Page 1 of Dirty Liars

CHAPTERONE

Death was my living.

The weight of the decay hung heavy in the air, and the victims laid before me were more than the remnants of lives once lived. As the coroner for King George County, I bore a solemn burden—a relentless duty to speak for those whose voices had been silenced too soon. Justice was my pursuit, a grim companion that shadowed my every step.

But amid the blood and broken bodies, a disquieting truth gnawed at my soul. The capacity for cruelty in mankind was boundless, a monstrous force that defied comprehension. Each case whispered of the malevolence lurking behind human eyes, a reminder that darkness resided not just in the world but within the depths of our own hearts.

“You okay, Doc?” Detective Cole asked, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. His concern was evident in his eyes, a rare softness that contrasted with his usual tough exterior. “You don’t look so good.”

“I had a rough night,” I lied, adjusting my gloves. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

Cole didn’t look like he believed me, but he was nice enough not to say anything. I liked Cole. He was a solid cop with a good sense of humor and the kind of baggage that most cops carried around with them—meaning he tended to go through relationships like discarded tissues and he was no stranger to a drink or three when he was off duty.

He was living with my assistant, Lily, and for the first time since I’d known him seemed serious about a monogamous relationship. He was in his usual uniform of Wranglers, a white dress shirt, and a sport coat. His badge was visible on his belt and his Stetson was in place. But he was looking a little rough around the edges himself.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him and then gave him a pointed look. “What about you? You don’t look so hot yourself.”

“Pulled an all-nighter,” Cole said. “I caught the Ransom Club shooting over in King George. A couple of barely legal idiots decided to get into a fight over one of the waitresses. Idiot number one pulls a knife. Idiot number two pulls a bigger knife. The bartender tried to get them to take it outside, but one of the guys takes a swipe at the bartender and slices his arm to the bone. Bartender gets pissed and shoots them both with the .45 he had under the counter. Idiot number one is dead. Idiot number two will be lucky to walk again. I’d just wrapped things up and was heading home when this call came in.”

That was a pretty good excuse as far as excuses went for looking like hell. I was going to have to stick with lying. In truth, I’d discovered I was pregnant about a week ago, and the shock still hadn’t worn off. Jack and I had struggled for so long to conceive that I’d almost given up hope. When I saw those two pink lines on the pregnancy test I couldn’t believe it, so I visited a good doctor friend I’d worked with at Augusta General to get a thorough checkup. I was definitely pregnant. But I’d been sick as a dog the last few days, and joy and fear waged a silent war within me as I struggled to balance my duties with the knowledge of the new life growing inside me.

“You can take off once we clear the scene,” Jack said, coming in from the other room. “Jaye and I will take this one.”

“I’m going to take you up on that,” Cole said. “Lily is working today, and I’ve got a soft bed and blackout curtains calling my name.”

I tuned out Jack and Cole’s conversation while I turned my back to them and acted like I was studying the blood-spattered walls. I caught my reflection in the large gilded mirror across from the bed and had to do a double take to make sure it was me. No wonder Cole had been concerned. My normally pale skin had a sickly pallor and my eyes seemed unusually large in my face, my pupils dilated so much that my gray eyes looked black. My chin-length black hair was pulled back into a stubby ponytail.

I caught Jack’s worried gaze in the mirror, his blue eyes meeting mine. I took some deep breaths, just keeping my gaze steady on his while he and Cole continued to talk. Jack was my rock, and he’d been my anchor in many of the storms in my life. He was a man who commanded attention no matter what room or circumstance he walked into.

He’d dressed that morning in sand-colored BDUs, and he wore a black polo with the King George County Sheriff’s Office logo embroidered over the breast. His weapon was holstered at his side, and a black windbreaker concealed it. He’d gotten a haircut a few days ago, so his thick dark hair was cut close enough that there was no detection of the slight curl that appeared the longer his hair grew, and he had a short growth of stubble from not shaving for the last couple of days.

The low chatter of the crime-scene techs as they finished taking pictures and sweeping the room for evidence filled the air. Yellow evidence tags dotted the plush carpet of the master bedroom like macabre confetti. I was the last piece of the crime-scene puzzle. The CSI team was waiting on me to do a preliminary exam of the bodies and get them moved back to my lab so they could dust for fingerprints. All I had to do was not throw up first.

I breathed through my mouth, trying not to taste the coppery scent of blood that was thick in the air along with the underlying smell of decay. I’d never live it down if I contaminated the crime scene by vomiting everywhere. I could feel Jack’s worried gaze on my back as I moved, and I knew if he wasn’t careful he’d let the cat out of the bag. We’d agreed to keep the pregnancy just between us for now.

“What do you think, Doc?” Cole asked. “Gives a whole new meaning to a happy ending, huh?” He attempted a wry smile, but it fell flat against the somber backdrop.

“You could say that,” I said, staring at our first victim with pity.

“Death rarely brings dignity,” Jack said.

“Yeah, but somehow this seems even worse,” Cole said. “Talk about the honeymoon from hell.”

I knew what he meant. There was something profoundly sad about this scene. A newly married couple who would have been beautiful and vibrant in life lay gray and cold in separate rooms of their honeymoon villa at The Mad King Resort. A wedding night that should have been filled with passion and promise had ended in violence and blood.

Victim number one—the husband—was a dark-haired man with vacant eyes and a short dark beard, sprawled across the king-sized bed of the master bedroom. Unlike what you’d expect from a groom on his wedding night, he was fully clothed in what appeared to be an expensive tailored suit. A single gunshot wound marred his temple, the exit wound having painted a gruesome Rorschach pattern on the pristine white comforter on the bed.

“Exit wound indicates a through-and-through,” I said, pulling on a fresh pair of latex gloves. “Going to need to recover the bullet from whatever it embedded in.”

I knelt beside the bed, my eyes scanning methodically over the victim. The CSI techs had already photographed him from every angle, placing small yellow numbered markers next to items of evidence. I carefully checked his pockets, finding a platinum money clip with several hundred-dollar bills, untouched. His wallet sat on the nightstand, designer watch still on his wrist. The wedding band on his left hand gleamed under the bedroom lights, probably not worn for more than twenty-four hours.

“Not robbery,” Jack noted, circling the room with measured steps.

I nodded, examining the body more closely. “Lividity and blood pattern indicates he was moved into this position.” I pressed my gloved fingers gently against his jaw. “Full rigor. Consistent with death occurring approximately seven to eight hours ago.”

“Why move him?” Cole asked. “The killer comes in and does the job stone cold, shoots the guy in the head. Then he moves the body so he’s propped on a pillow?”

“Could be staging,” I said.

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