Even the Wind: A Jonas Brant Thriller Read Online Free

Maggots gorged on the liquifying remains of her flesh.
      ``Jesus,’’ Clatterback repeated, his voice muffled by the mask. ``I don’t know. I….’’
      ``Take a deep breath.’’
      Brant crouched for a better look and watched as one of the other field investigators prodded the woman’s cheek. The skin rippled with movement.
      ``Larva,’’ the investigator said.
      ``Time of death?’’ Brant asked the man, standing and sniffing as he watched the investigator carefully survey the body. The stench was overwhelming, the air fetid and heavy.  
      ``ME’ll need to have a look. I wouldn’t want to guess.’’
      The investigator returned to the body. A woman from the Medical Examiner’s office had arrived and was standing off to the side, deep in conversation with the EMT Jennifer Daley.  
       ``Homeless?   A mugging?’’ Clatterback asked Brant, a hopeful naivety in his voice.
        ``Doubt it. Look at that face. A lot of fury there.’’  
       Brant surveyed the scene, looking for telltale signs of a mugging or a struggle.  
        ``Hey, Sanchez. You find any wallet? A bag?’’ he called toward the entrance.
        ``No, sir.’’
        They returned to the body. More investigators from the Crime Scene Unit had arrived. The woman from the medical examiner’s office had finished with Daley and moved toward them.  
      She was young, not much older than the dead woman splayed out inelegantly on the bed of cardboard. The ME had a slight asymmetry to her face, not unattractive but just enough to give her a distinctive, memorable appearance. Brant was struck immediately.  
      ``I’m from the ME. Doctor Julia Simmons. The EMTs tell me you guys are the investigating officers.’’
      ``Where’s Heinz?’’ Brant asked, referring to the head of the medical examiner’s office.
      ``Chief’s on another run. This one’s mine. At least for now.’’
      ``Okay,’’ Brant said.  
      The cursory greetings exchanged, Simmons began her investigation.
      She crouched, placed her gloved hands to either side of the woman’s head and gently lifted. Blood oozed out from behind the skull.
       ``Ah, crap,’’ Clatterback said, jumping back as a rivulet of crimson fluid gathered and pooled.  
      ``Shot in the back of the head.’’
      Brant threw his partner a look as he leaned in for a closer view of what was left of the woman’s skull. Carefully, the medical examiner twisted the woman’s head, exposing what appeared to be the bullet’s point of entry. Though saturated in fluid and obscured by hair and congealed blood, the fatal wound was obvious. Simmons gently returned the head to its original position and stood.
      Over Brant’s shoulder, more of the forensics team had begun to arrive. Uniforms were marking the area with more rolls of yellow tape. A truck had pulled up onto the sidewalk adjacent to the alley. A generator and lights were being hauled out and assembled.
      Clatterback glanced over his shoulder at the unfolding scene. Soon, they would be sidelined.  
      ``Any thoughts?’’ Brant asked, directing the question toward the medical examiner.
      ``This wasn’t where she was killed,’’ Simmons said flatly. ``There would have been signs of a struggle. Someone would probably have heard something. Besides, a shot like that...there should be more blood. Look at her hands.’’
      ``What do you see?’’
      The medical examiner scrutinized the woman’s fingernails and the tips of her fingers. The dead woman wore no ring. Her nail polish was chipped. One of the nails was broken. Given the condition of the woman’s hands, Brant had little doubt they’d be able to find skin samples.
      ``She fought,’’ Simmons said finally.
      ``How can you be sure?’’ Brant asked.
      ``The fingers show trauma.’’
      ``So where do we start?’’ Clatterback asked when Simmons had moved off to consult with the EMTs and the members of the forensics teams.
      ``We