Read an Excerpt
Dogged Pursuit
Chapter One
The body was bloated, glistening with lake water, and had a grotesque, waxy appearance, blotched gray and white. I'd never seen anything like it and hoped I never would again. It lay naked on the landward edge of the dock and stank to high heaven — an awful combination of the sick smell of dead flesh and the sodden perfume of fish, algae, and lake water.
I had parked about fifty yards away and was glad I'd had the foresight to buy a pack of menthols before making the drive up 104. I opened the cellophane wrapper with trembling hands — praying this monstrosity wasn't Jen — took out one of the cigarettes, broke it apart, then wedged the pieces, with the factory-cut ends first, into my nostrils.
There were six State Police divers in black wetsuits, having a mug-up (Maine-speak for a coffee break) by the boat ramp, off-wind from the corpse. Why six divers, I wondered.
And, God, I hope that isn't Jen.
Jamie was kneeling next to the body and had her back to me. I couldn't tell if she'd heard me drive up or not, though I assumed she hadn't or she would have turned to greet me.
Five crime scene analysts were hard at work, including a photographer I knew by her first name, Gretchen. She was a pretty, statuesque black woman about Jamie's height (Jamie's 5'11"), who once had a crush on me. Four uniformed troopers and two detectives were also on hand. They were standing around not doing much except trying to ignore the smell.
A trooper came over to stop me but a detective said, "That's okay, Congressman Schiff. He's official."
I wondered at the trooper's odd title, thenrecognized the other man. "Hey, Sinclair. How's it going?"
Jamie turned and looked up at me, shielding her eyes.
"Well, other than the smell," said Sinclair, "I guess I'm okay. How about you?"
Jamie interrupted our reunion with a loud, happy laugh. "What the hell have you got in your nose, Jack?"
I shrugged, feeling silly. "It's an old cop trick."
She stood up, casually dusted off one knee, and laughed some more. She was wearing chinos and a maroon turtleneck sweater under a barn jacket the color of brown mustard. Her dark chestnut hair, which she usually wore long, had been cut recently to shoulder length. She said it would look better with her wedding dress. I didn't see the need and was still having trouble getting used to the change.
"Can you breathe like that?" she asked, smiling.
"A little, though I can still smell the body."
She sighed, and tilted her head toward the corpse. "Yeah, it's pretty bad. It could be a lot worse, though."
I wondered how. And hoped it wasn't Jen. I said, "Any idea yet on how long she's been in the water?"
She shook her head. "Not pinpoint. My guess is probably since late spring."
I breathed a sigh of relief. Good, it wasn't Jen.
"Could be even longer," she said. "Some of the fatty tissue has converted to adipocere, and it takes at least five months for that to happen. It also keeps the smell down."
I nodded as if I knew what she was talking about. Or as if I agreed about the smell. "Any ID?"
"Nope. She's a Jane Doe for now."
"Tough break," I said, then looked at the uniformed cop — who was staring at me. "So, you're a congressman and a cop?"
He gave me a sour look and started to say something but Sinclair interrupted him with a snort. "Nah, his parents played a mean trick on him. Congressman's his first name."
He stuck out his hand. "Glad to meet you, Detective Field. I've heard a lot about you. And call me Dave."
"Okay. And call me Jack. I'm not really a detective anymore, no matter what my fiancée thinks. So, you never thought of going down to the courthouse to have it changed?"
He gave a resigned shrug. "Wouldn't make much difference now. People'd still razz me about what it used to be."
"Yeah," I said, backing upwind of the body, toward the far end of the dock, "but you could at least upgrade yourself. You could be Senator Schiff. Or Governor."
"Good idea, Jack," said Sinclair, elbowing Schiff. "I think I'll start calling myself Pope Sinclair."
"See what I mean?" muttered Schiff.
Jamie said, "Jack, now what are you doing?"
"The breeze . . ." I said, walking a few more steps away. "I want to get upwind of the body." I looked out at the water, which was lit by the late afternoon sun. I noticed a bright spot in the middle of a densely wooded area across the lake, thinking at first it was an autumn leaf fluttering in the breeze, but then it moved deliberately, like someone adjusting a car mirror, and I knew it was sunlight reflecting off glass.
Jamie sighed. "You really are a wimp about this."
"What?" I turned. "You mean the smell? It isn't that. Well, it isn't just that. The thing is, I don't want it getting into my clothes, not to mention my hair and beard. It's going to drive the dogs nuts if they pick it up on me when I get back to the kennel. Haven't you ever worked on a floater before?"
She gave me a pointed look, then gave the slightest tilt of her head toward the rest of the law enforcement personnel. I guess she didn't want them thinking she was a novice.
"Sorry," I said. "Any idea yet on the cause of death?"
"I'm not sure. There are some marks on her chest. They could be knife wounds, they could be postmortem bites from the fish in the lake." The breeze kicked up and she crinkled her nose. "Got any more cigarettes? And is your stress level about the wedding so bad that you've taken up smoking?"
Dogged Pursuit. Copyright © by Lee Kelley. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
