Paint It Black by P.J. Parrish Read Free Book Online Page B

over in Fort Myers Beach. Separate city, so it’s county jurisdiction,” Wainwright said flatly.
    Louis watched Vince use what looked like pruning shears to cut away the rib cage. “The newspaper said he was a tourist,” Louis said.
    Wainwright shook his head. “Not really. A computer software salesman. In town for a convention. Had a schedule in his pocket.”
    Vince was now carefully cutting away the last of the tissue holding the chest plate. The organs lay exposed now, an amorphic mass of pink and white. Louis stared at it, fascinated.
    â€œWhere’s his heart?” he asked.
    Vince pointed with his scalpel. “It’s covered by the pericardial sac.” He smiled. “Doesn’t look like you thought it would, does it?”
    â€œYou said the MO was the same as Tatum?” Louis asked.
    Wainwright nodded. “Shot in the leg, stabbed, then beaten. Show him, Doc.”
    Vince pulled the flap of skin off the face. Louis almost gagged. The face was bloated from being in the water but the right side was completely flattened.
    â€œHorribile dictu,” Vince said.
    â€œWe figure he was thrown in the water right after that,” Wainwright said.
    â€œSo he died of the stabbing, like Tatum?” Louis asked.
    â€œActually, it was asphyxia,” Vince said. “The guy drowned.”
    â€œDoc thinks he was still alive when he was dumped in the water,” Wainwright said.
    â€œBarely,” Vince said. “If he hadn’t been thrown in the water, he would have bled to death.”
    â€œWas he killed on the shore of this reserve?” Louis asked.
    Wainwright shook his head. “There is no shore, no beach. Out there, just mangroves. Bakers Point is pretty isolated. There’s one entrance road and no other way in except by boat. Not much of a tide there, kind of swamplike.”
    â€œWho found him?” Louis asked.
    â€œFishermen. He was in the water for a couple of days.”
    â€œProbably two,” Vince said. “Skin and fingernails separate after about eight days.” He held up one of the hands. “He had defense wounds on his hands. I suspect he was cut trying to ward off the knife. He might have even tried to grab the blade at one point.”
    Louis was staring at the gashes on the bloated left hand. He could see an indentation on the ring finger where Vince Carissimi had apparently cut off a wedding band.
    â€œYou match the knife yet on Tatum?” Wainwright asked, from behind Louis.
    â€œNope,” Vince answered. “I thought at first it was one of your garden-variety kitchen Henckels. Found a butcher knife in my catalog with the same twelve-inch blade. But Tatum’s wounds indicate the blade has an upward curve to it. It looks like these wounds are similar.”
    â€œSo it’s not your run-of-the-mill switchblade or pocketknife?” Louis asked.
    Vince shook his head. “Not even close.”
    Wainwright sighed. “Shit. Well, keep looking.”
    Louis’s eyes traveled the body, coming to rest on the wound on the thigh. “Do you know what gauge shotgun he used?” he asked.
    â€œThe shooter used blanks,” Vince said.
    Louis felt Wainwright come up behind him. “Blanks?” he said. “Damn. It looks like a real gunshot.”
    â€œThe explosion of gases leaves a wound just like pellets,” Vince said. “Tatum was the same, by the way. No pellets. Just the hole.”
    â€œWhy the hell would he use blanks?” Wainwright murmured.
    â€œMaybe he just wanted to disable him first,” Louis offered.
    Wainwright looked at him and nodded.
    Vince was slicing open a thin membrane in the chest. “Oh, by the way, I found something else strange. He had minute traces of paint on him. In the pores on the neck and face.”
    â€œPaint?” Wainwright said, blinking. “What kind of paint?”
    â€œI don’t know. It was black.”
    â€œNew?