Page 5 of Manner of Death

Kurt moved to rub his hand over his face, then seemed to think better of it. “Guess we’re lucky that Officer Doran is a twitchy little shit, huh?”

“I guess we are,” Sawyer said as mildly as he could. Kurt still saw through it.

“Don’t, okay? Just don’t. The last thing I need after the day I had is you getting on my back about this too.” He slouched with exhaustion. “Damn, we’re going to be here for hours. I’ll be lucky if I see Molly at all before I have to take her to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Actually…” Sawyer was way more likely to get the chance at a real conversation with Dr. Ramin if Kurt wasn’t around. It hadn’t taken more than a single meeting for him to see that the animosity between the two men was long-standing. “You already did the dirty work getting the warrant signed.” Good thing, too—Kurt had a way better relationship with Judge Ruffino, and Sawyer wasn’t sure he could’ve persuaded her to sign that warrant. He still marveled that Kurt had persisted when the judge had tried to insist it sounded like an accident, but he’d take it. “Why don’t you go ahead and take off? I’ll stay here and babysit things.”

Kurt raised one bushy, greying eyebrow. “Don’t know if you remember this, kid, but I’m your ride back to the station.”

I’m not a kid. “I can get an Uber.”

“At ass o’ clock in the morning when you wrap this scene?”

“Then I’ll catch a ride with someone else.” Sawyer waited to see if his partner was actually going to make him spell out the fact that he was trying to do him a damn favor.

“Well…” Kurt shrugged. “If you’d rather hang out with the Body Baggers on your own, I guess it’s your funeral.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. “‘Body Baggers’? Are you twelve?”

“Hey, coulda said tea baggers.”

“And then I could have reported you for harassment.”

“Lighten up.” Kurt punched his shoulder in that genial, casually violent way some men had. It had taken Sawyer a long time to learn to differentiate between all the various kinds of violence he’d been exposed to throughout his life, and this kind had been one of the hardest to come to grips with. I like you, therefore I’m going to hit you hard enough to bruise so that you know it. “At least I’m not calling you one of ‘em, even though you…y’know…you’re…”

“Bisexual.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Sexually attracted to people of more than one gender.”

“Yeah.”

“Interested in fucking guys as well as—”

“Christ, will you stop it?” Kurt made a face as he gestured toward the body. “You really think this is the place to be talkin’ about your…preferences?”

“Definitely not,” Sawyer agreed, keeping his face blank. He knew the fact he could hide his emotions bothered his partner fiercely, but he also knew that hiding them was far better than weathering the arguments that being honest brought on. “Go home, Kurt. Tell Molly hi for me.”

“God, you’re such a bossy little asshole,” Kurt sighed, but he turned and left the kitchen. Sawyer stayed for another moment, taking in his surroundings—not just the murder scene, but everything else he could see from within the taped-off section of the house.

There were doilies on top of every flat surface in the living room. A bowl of hard candies sat on the table next to the recliner, which had a remote attached to the arm. He’d only seen recliners like that in retirement housing, when a resident needed assistance getting upright. Sawyer glanced back at the body. Mid-fifties at the oldest. No sign of assistive mobility devices anywhere.

Definitely someone else’s house, or at least it had been until very recently.

“Detective Villeray?”

Sawyer turned to Dr. Ramin, a smile coming to his face. Probably should do something about that. This isn’t exactly smiling territory. It was hard to prevent it, though. There was something about the other man that made Sawyer want to…well, to smile, even when the medical examiner looked as undeniably annoyed as he did right then. “Yes, doctor?”

“Your partner is turning CSI loose on the scene. Apparently he was convinced this was a homicide after all.”

“Kurt knows his stuff.”

Dr. Ramin tilted his head slightly—incredulous would be the look a director had asked for here, and the good doctor delivered beautifully. “He said you’re the one who made the call, not him.”

“Yes, but he believed me.”

“Ah.” He relaxed a bit. “You noticed the discrepancy with the leaf litter.”