Icy Betrayal Read Free Page B

just a bit of gray sneaking in at the temples. He was physically fit and did his best to keep his waist at a respectable thirty-four inches. He had a true command presence, especially in uniform, and women all took notice of him when he walked into the room.
    He had been a star athlete in college, excelling in both baseball and football. He ultimately chose football and was the starting safety for the University of Washington for all four of his years there. Following his graduation in 1995, he entered the NFL draft and was selected by the Jacksonville Jaguars. He was never signed to a contract but was proud of the plaque he had hanging on the wall of his office. “ Mr. Irrelevant” it read, something instantly recognized by those who followed professional football closely. The significance of being named Mr. Irrelevant meant McCallister had been the very last person selected that year in the NFL draft. He kept the plaque on his wall to remind himself that he had come a long way and that good things happen to people who never give up.

FIVE

    T he Rocklin County morgue was located in a nondescript bunker-like building a half-mile from the RC Justice Center. Unlike the morgues featured on television crime shows, the facility had low ceilings and bright fluorescent lighting. That day just a handful of the living were inside.
    “We owe you for this one, Doc. I know you’re trying to get out of town,” Larry Voss told the coroner.
    Dr. David Mora was hours from departing for a pathology conference in Miami. He wasn’t looking forward to the conference as much as the sunshine and warmth.
    As per RCSO policy, at least one member of the accident investigation team was required to be present for victim autopsies, and it was usually Voss.
    “I’ll have a cold one for you on South Beach, Larry,” Mora said as he began carving a “Y” incision into the deceased.
    “I really appreciate this, Dave. We got a call on this one yesterday morning and there’s a lot that doesn’t add up.”
    “No sweat, Larry. Besides, with the snow we’re expecting my flight will probably get delayed.”
    Dr. Mora made the incision, which stretched from each shoulder to the sternum and down to within a few inches of the waistline. He pulled the skin back slowly with the help of a blade that sliced the connective tissue that had, until very recently, kept George Lombard’s skin attached to his body. Next, he pulled back the flesh, exposing the inside of the abdomen. He paused and peered closely at a yellow mass. “Well, that’s interesting,” Dr. Mora said.

    It was nearly three in the afternoon as Mia sat at her desk trying to finish up some old accident reports. There was enough caffeine in her bloodstream from the double latte she had just finished to make her jump at the buzz of her cell phone. Caller ID told her the call was from Larry Voss.
    “Hi, Larry.”
    “Hey, Mia, Dr. Mora found a few surprises with our accident victim yesterday—I think I need to give you a rundown. You gonna be around for the next half hour?”
    “Is this going to wreck my weekend?” Mia asked.
    “Yeah, it kinda looks that way.”

    It wasn’t easy getting time with Captain Mick McCallister, but Mia lucked out and caught him in the break room doing battle with the soda machine. He’d put in his dollar, but the machine was refusing to deliver his Diet Coke.
    “Damn it,” he muttered.
    “Captain, have you got a minute?”
    McCallister sighed in defeat.
    “Sure, come on in,” he responded, nodding towards his office just around the corner. “This about your fatal TC?”
    “Yep.”
    Mick McCallister was charged with overseeing all RCSO investigations. His office was small but had a window with a view of the parking lot and snowy grounds of the Justice Center.
    “Have a seat. Whatcha got?”
    “A lot of stuff that’s not adding up,” she said.
    “Like what?”
    Mia looked down at her notes and began to recite the facts of the case.
    “The victim