The Angel of Death by Alane Ferguson Read Free Book Online

the ceiling. "Twelve hours.”

    Twelve hours, Cameryn thought. Hardly long enough to digest a meal . She took in the room that had now become a time capsule and wondered how it must have looked the night before. No lights were left on in the room; she knew nothing had yet been moved or changed by Sheriff Jacobs. When Mr. Oakes died, darkness must have hidden his dresser, with its display of pewter-colored candles mounted on black onyx.

    She took a picture of the framed Indian arrowhead collection, which hung on the wall next to a painting of Red Mountain. All of these, she realized, were clues to her teacher’s inner world, snapshots of a man she couldn’t begin to know. A man who had died alone, in this room, with only the wilted flowers as a witness.

    Her father cleared his throat. “All right. I’m going to bag his hands and flip him so we can see what’s on the other side. But before I do, I’d like to ask your opinion, Cammie. What do you see?”

    Sheriff Jacobs snorted. “Cameryn’s not going to know anything about this.”

    “She’s assistant to the coroner, and I’m asking for her thoughts,” her father replied coolly. Patrick turned to Cameryn and asked, “Any theories or observations?” He looked at her with complete seriousness, as though Cameryn would have something of value to say. In Silverton she had a reputation as a reader and researcher in the forensic field, but that was only from studying books and forensic materials posted on the Internet.

    This was different. This was real life, without footnotes. She noticed that one of Sheriff Jacobs’s booties had come off his heel, and it puffed around the toe of his shoe like a cupcake. The sheriff crossed his arms over his chest, a move that obscured his badge.

    Cameryn lowered her camera and wrapped its plastic strap around her wrist, trying to buy time. “Well, uh, let me see,” she began. “I guess we’ve talked a lot about his eyes—”

    “We won’t have an answer to that until the autopsy,” her father said. “Anything else?”

    “I have to say I’m kind of surprised by the position of the body.”

    “The position. What about it?” asked Jacobs.

    “I don’t know—I guess the way he’s got his arms and his legs all drawn up. It looks like what happens to victims when they’re burned, but it’s obvious from the condition of Mr. Oakes’s skin that he hasn’t been. Burned, I mean. See that?” She pointed to where her teacher clutched the sheet in his hand. His fingers had blanched white, except at the tips, which were a deep purple. “There’s nothing that shows scorching on the bed or bedding or anything else. And check out the sheets. They’re pulled into his fist, which means he died in this bed. Whatever happened, it happened here.”

    “Well, you sure haven’t lost your powers of observation, ” her father said, looking pleased. He shot the sheriff a look before adding, “And you’re right about the positioning of the body. He’s in a classic pugilistic stance.”

    “How’s that?” Sheriff Jacobs asked. One of his eyebrows rose from behind his glasses as he looked from Cameryn to her father.

    “Pugilist—it means a fighter’s pose. It’s like Cammie said, when a person dies in a fire they pull their limbs up just like we see Oakes doing here.”

    “That’s fine and dandy, except for the obvious fact that this man wasn’t burned in no fire,” Jacobs snapped. “So we’re back to a big fat I-don’t-know.” The sheriff pulled on his long nose and sniffed. “We’re all just chasing our tails here. So I’m thinking I was right to put up the crime-scene tape in the first place. It might not be anything, but for now, I’m gonna treat it like a possible crime’s been committed, least until I know otherwise. Agreed?”

    It was at that moment that Cameryn’s cell phone rang, playing the theme of The Lord of the Rings in silvery notes. She ignored it, but her father told her to go ahead and