Fate of the Fallen Read online

  She turned the light on, the thin beam cutting into the dark shadows, and she shined it on the body. She recognized the face and form, the silver bracelet on one wrist and the Rolex on the other. The silver Sphinx pin was speckled red. It was Sinclair, all right, a bloody halo around his head.

  In his hand he clutched a revolver.

  Cooper turned away from the grisly sight, swallowing the bile rising in her throat, and stuffing her keychain back into her pocket. A breeze kicked up, rustling the leaves. Earlier the sound had been pleasant. Now it was ominous.

  She returned to Nathan and Christine, who sat on the path. Cooper knelt down beside Nathan and said quietly, “It looks like he killed himself.”

  Nathan swallowed hard, probably fighting the same nausea Cooper felt. He held Christine tightly, his protective instincts taking over. He rested his chin on top of her head, keeping his voice low and soothing for Christine’s sake. “We need to get security.”

  “I’ll go,” Cooper said. “You stay with your sister.”

  Ignoring the deepening shadows and trying to dismiss the image of Sinclair covered in blood, Cooper ran. Around the willow tree, up the path, past the larkspur and lilies. The trail was deserted at this late hour, as the people gathered at the amphitheater. Cooper’s heart pounded hard in her chest, the rhythm matching her footfalls on the path. Finally she broke past the tree line and into the open. With tunnel vision, she focused on the first aid/security tent and continued her run. Somehow, the crowd parted before her. She burst into the tent.

  “There’s been an accident.” She tried to speak calmly, but through her panting it sounded just as terrified as she really was.

  The security guard lounged in a camping chair, his “Security” baseball cap sitting on his lap. He stood slowly, running his fingers through his white hair. “What’s the problem, ma’am?”

  Cooper stole a quick glance around the tent. A handful of people sat in the first aid half of the tent, awaiting treatment for cuts, sprains, and sunburns. A few more loitered outside. There was no need to alarm everyone. Cooper stepped closer to the guard and kept her voice low. “A man is dead.”

  The guard’s demeanor changed immediately. He stood taller. His shoulders straightened. “Dead?”

  “Looks like he shot himself.”

  The guard donned his cap. “Show me.”

  Cooper led him back to where Nathan and Christine sat on the trail and pointed him toward the body nestled in among the flowers. While Cooper waited with Nathan and Christine, the guard pulled a flashlight from his utility belt and stepped carefully off the path. Cooper looked away as he shined the light on Sinclair.

  She arched a questioning brow at Nathan to wordlessly ask how Christine was doing. Nathan replied with a grim expression and a shrug.

  Meanwhile, the security guard got on his radio. “Jim, you need to get out here. And call 911. Tell them we’ve got a body.”

  The guard turned off his flashlight and went to the three waiting on the path. “Who found him?”

  Christine timidly raised her hand.

  The guard knelt in front of her. “The name’s Pete. What’s yours?”

  “Christine.”

  “Christine? I’ve got a granddaughter named Christina. It’s a good name.”

  He paused, as if waiting for a response, but Christine remained silent. He continued. “Christine, did you touch anything? Move anything?”

  Christine shook her head, then stopped. “I touched his neck. I checked for a pulse.” She glanced at the shadows shrouding Sinclair. “The way he looked—all the blood—it was probably a stupid thing to do, but I . . . I . . .”

  “It’s all right,” Pete said. “That was a good thing to do. You were right to check. The police are on their way now, so I won’t ask you for the whole story. You’d just have to repeat everything.” He turned to Cooper. “We haven’t officially met.”

  “I’m Cooper,” she replied. “And this is Nathan.”

  “Wish I could say it’s nice to meet you, but considering the circumstances . . .” He let the thought trail off as another security guard came around the bend. “Excuse me.”

  He walked toward the other guard, and the two spoke quietly. Cooper tried to avoid looking at Sinclair’s shadow-ensconced form, but her eyes were drawn to it. At first she could just make out the shape of his body. As the light fell away, all she could see was his feet. Brown hiking shoes. Dirty. Well-worn.

  Cooper wasn’t sure how much time passed. Darkness fell, as more security guards arrived. They spoke in whispers, stealing glances at the body. One brought a thin blanket to Christine, and she wrapped it around her shoulders, holding it tightly, like armor. A nearby owl added his persistent “Who?” to the chorus of chatter, and a few minutes later the wailing of police sirens joined in.

  Shortly thereafter, the security guards moved aside to allow the police through. Crime scene techs flooded the area, and a coroner toting a white body bag went straight to Sinclair.

  “Ms. Lee?” At the sound of the familiar voice, Cooper turned. Inspector McNamara stepped past an officer stretching yellow caution tape from one tree to another, his eyes on Cooper as he approached. “What are you doing here?”

  “Moral support,” she replied. She stood and wiped the dirt off her pants. “Nathan’s sister found the body.”

  The inspector’s face softened. He may have been a hard-boiled detective, but when dealing with people in pain, he was a teddy bear . . . a gun-toting teddy bear. He held out a hand to Christine. “Are you the sister?”

  Christine nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to help her stand. “I’m Christine Dexter.”

  “I’m Inspector McNamara, and I’d like to ask you a few questions. Is that all right?”

  Another nod.

  McNamara produced a little notebook from his jacket pocket. “Now then, Ms. Dexter, how did you come to find the body?”

  “I was looking for him.”

  “So you knew him?”

  “He’s my boss.” Christine couldn’t help but glance over at the corpse, and when she did, she shuddered.

  McNamara made a note and then met her eye. “I’m very sorry for your loss, and I’m also sorry to have to ask you to do this. But I need you to tell me what happened.”

  Christine tugged at the blanket around her shoulders. “We spent all day at the park,” she began. “Hiking, swimming, doing all kinds of team-building exercises. In the afternoon, Sinclair—that’s his name, Sinclair Gordon—he built in some free time for us in his schedule. He wanted us to eat together, but we got to go wherever we wanted for a couple of hours.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Around four. We split up. When we met to get supper—around six—Sinclair wasn’t there. We thought maybe he wanted to give us time to bond without the boss around. It sounded like something he’d do. After a while, he still hadn’t shown. He wasn’t answering his cell. We were worried, so we decided to find him. We split up again. Everyone had an idea about where he might be.”

  “What made you check the trail?”

  “He’d mentioned earlier how serene it was out here, how perfect for relaxing after a long day. I thought he might have come back during his free time and lost track of the hour.”

  “So how did you find him?”

  “I was just . . . walking. Not a care. Not too worried anymore, now that we were looking. I figured we’d find him, and then we’d watch the musicians. I wasn’t even really thinking about Sinclair at all as I looked. I was thinking about what I needed to do when I got home tonight. I came around that big willow, and . . .”

  The words caught in her throat. McNamara said nothing, giving her time to compose herself.

  After a moment, she continued. “At first, I didn’t realize what I was seeing. He’s sort of tucked into the brush. Other people probably passed him by, not even paying attention to something so far off the path.”

  “Was anyone else with you when you found him?”
<
br />   “No. No one.”

  “Did you see anybody in the area at the time?”

  “No. It was so quiet. I thought I was in for a nice easy walk . . .” She sniffed back more tears.

  McNamara turned and studied the ground around Sinclair. “Did anyone approach the body?”

  Taking Nathan’s hand absentmindedly, Christine nodded. “I checked for a heartbeat. I saw the gun in his hand.”

  Cooper glanced down at Christine’s hands and saw the blood. Now it was on Nathan’s hands, too.

  “Did anyone else approach him?” McNamara asked, this time looking at Cooper and Nathan.

  Cooper replied, “Nathan didn’t, but I checked to make sure it was really Sinclair. The guard stepped close, too. That was it.”

  The inspector stared at the ground around the body again. “Interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “Looks like someone moved around a lot. Actually, it looks like more than one set of footprints in the dirt . . . like there might have been a struggle.”

  “A struggle? Didn’t he shoot himself?”

  McNamara didn’t respond, instead focusing on Christine again. “Tell me what happened next.”

  Christine continued. “I really didn’t notice the blood until it was on me, and then I . . . I . . .” She fought for breath as she relived the moment. Cooper put her arm around Christine’s shoulders.

  Christine took a deep breath. “The more I looked, the more I realized there was blood everywhere. On his clothes, on the ground, on the trees.” She swallowed back revulsion. “I was so scared. I panicked and ran. That’s when I found Nathan and Cooper.”

  Inspector McNamara turned his eyes to Cooper. “And what were you two doing out on the path so late? Didn’t you want to get seats?”

  “We came with the whole Bible study group,” Cooper replied. “We decided to go for a walk while they saved our seats. We wanted a chance to talk.”

  “Did you notice anything . . . off?”

  Cooper looked to Nathan, who shook his head. “Everything was normal at first,” he said. “Quiet, but normal. It wasn’t until we heard a noise that we thought something might not be right. I thought it was an animal on the path—something big—and we were about to get a guard . . . in case it was a predator of some kind.”

  “I take it the noise was your sister.”

  “She was running . . . panicked. She tried to tell us what happened, but she couldn’t get the words out. She led us down here to the body.”

  Cooper jumped in. “Then I went and got the guard.”

  “I understand,” McNamara said, making a note on his notepad. “What time was it when you found him, would you say?”

  Christine thought about the question. “I’m not sure. Six thirty? Six forty?”

  McNamara turned to the coroner kneeling beside Sinclair’s body. “Hey, Lincoln!”

  The coroner looked up.

  “How long until we have time of death?”

  The coroner pointed to Sinclair’s watch. “Got it for you right now. His watch hit a rock when he fell, and the face busted open. Stopped at five fifty-five.”

  Christine went pale. “We split up at four for free time. We met again at a little after six to eat.”

  “So your coworkers were separated at the time of death.” McNamara wrote in his notepad again. “Ms. Dexter, I’d like to get you to the station. We’ll get you cleaned up, give you some hot coffee, if you’d like. And we can get your official statement, with all the little details.”

  Nathan helped his sister stand. “Inspector, I’d like to go with her, if it’s all right. I’ll stay out of the way, but . . .”

  McNamara held up his hands to quiet Nathan. “No need to explain, Mr. Dexter. Of course you can come.”

  Nathan slipped his arms around Cooper. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “You’re a good brother.”

  He responded with a sad smile. “Thanks. But I wish I didn’t need to be today . . . not like this.”

  “I know. If I can do anything, just give me a call.”

  McNamara turned to one of his officers. “Start taking down the names of everyone in this park—staff, visitors, musicians, food servers, artists. We’re gonna have to talk to all of ’em over the next couple weeks.”

  The officer hurried off, and McNamara turned back to Cooper. “That includes you, Ms. Lee.”

  “I’m glad to help however I can,” Cooper replied. “Just let me know when you need me. I’m sure the rest of the Bible study group will feel the same way.”

  “I appreciate that. Sometimes folks don’t want to talk to the police, and they make it as difficult as possible.”

  Cooper shrugged. “Those folks probably have something to hide. What about Christine’s coworkers? Will you talk to them?”

  McNamara’s jaw tightened. With strained patience, he replied, “I do know how to do my job, Ms. Lee. I’ll have an officer explain to her coworkers what happened and take down some basic information. I’ll interview them tomorrow.”

  Inspector McNamara led Nathan and Christine from the crime scene. With one last look at the body, Cooper followed. As they emerged from the woods, Cooper spotted the rest of their group waiting behind a second boundary of yellow crime scene tape. She hurried to them, and they greeted her with a group hug.

  “Cooper, what happened?” Trish asked. Her eyes were wide as she looked from Cooper to the police tape and beyond it. “We saw the police and the paramedics.”

  “Nobody would tell us what’s going on,” Quinton added. “Had us pretty scared.”

  Savannah nodded, holding Jake’s hand. “We thought you might have been hurt.”

  “We’re just fine,” Cooper assured them. “Dazed, but fine. I’m so sorry we worried you. I figured you’d be enjoying the music.”

  “The band is waiting to go on until things calm down back here,” Bryant replied. “They wouldn’t say what happened, except that there was an accident. And they wouldn’t let on who was involved.”

  “It was Christine’s boss, Sinclair,” Cooper explained. She lowered her voice. “He’s dead. Looks like suicide.”

  The revelation was met with a collective gasp.

  “It gets worse. Christine found him.”

  “Oh, that poor girl!” Savannah said. “Is she all right?”

  “As well as can be expected. She’s pretty shaken up. Nathan went with her and McNamara to the station.”

  A whine from the speaker system interrupted, drawing the group’s attention toward the amphitheater. Onstage, a man with a long, narrow beard stood at the microphone. “Folks, it looks like we’re gonna be postponed a little longer due to that accident, so please be patient. And if you need to leave, be sure to talk to one of the police officers in the parking lot first. They want to get everybody’s information so they can talk to you later, if need be. They’ve assured me it’s just procedure. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s all completely normal.”

  Cooper’s stomach turned at his words. What was going on was anything but normal.

  “I don’t feel much like bluegrass anymore,” Quinton said, his attitude markedly somber against the backdrop of the festival. “Anybody else want to get out of here?”

  • • •

  When Cooper pulled into the IHOP parking lot, it was late, but she wasn’t tired. Not in the least. Adrenaline and anxiety had given her more energy than any amount of coffee could—an edgy energy, true, but very robust.

  Trish and Savannah had ridden with her to the restaurant, talking the whole way about anything and everything except for what had happened to Sinclair. As soon as they got settled in at IHOP, Cooper would share everything that had happened, but until then she wanted to think about something else. She parked on the side of the restaurant and, leaving her daddy’s camera on the front seat of her truck, she and her passengers went into the restaurant as Quinton’s car pulled into a space near the door. The hostess led them to a corner booth in the back. The perfect place, co
nsidering what they had to talk about.

  When the whole group was seated, their waitress hurried out of the kitchen. Wearing heavy red earrings and a wide smile with lipstick to match her jewelry, she took their drink orders before leaving them alone again.

  Cooper stared absentmindedly at the menu. She couldn’t concentrate enough to sort through the options. And now that no one was actively trying to distract her, her thoughts wandered down the path, back to Sinclair and to that horrible moment when Christine came running around the bend. When she closed her eyes, Cooper could see the shadow of the body lying among the flowers and the red stain on Christine’s hands. She could see the silver bracelet and matching pin spattered with blood. She could see the gun, the wound, the trampled ground around his body.

  This was meant to be a fun day, a perfect day. It was supposed to be a time of fellowship, music, art, and laughter. It most certainly wasn’t supposed to be the scene of a suicide.

  When the waitress returned with a couple of coffee carafes for the table, everyone ordered appetizers to share. As soon as the waitress walked away, Savannah leaned across the table toward Cooper. “Do you want to talk about it? We’re here to listen if you do.”

  “I don’t want to burden you with the details,” Cooper replied.

  “You wouldn’t be burdening us at all!”

  “As a matter of fact,” Quinton added, “I’d like to hear the whole story. Sounds kinda fishy to me.”

  “Fishy?” Cooper repeated. “How does it sound fishy?”

  “A fellow goes to the bluegrass festival to kill himself? Seems like an odd place to do it . . . although I guess I don’t have much experience dealing with suicide. Maybe it’s a perfectly normal place . . .”

  “No, I agree.” Cooper rubbed her temple hard. She could feel a stress headache coming on. “It is strange. I hadn’t thought about it, but why would he go to the festival to commit suicide? Why plan a whole mini work retreat and then kill yourself?”

  Jake responded with a shrug. “I guess when you’re that down, you don’t necessarily think about where you’re going to . . . pull the trigger. You just do it. Probably made sense to him somehow.”