the Badge,” and I hope you’ll enjoy reading it and the rest of Body of Evidence.

“F ranklin Gardner? Of the Gardners? As in Gardner Corporation?”

Colin Waters hated days that started like this.

“Yep, those Gardners. That’s why the commander put out the call to Detective Benton personally at one this morning.”

“Are they sure the body’s Gardner himself?”

“Benton says so. And he asked for you specifically. You’re to meet with him at the station before you go to the scene.”

At the dispatcher’s answer Colin sighed into his cell phone. He’d already been on his way, hoping to get in early to try and catch up on some things, but if this was true, he could kiss that opportunity goodbye. And if forensic detective Josh Benton said it was Gardner, it was true; the man didn’t make mistakes.

“Great,” Colin muttered. Just what he needed, a dead mover and shaker.

He ended the call and began to maneuver his worse-for-wear city vehicle back into traffic. No sooner had he gotten to the number one lane than his cell rang again. This time it was the district commander, Eliot Portman.

“You’re on the way?” he asked without preamble.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m counting on you to keep the lid on as long as you can. I don’t want the press getting wind of this before we’re ready.”

Assuming the vultures aren’t already circling, Colin said to himself. The media seemed able to scent society murder like sharks scented blood in the water.

“ Wilson ’s going to meet you there.”

Colin frowned. “ Wilson?”

“The new hire. And your new partner.”

Well, that’s the capper on my day, Colin thought. Not only did he have a case involving one of the most socially prominent families in the state, let alone Chicago, but now he had the new pet dumped in his lap.

He hadn’t joined in the general grumbling about Wilson sliding into a coveted detective slot, even though there were cops on the street who’d been trying for years to get the assignment, while she had only a couple of years on a department a small fraction of the size of Chicago PD. The fact that Wilson had computer skills sadly lacking in the division had kept him from jumping on that bandwagon, but that didn’t mean he thought it was a good idea.

So now he had not only a rookie detective but practically a rookie cop on his hands, on a high-profile murder case. A very high-profile murder case.

“Problem, Waters?” Portman asked, making Colin realize he’d been silent a little too long.

“Just dodging some traffic,” he improvised. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“This is a big one, so you do that.”

As if I don’t know that, Colin muttered to himself. “Yes, sir,” he said aloud.

It was going to be a very long day.

“You look,” Colin said frankly, “like hell, buddy.”

“I feel worse,” Josh Benton said, his voice sounding grim as he ran a hand over his black hair.

Benton was only six years older than Colin, but there was an eon of weary experience in his eyes. Wondering if someday the eyes he saw in the mirror would look like that, he handed Benton his own cup of black coffee.

“You need it more than I do.”

“Can’t argue that,” Benton agreed and took it. “It’s been a long night.”

“Want to sit down and bring me up to speed?”

“No.” At Colin’s startled blink, Benton grimaced. “If I sit down, I may never get up.” He eyed Colin. “But you might as well sit. It may be the last rest you get for a while.”

“Yeah, I get that feeling. Where are we at?”

“The maid, Miriam Hobart, found him at about one this morning. She’s pretty upset, she’s worked for the Gardners for more than ten years.”

“Signs of a struggle?”

“Yes. He fought, all right. There’s some oddly shaped bruising to the face, severe blow to the back of the head that we’re guessing is from a fall against a table. That one could have been fatal, if you ask me. Stab wounds, small but deep, any of which could also have been fatal.”

“Knife?”

“More like an ice pick. And there was a collection of picks at the scene.”

Odd thing to collect, Colin thought, but said only, “Forced entry?”

“No. Some valuable stuff missing, but a lot, including a chunk of cash, weren’t taken.”

Colin frowned, but said nothing. He knew Benton would have the same questions he did. They both had enough experience to know what those facts could signify.

“Where do you want us to start?”

“Us?”

Colin stifled a sigh. “Yeah. The boss informed me I have a new partner. We’re supposed to meet up at the scene.”

Benson studied him for a moment. “The propeller head?”

Colin rolled his eyes at the slang for computer geeks. “How’d you guess?”

“She’s the only one unassigned, and you’re the only one partner-free,” Benton said with a shrug.

“And I was kind of liking it that way.”

“At least she’s not hard to look at.”

Not a great recommendation for a cop, Colin thought, but he left it at that. And Benton apparently agreed because he went right back to business.

“We’ll have photos as soon as they’re dry, and the preliminary crime scene reports. There’s a son, Stephen, age twenty-three. Lives at the Gardner estate. Mother is Cecelia, widowed. If you even glance at the society pages of the paper, you’ll know her on sight.”

“If you watch five minutes of the evening news, you’ll know her on sight,” Colin said wryly. “Who else?”

“Family, only an older brother, Lyle.”

“Who’s been notified?”

Benton grimaced. “The mother. In person, by two captains, sent by the commander himself.”

Colin grimaced in turn; as a reminder of the horsepower of the victim, it was potent, but it was also a loss to the investigation. On a murder case, a detective always tried to be the one to deliver the grim news, not out of any ghoulish enjoyment, but to see the reactions of the family, who frequently weren’t all that sorry to see the dearly departed depart.