Page 1 of View from Above

CHAPTER ONE

Pride came before the fall.

Detective Payton Nichols shoved out of his vehicle parked across from the scene. Damn it. The media had already gotten hold of the story. Cameras, flashes, and phones were already getting a head start on documenting the morning.

Two jumpers in two months.

Civilians pushed the perimeter to get a closer look as he wedged between jacket-padded bodies and made his way forward. The ten-story wall of concrete and glass on the other side of the tape demanded attention. The Logan Building wouldn’t ever make Architectural Digest in design, but it had made a name for itself through the world’s largest coffee brand that’d taken over the building five years ago. Patrol car lights reflected off the lobby windows spanning the main level from one corner of the building to the other. He could’ve sworn a hint of dark roast permeated the air.

Hell. He’d just gotten off an all-night dive into one of his past cases when he’d gotten the call. If the place hadn’t become a crime scene thirty minutes ago, he really could’ve gone for a to-go cup of the strongest brew they had in stock.

Trooper Rowan Wells nodded at him through the chaos. In all her five-five lean glory, she lifted the tape for him to pass. “Detective Nichols, glad you could make it. Dr. Moss is already on the scene.”

“Thanks, Wells.” Payton ducked beneath the bright yellow tape and scribbled his name across the sign-in sheet keeping track of every patrol officer, tech, photographer, and detective that crossed the sacred line. Handing back the clipboard and pen to the uniform off to his right, he scanned the length of cement on either side of the body. “I wasn’t aware State Patrol had an interest in jumpers. I take it you’re first on the scene?”

“Inside it, if you can believe it.” Wells’ angelic cheek bones, pert mouth, and wide blue eyes that pinched at the corners countered the status quo when it came to what a detective looked and acted like, but working for the Washington State Patrol the past year had stripped the brightness that’d once been there. Beneath the makeup, wrinkle-free blazer, and calm exterior, was one of the most relentless and extreme investigators he’d worked with. His former partner pointed over her shoulder with the end of her pen. “This is my favorite coffee stop before I head into the office.”

“Anyone touch or move the body?” Any investigation—homicide or otherwise—depended on the acts of the first officer at the scene. Some patrol officers, inexperienced mostly, felt a need to do something, particularly in the presence of family or friends of the victim. In one case, an officer had been compelled to search the deceased for an ID to obtain any and all information for his desk officer when he’d called in his report. That one disturbance had cost the crime scene unit valuable time and evidence in the end.

“Nope.” Wells shook her head. “No one but your ME.”

“Good. Tell me what we’ve got.” Payton studied the faces in the crowd.

One stood out among the others, and instant recognition hiked his pulse higher.

But he didn’t have time for distractions right now.

“Incident occurred about twenty-five minutes ago. I heard a scream, and I booked it outside. There she was.” Wells kept her attention solely on him, as though afraid to catch another glimpse of the body, but Payton understood all too well cases like this would stick around. No matter how much you tried to bury them, anyone who worked with the dead had a list of top three cases that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. “The deceased is female. Caucasian. No wedding band on her hand, possibly single. Mid-fifties, give or take a few years. Witnesses reported nothing unusual before the incident. It appears she jumped.” Wells squinted as early-morning sun filtered through the street and bounced off the dark windows surrounding them at every angle. “We’re still trying to get access to the building, but my guess is you’ll want to take a look at the roof. There aren’t any signs she was pushed through one of these windows from out here. They’re all still intact as far as I’ve been able to tell.”

“Thanks, Wells. Until I can get access to the building, I need photos and contact information of the crowd in case we have questions later.” He clapped her on the arm in dismissal and headed for the body.

“I’m not your rookie anymore,” Wells said from over his shoulder.

She’d get the job done. He had no doubts.

The medical examiner crouched near the length of sterile sheet she’d most likely taken from the ambulance and draped across the remains. Using her smart pen to make quick notes on her tablet, the pathologist raised dark eyes to Payton then brought her focus back to the body. Long brown hair had been tied at the base of Dr. Vanessa Moss’s neck, emphasizing delicate features, but there was a translucent tint to her skin that hadn’t been there the last time they’d worked a case together. A case that’d almost ended her life. The ME’s shoulder-to-ankle protective bodysuit swished as she straightened to her full height. “Detective Nichols, I haven’t made a ruling as to whether she was killed or committed suicide.”

“I was in the area.” Payton nodded a greeting then crouched to lift a corner of the white sheet for a better understanding of what they were dealing with. Gasps, whispered murmurs, and questions buzzed faster and louder than a beehive from the onlookers, and he settled the sheet back into place. Cruel breaks in the deceased’s skull ripped through facial features, twisting them into impossible angles. Blood smeared across pale flesh and destroyed the makeup the woman had carefully applied mere hours ago. As the blood settled into the dependent capillaries of the back half of the body, a waxy and translucent shade tinted her skin. Her pupils had dilated with her cornea slightly milky. Checking his watch, he noted the ambient temperature and pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket.

An incoming message block filled the small screen.

Do you believe me now?

The contact wasn’t stored in his phone, but it’d crossed his devices too many times over the past few weeks for him to forget. Awareness burned along his neck and brought his gaze back to the crowd. Only this time, the face he’d recognized wasn’t there. Payton shifted his weight between his feet to anchor him back into the moment, focusing on the medical examiner. “Got anything for me?”

“Pretty straightforward.” Dr. Moss handed over her iPad filled with digital handwritten notes as Payton straightened. “No ID or suicide note on the body, but with most cases like this we find them in the deceased’s home, car, or workplace. As soon as I have an ID, I can get you her background information and pull medical records.” An exaggerated exhale testified to the weight lingering around the medical examiner’s eyes. “No signs of external blunt force trauma or lacerations that suggest strangulation. No bruising around her wrists or ankles. For now, I’m leaning toward suicide, but I won’t have a complete report until I get her on the slab.”

Payton reviewed the pathologist’s notes then took another look under the sheet. Wavy red-brown hair fanned out around an aged but once beautiful face. Bright red lipstick offset the draining color from the deceased’s skin, matching the manicure on long, broken fingernails. No chips other than the three nails he noted had been torn. From her fall or before? The woman’s head angled wrong, revealing the label at the back of her lace bra. High-end. Maybe even special occasion lingerie. Replacing the sheet, he glanced up at Dr. Moss with a soft point toward the body. “She did her makeup, got a manicure, and dressed up.”

“You’re wondering why go through all the effort if she’s just going to kill herself.” The pathologist accepted her tablet back and made another series of quick scribbled notes.

“Most women don’t drop that kind of money on lingerie for themselves, and they certainly don’t wear it out of the bedroom. At least not in my experience.” His instincts pulled a different theory from the depths.

“What experience is that, Detective?” A frail smile hollowed Dr. Moss’s cheekbones but added a bit of life to her expression. The woman was beautiful in her own right. Down to earth, intelligent, distant. That kind of detachment was a skill honed over years in her field, but the effect tended to ward off a lot of people, including him. Everyone except the FBI agent who’d been assigned to the medical examiner’s protective detail and had died in the line of duty a few months ago.

He’d reviewed the case details, memorized the events that’d led up to the agent’s death. There hadn’t been anything Dr. Moss could’ve done to save him, but that loss had certainly left its mark. “Unless she was trying to impress you, I’m thinking she was meeting someone.”

“You’re saying this is a homicide.” Lean shoulders pulled back protective reflex. “There’s no concrete evidence of a crime from my preliminary examination, but I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop once I schedule the autopsy.” Dr. Moss motioned to one of the techs waiting in the sidelines with a body bag and a windbreaker branded Office of the Medical Examiner.

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