Page 39 of In the Arms of a Hero

Hayley reached down to take her hand. “I was married to a police officer. Sam’s former partner, actually. This job is tough on them. If you’re asking the best way to help them when they’ve had a day dealing with death, murder, abuse? Just be present, Belinda. Just be yourself and let him be him. They need that.”

The two women held each other’s gazes for a moment, then they smiled, squeezed hands, and Belinda climbed into her car, her mind on Aaron. Her smile slid from her face as she tried to imagine him investigating a death. She hoped it was natural causes but knew the sleepy shore had had its share of murders.

Cora met Aaron and Sam at the hospital late that afternoon, where she’d performed the autopsy.

“Tell me you’ve got something for us?” Sam asked.

“Male. Approximately midforties. Seventy-one inches tall. One hundred sixty-four pounds. Overall, good health. Right handed. Wedding ring. White gold. No inscription. I sent a set of fingerprints to the department yesterday. I didn’t know if he was in a database, but I also sent copies of his dental X-rays to the state police medical unit and to your department in case there is a missing person file. He had veneers on his upper front teeth. He’d had right shoulder surgery. Cause of death was a gunshot wound. Nine millimeters. Entered from the front, nicked the sternum, and diverted on its trajectory into the heart. Lodged in the right ventricle. He would have died almost instantly.” She pointed at the counter where she had evidence bags labeled. “Got it over there for you.”

She moved to his feet and said, “Here’s something of note. There is discoloration on his left lower ankle and feet, along with sock fibers embedded in this ankle. This would indicate that he was in an upright position after death, at least for a while. And something was tied tightly around his ankle, forcing the sock fibers to embed.”

Aaron stared down at the man’s feet.

“I noted the darker discoloration around his ankles. If he had been weighted down by something tied around his ankles, he would have gone into the water upright.”

“Execution style,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Either they weren’t professionals, or they were very sloppy. The rope used wasn’t heavy enough to hold weights, and they may have slid off his foot, taking his left shoe off as well.”

“So he wasn’t just shot and then fell into the water,” Aaron said, his mind trying to imagine the scenario occurring. “Any drugs in his system?”

“Still waiting on final toxicology, but a few things turned up. Beta-blocker, probably for blood pressure. No alcohol in his system. Contents of stomach suggested he hadn’t eaten a meal within a few hours of death.”

As Aaron took notes, preferring to write things down and not just rely on her clinical notes, Sam asked, “Time of death?”

She snorted. “Isn’t that always the question?” Shaking her head, she said, “He was killed before he went into the water. And based on the lack of decomposition, I’d say he hadn’t been in the water long before washing up on shore.”

The two detectives stared at her, and she sighed. “I’d say within the past forty-eight hours.”

“Anything from the clothing?” Aaron asked.

“Of course, there was the sediment you would expect from someone who washed up on shore. You saw his clothes—fully dressed, other than no left shoe. Well made jacket. Fitted shirt. No wallet. No identification. But there was something,” she said. “A monogrammed linen handkerchief was tucked in his inside jacket pocket.”

“I don’t know many people who still use a handkerchief,” Aaron said, glancing over at Sam, who shook his head.

Cora lifted a brow. “I remember my grandfather used a handkerchief. He was always fastidious yet would use the handkerchief to wipe his nose, refold it, and put it back into his pocket. I’m sure my grandmother washed them dutifully, even ironing them.” She shook her head and said, “I haven’t thought about that in years. Isn’t it funny how memories cancome back?” She resettled her expression with a professional demeanor. “Anyway, the initials on the handkerchief are WG. I have everything so far in my report and the evidence bags for you to sign out.”

Thanking her, they were soon back on the road to the station. Once there, they logged the evidence and settled at their desks in the detectives’ room. Hunter and Brad walked over.

“What did the medical examiner have to say?”

Aaron handed Hunter a copy of the report, and Brad leaned over his partner’s shoulder.

“Nice clothes, veneers on his teeth, and a monogrammed handkerchief…any missing persons reports?”

“We’re running his info through the FBI databases,” Sam said. “There’s nothing local here on the Shore or in the Virginia Beach, Hampton Roads area. If he came over two days ago and wasn’t expected back home, he might not be reported missing yet.”

“No wallet could indicate a robbery,” Aaron surmised.

Sam and Aaron spent the afternoon combing through the man’s clothes to see if anything was significant. His clothing tags indicated well made but not tailored. Whoever killed him had gone through his pockets yet missed the handkerchief.

Aaron finally took a break and called Belinda.

“Hey, how are you?” she asked, her soft voice like a balm.

“I’m okay, but it’s going to be a late night, and I won’t be able to see you.”

“That’s okay. I talked to Hayley earlier, and she explained that you and Sam were investigating a body found on the beach.”

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