He let the sentence dangle, but she knew what he meant. Bones and liquefied flesh.
She pressed a hand over her mouth to control the sudden nausea. This was what had happened to the man she’d met at her office before Christmas. “Is there any evidence that might lead you to his killer?”
“We’ll try to lift prints from the drum, of course. But it’s rained too much to get any shoe or tire impressions. The body might tell us more once a pathologist has a chance to look at what’s left.”
“It was his wife,” she said as she had from the beginning. “And maybe his wife’s boyfriend.”
“We’ll get whoever it is, Skye.” He’d tried to inject some energy into his voice, making it more reassuring, but Skye doubted he was feeling optimistic. He sounded weary, beleaguered.
“Jonathan Stivers can help. He’s put together all kinds of circumstantial evidence against Mrs. Regan.”
“That’s what Mike Fitzer said. He’ll be taking over from here on out. Once we identified the body, I realized this wouldn’t be my case.”
“But will Mike work with Jonathan?”
“He will now. He doesn’t want an unsolved homicide on his desk. Besides that, he knows he’s got me looking over his shoulder.”
“When can you come home?”
“I’m on my way.”
A knock at the door made Skye sit up straighter. “Someone’s here.”
“Oh God. Don’t tell me Lynnette’s there to get Jeremy. I’m coming as soon as I can,” he said. But Skye knew it wouldn’t be soon enough to avoid a confrontation with his ex-wife. Jeremy had already jumped up to answer the door. Before Skye could hang up, David’s ex-wife was standing in the apartment, glaring at her.
“I’m sorry, but David’s not here right now,” she said, feeling more self-conscious than ever before in her life. She knew what MS could do; she had a good friend who’d ended up in a wheelchair in less than ten years.
Lynnette’s eyes narrowed as they combed over her spaghetti-strap T-shirt and pajama bottoms. “Who do you think you are?”
It was one of those rhetorical questions designed to start an argument. Or maybe a fight.
Raising a placating hand, Skye stepped back. “Listen, this isn’t the time or the place. I’m only here to babysit.”
“Are you telling me you’re not sleeping with my husband?”
“He’s your ex-husband.” Skye glanced meaningfully at Jeremy. “Anyway, your son is here.”
“That’s right. He’s my son. And I don’t want you having anything to do with him.”
“He doesn’t need any added grief,” she said quietly. But Lynnette didn’t seem to have the emotional where-withal to care about that. Judging by the stilettos, miniskirt and low-cut blouse, she’d had a long night and hadn’t been home yet.
“You’re the whore who’s causing him grief.” She frowned at Jeremy, who was watching them both with wide eyes. “Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”
Obviously embarrassed by his mother’s rude behavior, Jeremy collected his overnight bag, then bent his head as he shuffled past Skye. He was almost out the door when he turned back. “Don’t feel bad, Skye,” he said under his breath. “My mother doesn’t hate you. Or she wouldn’t have taken your picture.”
Although he’d spoken low and fast, Lynnette had obviously heard him. “I’ve never taken any pictures of you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” she said, but the furtive look that entered her eyes chilled Skye to the bone.
“I’m not lying.” Goaded into a louder response now that his mother had called his truthfulness into question, Jeremy spoke clearly. “You had her picture on your phone—”
“Shut up!”
“And you gave it to that man with the big holes in his ears, remember? There was a picture of Skye in a car and coming out of—”
Grabbing his hand, Lynnette jerked so hard he gaped at her in surprise.
Skye was tempted to pull Jeremy back into the apartment and close the door. She hesitated to let this woman take him, even if she was his mother. But she didn’t want to put Jeremy in the difficult position of being torn between them. “Lorenzo Bishop,” she muttered.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Lynnette said and hurried away, dragging Jeremy behind her.
Lynnette’s car wasn’t in the parking lot when David arrived. But he took the stairs two at a time anyway, hoping the transfer of his son from one woman to the other had gone smoothly.
He found Skye alone, sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space.
“What is it?” he asked, concerned by the dazed expression on her face.
She raised her eyes. “It was your ex-wife who sent Lorenzo Bishop.” She sounded incredulous, so incredulous he didn’t know whether to take her seriously.
“You’re kidding, right?” He knew Lynnette could be difficult, that she hadn’t been herself lately. Ricocheting between hate and clinginess, bitterness and neediness, she’d been extra-hard to tolerate. But there was no way she’d try to have someone killed. Maybe he dealt with that kind of stuff at work, but it always happened to other people.
“I’m not joking,” she said.
Her steady gaze finally convinced him she believed her own words, but he still couldn’t accept it. “Skye, Lynnette’s jealous of you. There’s no doubt about that. She hates you because you’ve been a constant distraction to me. When we were supposed to be putting our marriage back together, I was thinking about you. I’m sure she realizes that, and blames you more than she—”
“She gave pictures of me to Lorenzo, David,” Skye interrupted. “I don’t know where she met him, but from the sound of it, the pictures were candid shots she took while she was following me. Jeremy said there was one of me in my car and was about to mention others, when she shut him up.”
David shoved a hand through his hair as he searched for another explanation. It was a lot to take in after such a rough night. “That can’t be right. You must be mistaken about Lorenzo. Maybe she wasn’t the one watching you. Maybe she hired someone else to see if we were secretly meeting, and after what happened you naturally thought—”
“No. Jeremy specifically said she gave the pictures to a guy with big holes in his ears.”