Tess kept her hands under her arms and stared at the body and the environs.

The television was on. She looked at Cheryl.

Cheryl said, “The maid said he always had the television on.”

Tess saw the logo on the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. Fox News.

“You seen enough?” Cheryl asked. “We haven’t even got a body temp yet. We’re gonna have to clear out and let the techs get to work.”

Outside, the sun shone down on them, a mockingbird sang in a tree nearby, and the air smelled like fresh laundered clothing on the line—a memory from her childhood. It smelled like spring.

But the death smell lurked underneath. It sat in the membranes of her nose and lay at the back of her soft palate.

It happened at every death scene. Tess carried the residue on her, like a thin film of dust mixed with sweat, just gritty enough to stay on her clothes and her hands. She knew this was her imagination, but it didn’t stop the odor from taking up inside her, from clinging to her pores.

Tess thought it was the price she paid to do the work she did. It was something she took from the crime scene, a part of people who had lost their lives. And it resonated for a while.

A physical manifestation of a respect for the dead.

Like a mortuary that knew part of its job was to comfort the survivors, speaking in low, respectful tones, the flowers beautiful but not glamorous, the music lovely but muted.

Just part of her job.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“Everyone’s thinking—not just me—that it looks like an accident. Anything out of place other than what we saw?”

“Let’s wait for the techs to finish with the body and then we can go back in.”

It took about an hour, and finally Steve Barkman was on his way to the morgue.

Inside, they looked around. The place was pretty neat. There was a plate in the sink that had been rinsed, and a bottle of beer out.

“He drank about half,” Cheryl said. “We’ll submit it for DNA.”

“No other glass, no other beer?”

“No.” Cheryl pulled out a plastic tub from below the sink. “There were several bottles of Rolling Rock and an empty of Jack Daniel’s. Have no idea what the timeline for that will be. We’ll draw blood.”

Tess glanced around the place. There was a laptop, which TPD would put into evidence, and a printer.

Danny looked at the printer. “Hey, he’s got all the bells and whistles.”

Tess came over. The printer was older—a Hewlett-Packard Office Pro L7780.

“Wow, lots of features on this baby.”

“What do you mean?” Tess asked.

“Look at this—space for a whole bunch of micro card slots—anything you want. Wonder if he’s a photographer.”

“We’ve been all over this place,” Cheryl said. “He doesn’t have a camera.”

“Not even a digital one?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” Danny shook his head. “Sure is a lot of space.” He shrugged. “Have you checked his phone?”

“They did. I don’t remember them saying anything about a micro SD in there, but I’ll ask.”

“Maybe the laptop will tell the tale.”

Cheryl said, “If there’s a tale to tell.”

As Tess and Danny came back outside, someone called out to them. “Excuse me, could I talk to you a minute?”

Tess looked in the direction of the voice and saw a man approaching them from the road.

Danny said, “Hey, man, we’re not—”

“A minute’s all I ask.”

The guy was in his midthirties. By the way he walked, and the expression on his face, Tess discarded the notion that he was just a spectator. She tried to file him somewhere. He could be with another law enforcement agency, or he could be a reporter. He had no credentials that she could see. She glanced at Danny.

The man reached them. He was dressed casually—Docker-type slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. Casual or not, the clothes were several cuts above Macy’s. He had brown hair, was tanned and fit. Tess couldn’t see his eyes because he wore aviator shades.

“I’m Alec Sheppard,” he said, holding out his hand to Tess and then to Danny.

The guy had a way of taking over. It was subtle, but Tess knew it when she saw it. Not overbearing. He was used to starting the conversation and setting the tone—she guessed he was successful in whatever endeavor he pursued.

“Are you with homicide?” he asked.

“We’re homicide,” Danny said, “But with Santa Cruz County.”

Tess thought her partner sounded eager to please.

This guy Sheppard had a way of making you want to talk to him.

“Maybe you could help me anyway. Do you know what happened to Steve Barkman? This is a homicide scene?”

Tess said, “What’s your interest in this, Mr. Sheppard? Are you related to Mr. Barkman?”

“No. We’re friends. He was doing a job for me, and now I’m wondering if it got him killed.”

CHAPTER 18

Tess and Danny sat in on the interview at the Tucson Police Department midtown substation. The substation was located near the Reid Park Zoo—Tess thought this was appropriate, considering the many strange people who found themselves under the bank of fluorescent lights and in trouble. Cheryl Tedesco found a room big enough for the four of them. She rounded up sodas, water, and coffee and sat Alec Sheppard down at the postage-stamp table. Tess and Danny were strictly observers.

After her introduction on the tape recorder, Cheryl got down to it. “You told us that Steve Barkman was working for you?”

“Not officially. He was looking into something for me.”

“But you paid him?”

“I did, yes. I paid him expenses, and sent him some money for his time.”

“What was he looking into?”

“It’s a little hard to explain.” Sheppard was one of the few people who didn’t look washed out like aged cheese under the fluorescent lights. “This is going to sound outlandish. Steve was looking into an incident that happened to me a couple of weeks ago.”

“This was a job he was doing for you?”

“He wanted to do it as a favor to me, but I thought he should be paid.”

“Why would he do that?”

“We were roommates at the University of Arizona. A long time ago.”

“What work did he do?”

“He was looking for someone for me.”

“And who was he looking for?”

“He didn’t say.”

Tess tried not to react. She kept her face bland. Now Barkman was dead and the lead he was following might be dead with him. “Why didn’t he say?”

“He told me he wanted to be sure first.”

“And that’s why you’re here?”

“I wanted to see for myself if the person Steve was tracking was the guy I saw last month on a jump.”

“On a jump? What do you mean by ‘on a jump?’”

“I’m a skydiver.”

“And this guy Barkman is tracking, he’s also a skydiver?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you said you met him on a jump.”

“It’s a long story.”

It was going on five p.m. and the sun was lowering in the sky when Tess and Danny walked out to the parking lot.

Danny said, “So this guy Sheppard comes here because Steve Barkman has a hot tip on a guy who aimed his finger at him?”

“The guy aimed his finger at him right before he jumped out of a plane and his chute didn’t open. I can see why he’d come here.”

“You believe the guy.”

“What does he have to gain?”

“Hey, guera, if you don’t know…”

Tess knew what Danny was talking about: people who liked to attach themselves to investigations, who got a vicarious thrill from being in on what the police were doing. “He doesn’t strike me that way, Dan.”

Danny mumbled something.

“What did you say?”

“Guy bothers me, is all. What about this bullshit about a jogger putting a sticker on his chest?”

Tess had to admit that bothered her, as well. What an outlandish claim.