Acquired Motives (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 2) by Sarah Lovett Read Free Book Online Page A

enough of his face left to identify him—it looks like your guy."
          "It's Randall." Matt nodded at the serologist. Hansi Gausser was Swiss-born and -educated and a perfectionist. Pronounce the "au" in Gausser like the "ou" in "house" and you were on his good side immediately. Pronounce it like the "a" in "gas"—as almost everyone did—and the Swiss mercenary soldier emerged. In spite of, or perhaps because of, his peculiarities, Gausser was a first-rate criminalist.
          And he was known for his olfactory tolerance.
          Matt tried his best not to breathe. Sylvia kept a bandanna over her mouth and nose. It was too early in the day for anyone but Gausser to brave the stink of burned, decomposing flesh. When the wind gusted from the south, the stench was unbearable.
          Sylvia stood clear of Gausser. It wasn't the smell that kept her outside the perimeter, or fear of contaminating the scene—the techs had already completed a grid search and most of their evidence collection. Her need for distance wasn't physical. She had wished death on Anthony Randall. However irrational the thought, she couldn't shake the nagging sense of complicity in his murder.
          " One for the Killers' Doctor ."
          Gausser pointed to a fire trench to the west of a stand of piñon. "Look at the layout: the edge of the burn was thirty feet from here and stretched all the way to Dark Canyon." He turned back to the body. "This tree trunk, and the duff around it, weren't even touched. The fire didn't jump the trench."
          Sylvia forced herself to ask the question: "Was his body burned postmortem?"
          "That's an interesting question," Gausser said evenly. "The autopsy results will tell us the answer."
          She swallowed, but the lump stayed lodged in the back of her throat. "If he was burned alive, how long did it take him to die?"
          Gausser was suddenly more animated. "That depends. A person who is immolated, who inhales corrosive fumes and superheated air—or even a fireball—will lose the tissues that line his airway. That could kill him, but most likely not instantly. Poisoning or air exclusion—a common problem in house fires—could be fast- or slow-acting. Loss of homeostasis—for instance, if you were to fry off all your skin—that's a burn unit issue." Gausser paused, then continued. "In cases of true immolation, like those Vietnamese monks who barbecued themselves to protest the war—it's usually not an immediate death. Seconds, minutes. . . very long minutes." Gausser chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "However, I think Anthony Randall got lucky."
          "What?"
          Gausser pointed to an area just behind what remained of Randall's left ear. "Gunshot to the head. Entry wound, exit wound. Notice the angle. The shot was probably too shallow to kill him outright, but it would have stunned him."
          Sylvia leaned forward to get a better view of the darkened area. She said, "A mercy shot?"
          "Whatever it was, lousy aim." Gausser tweezed a charred fragment and placed it carefully in a brand-new paint container. He shrugged. "Matt, I don't think your friend from the F.B.I. believed it was a mercy shot."
          Sylvia caught Matt's look of surprise.
          Gausser continued. "Special Agent Chaney left right before you all arrived."
          Matt took in the information without comment, but he was curious as to why a federal agent based in Las Cruces would show up at this particular crime scene.
          A gust of wind brought with it the stench of burned flesh; Matt groaned.
          Without looking up Gausser said, "Help yourself to my private stock of Charlie. In my back pocket."
          Although Matt had already applied a liberal coat of Vicks VapoRub around his nostrils, he accepted the offer and pulled out a worn plastic bottle. When he unscrewed the top he was overwhelmed by the sweet stink of Charlie