The Dark Man Read Free Page A

investigation. The events of two nights ago had prevented sleep from coming easily, and I’m dying to get back there to follow up, but the karma ain’t going to refill itself.
    Part of the idea is, I feel like if I do enough of these investigations, I could look at pitching a new show idea to some producers who may be willing to overlook the fallout from the demise of Graveyard: Classified , but until I’m ready for that day, I’m not about to step back into prime time until I can find some peace for Chelsea Hopper, and in turn, myself. What I caught the other night could lead to a breakthrough even though I haven’t had time to fully analyze its meaning.
    Ulie hasn’t been the same, either. The only thing I can do from here, three thousand miles away, is hope that my ex-wife, the aforementioned Melanie from wardrobe, is taking good care of him. She reports a tucked tail and whimpering, but he’s finally eating again.
    I say to Detective Thomas, “Guilty as charged. Although that’s probably not the best thing to say to a cop, huh?”
    Thankfully, he snickers. If I can get away with bad jokes, we might have a decent working relationship. Given what I do, it helps if my clients are easygoing and have an open mind. Judging by the fact that I’m here already, he’s either willing to try or has crossed the DMZ into desperation.
    “You’re off the hook, Mr. Ford. I sent a lot, I know. Anyway, so, whenever a naked body pops up in the water, you suspect what?”
    “Homicide. But if she was clothed, then my first thought would be an accident or suicide.”
    “Exactly. Could be the natural wear of the currents pulling her clothes off, but more than likely, she comes out like that, she went in like that. When her husband had reported her missing, the guys looked for her and came up with nothing. Missing Persons monitored her credit cards and bank accounts because sometimes these women—or men—they get into drugs, or they just want to be gone. Maybe they finally leave an abusive relationship behind, or they ran off with the gardener—or in this case, the Gardner. Pardon the pun.”
    His ambivalence doesn’t sit well in my gut, but I suppose after all he’s seen, it’s just another day on the assembly line.
    “And you found something that told you otherwise?” I ask.
    “Upon deeper inspection, once the ME got past all the—you know what? I’m going to spare you the wet details. The contusions around her neck showed signs of strangulation. At first glance, you might have suspected it could have been something underwater. Seaweed. Stray rope from an anchor. Maybe she’s out skinny-dipping, knocks her head against a rock, she sinks, the current drags her into something, and that’s all she wrote.”
    “I’m guessing that wasn’t the case.”
    “You’d be guessing correctly. The bruises revealed what we consistently see in these types of murders, and that’s a really strong grip.” Detective Thomas cups his hands around an invisible neck, and I have to say, it freaks me out when he grinds his teeth as if he’s actually performing the act itself. I’ve battled demons with a crucifix, side by side with terrified clergymen, but this gives me serious goosebumps. It’s almost like he’s—never mind. I’m on edge after the other night. It’s nothing.
    “Were you able to tell, say, the size of the hands, or maybe the strength of the squeeze? Meaning, like, male or female?”
    “Trust me, Mr. Ford, we went over all that during the preliminary investigations. That’s the simple stuff. If you catch the deceased at the proper time, you might have a better chance of determining something like that on a good day while pulling a few miracle cards, but not after a body has been in the bay for over a week. We were lucky the ME was able to come up with what he did.”
    I sit back in my chair and put my finger to my lips, thinking. I’m not necessarily or inherently built with the deductive reasoning skills of a