Page 53 of Buried Too Deep

Burke exhaled heavily. “I don’t know. I think I want to wait until we get there before we bring in NOPD. It might not add up to anything. The computers could have been ditched in an open lot.”

Phin didn’t agree. As much as he didn’t like the NOPD, his gut was telling him to call this in. “The address at these coordinates is a house, Burke.”

“Could be a garbage can outside a house,” Burke countered.

Phin didn’t know why Burke was so loath to call the cops, but he trusted the man and knew his reasoning would be sound. So he pointed to the next stop sign. “Left up there, Antoine, then the house is third on the right.”

Antoine slowed as they approached the house, a small but tidy two-story.

“Owners?” Burke asked.

“Medford and Cheryl Hughes,” Phin answered. He’d stayed busy during the drive, looking up the owners and their professions, and had run a quick background check on his phone. All things that Burke and Joy had taught him to do over the two years that he’d worked for Broussard Investigations.

They’d been training him to take a greater role in the business and Phin had been ready to step up. Until six weeks ago when he’d spiraled again.

He shuddered at the memory, his fingers sinking deeper into SodaPop’s coat. She turned her head, licking his hand and grounding him enough to focus.

Phin suspected Burke had thrown him the easy tasks tonight to keep his hands and mind busy. A busy mind was less likely to spiral.

“Medford is fifty-eight years old, his wife Cheryl is fifty-five,” Phin went on. “Medford was an IT consultant with a firm in California for twenty years but hung out his own shingle ten years ago. His wife used to work for an insurance business but quit a few years after they moved to New Orleans.”

“So an IT guy stole our laptops?” Burke asked, staring up at the car in the garage.

“Or he was hired to break into them,” Antoine offered. “Although that seems unlikely. A good IT guy would be wary of tripping booby traps like the tracking software on the machines.”

“Maybe he’s not a good IT guy,” Burke said.

“Maybe,” Phin allowed. “But he makes a good enough living to afford this neighborhood.” It wasn’t as posh as the Garden District, but it was definitely nicer than Phin’s area. “I found photos of this guy on Facebook. His body type is different than the guy who shot Joy. Medford Hughes isn’t as tall and he’s about fifty pounds lighter.”

Burke opened his car door. “Then let’s go see what’s what. Phin, you comfortable coming with us or do you want to stay here?”

“I’ll come with you.” He’d pull his weight in the search for whoever shot Joy.

Together, the three of them walked up to the open garage, SodaPop at Phin’s side. The car was a white sedan and needed a washing. There was a mud stain on the trunk lid.

Antoine got there first and made a harsh sound in his throat. “Goddammit.”

Burke took a few more steps forward, then sighed. “Hell. You were right, Phin. We should have called 911. Just…go back to the car. You don’t need to see this.”

Phin knew that Burke was trying to shield him from something horrible, but Phin was feeling okay. “I need to see,” he said softly, and Burke moved aside with no argument.

One close glance at the car revealed a bloody mess. The driver’s window and part of the windshield were covered with blood.

And other things. Brains. Bone.

Beside him, SodaPop whined softly and Phin realized he’d tensed up. Employing the breathing exercises he’d learned in therapy, he felt the anxiety fade enough that his chest no longer felt constricted.

He didn’t have to go any closer to know what he’d find. “Shot in the head?”

Burke nodded grimly. “Suicide.” He went around to the passenger side of the car and looked in the window. “He’s still holding the gun.” He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and shined it into the car’s interior. “And our laptops are in the back seat.” He frowned. “That’s weird. The guy’s wearing a latex glove on his right hand. Why would he wear a glove to shoot himself in the head?”

“Good question,” Antoine said. He turned and gripped Phin’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Phin nodded. He knew his limits and he was pushing them. “Yeah. I’ll make the call. Should I contact André, too?”

Burke sighed. “Couldn’t hurt. Otherwise, we’ll get hauled in for questioning again and I’m tired. I want to go home and get a meal and some sleep, in that order.”

Captain André Holmes was Antoine’s older brother and a close friend of Burke’s. The cop had been an invaluable resource to the firm.

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