"No." Reggie paused as if to think it over. "He was small-time, usually just taking what he could carry out in a pillowcase." He added, "But you never know, do you? I bet the people said the same thing about your daddy before he hooked up with them fellas who shot my uncle Dave."
Sara saw Jeffrey's throat work as he swallowed.
Reggie continued, "You never know what some people are capable of. One minute they're stealing lawn mowers, the next minute they're murdering a sheriff's deputy in cold blood."
Sara felt the need to say something, though she could not think what. Jeffrey's fists were clenched like he wanted nothing more than to beat Reggie to a pulp. Making things worse, Reggie tilted his chin up, practically begging Jeffrey to take a swing.
Sara asked, "Reggie, would you mind taking notes?"
Reggie took his time breaking eye contact with Jeffrey. "No, ma'am," he said, taking out his notebook. He glanced back at Jeffrey. "Anything to help."
While he wrote, Sara went back through her findings, not wanting to track down Paul for his earlier notes and delay leaving this god-awful town a minute longer than necessary. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jeffrey staring at Luke Swan and wondered what he was thinking. He had not told her that the shooting his father was involved in resulted in the death of a cop. Reggie's words had obviously hit their mark, and she could feel Jeffrey's anger melt into a sadness that felt almost like a fourth presence in the room.
The rest of the autopsy was as routine as was possible with any gunshot victim. There were no remarkable findings and no clues that pointed to anything other than what Robert had told them last night. Long-term drug use was obvious, as was a fatty diet that left deposits of calcium in Swan's heart. His liver was larger than expected, but considering Sara found alcohol in the man's stomach, it made sense. As for the missing bullet, maybe Reggie had overlooked it at the house or maybe it was buried deeper in the brain. Sara had not opened Swan's head, wanting to leave the option of X rays open should Hoss later be persuaded to actually investigate the case.
Sara was closing the Y-incision with the usual baseball stitch when she remembered to ask about clothing.
Reggie supplied, "They're in a bag at the station."
"They're not here?" Sara asked, thinking that was odd.
"Hoss took them for evidence this morning," Reggie said, flipping back through his notes. "Pair of twenty-nine-thirty Levis, pair of Nike sneakers and white socks, wallet with six bucks in it and a license."
"No underwear?" Sara asked.
He reread the notes. "Guess not."
"Car keys?"
"He never drove himself anywhere. Lost his license on a DUI coupla three years back."
"DUI doesn't mean he stopped driving," Jeffrey pointed out.
Reggie shrugged. "Never caught him on the street. Car belonged to his grandma, anyway. She's crazy as a loon. Hoss caught her driving the wrong way a couple of times, then she ran through that stop sign over on Henderson and tore off the front end. Even if he wanted to drive after that, the car wouldn't start."
Sara took off her gloves. "Is there somewhere I can sit to write out my report?"
"I'll go fetch Deacon," Reggie offered. "I'm sure he won't mind you using his office."
Sara went to the sink to wash her hands, feeling Jeffrey watch her every move. She tried to catch his eye again, but Deacon came into the room and he looked away.
"Well," Deacon said, shuffling through some papers. "I guess these are probably what you're used to."
Sara glanced down at the autopsy forms. "Yes, thanks."
"I usually fill them out in here," Deacon added, rolling a chair over to the counter by the sink.
"That's fine."
Jeffrey said, "I'll be out by the car when you're ready," and left the room.
Deacon said, "I'll leave you to it."
Sara pulled up the chair and Reggie walked over, looking over her shoulder as she wrote in her name and the various details the state required. She recorded Luke Swan's address and home phone number, then the various weights and measurements of organs and other landmarks she found on the body. She was writing her conclusion when Reggie cleared his throat. Sara looked up, waiting for him to speak.
For some reason, she anticipated a treatise against Jeffrey. What she got was, "This look pretty straightforward to you?"
Sara tried to measure her words, not knowing whether or not to trust the man. "I don't think any shooting is straightforward."
"That's true," he agreed, his tone just as cautious as hers. "How long you known Jeffrey Tolliver?"
For some reason, Sara felt the need to take up for Jeffrey. "A while. Why?"
"Just asking," he said.
"Was there something else?"
He shook his head no and she went back to the report.
A few minutes later, Reggie cleared his throat again, and she looked up, expectant.
He said, "The Beretta takes seven rounds in the magazine."
"Then you should have found five bullets in the magazine."
"Six if he had one in the chamber."
Sara waited, thinking this was like pulling teeth. "How many did you find?"
"Six."
She put down the pen. "Reggie, are you trying to tell me something?"
His jaw worked just like Jeffrey's did when he was angry. Sara was getting tired of drawing out information from reluctant men.
She said, "If you've got something to say, then say it."
Instantly, she knew she had pushed him in the wrong direction, but Sara was no longer worried about stepping on people's feelings. "Reggie, if you think there's something suspicious about this shooting, then you need to speak up. All I can do is fill in these forms. I'm not a cop and I'm not your mama."
"Lady," Reggie began, his voice shaking with anger, "you don't know what you're getting yourself into here."
"That sounds an awful lot like a threat."
"It's a warning," he said. "You seem like a nice enough person, but I don't trust the company you keep."
"You've made that abundantly clear."
"You might want to think about why people keep warning you off him." He tipped his hat to Sara as he headed toward the door. "Ma'am."
Chapter Twelve
The heat slammed into Sara like a brick as soon as she opened the door to leave the funeral home. Overhead, she could tell a storm was coming, but the rolling clouds did nothing to cool the air. Her skin seemed to contract for a few seconds before it adjusted, and by the time she got to Jeffrey standing by the car, she could feel sweat dripping down her back. Despite this, she told him, "Let's go for a walk."
He did not ask questions as they made their way through the cemetery behind the building. There was no breeze as they climbed a sloping hill, and Sara felt slightly dizzy from the heat. Still, she kept going, absently reading markers as they walked toward the wooded area at the rear of the cemetery. There was a gate in the fence, and Jeffrey held it open for her.
The sky darkened even more as they walked into the forest, and Sara did not know if it was from the canopy of trees overhead or the impending thunderstorm. Either way, the temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees in the shade, and for that she was thankful.
They walked along a narrow path, Jeffrey ahead of her pushing back branches and kicking debris out of the way. Birds called overhead, and she heard a buzzing sound that could belong to a cricket or a snake, depending on how much she let her imagination get away from her.
Finally, she broke the silence. "I know this is a crazy question considering we're in Alabama, but has anyone thought to ask why Luke Swan wasn't wearing a shirt?"
Jeffrey pulled a twig off a low-hanging branch. "I don't think anybody's asking much of anything." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "There weren't any footprints outside the window." Seemingly as an afterthought, he added, "Of course, the ground was dry. You could make the argument that nothing would leave footprints."