In the Ground (David Wolf Book 14)

Lizotte."
Patterson leaned forward, hopping nearer to get a good look. A deep slice had opened up the man’s triceps, revealing striated muscle beneath a thin layer of fat. Lorber had shaved around the clean hole piercing the top of Oakley’s head.
"You can tell the entrance wound is here at the chin because of the spidering due to the gas outburst from the barrel," he said.
"Was there any GSR found on his hands?” Wolf asked.
“None.”
“So no suicide,” Rachette said.
“No suicide,” Lorber said.
"Can you tell what caliber it was?" Patterson asked.
"Powerful enough to be a through and through, tunneling the tongue, sinus cavities, up into the brain tissue and out the top of the skull.”
“They all had forty-fives, didn’t they?” Patterson asked.
“That’s right,” Rachette said. “All Glock 21s. Must have been a special at Kmart the day they got ‘em.”
Lorber took off his glasses and rubbed his nose as he walked toward four plastic bags sitting on the counter. Each held one of the guns in question.
"I’ve swabbed the gunshot residue from his chin and we’ll do a test, trying to match the signature coming out of each of these weapons. But these were all loaded with the same ammo, full to the brim—full magazines and one in the chamber, and all of them looked like they’re meticulously cleaned. No carbon residue, suggesting they haven’t been fired recently.”
“Or somebody fired the shot through his head, then cleaned his gun and put another bullet into the magazine,” Rachette said. “To make it look like it wasn’t fired.”
Lorber shrugged, conceding the point.
"What kind of ammo did we find on the property?” Patterson asked Rachette.
Rachette shook his head. He pulled the small notebook out of his back pocket and started flipping pages, again with that air of looking at a book he'd never seen before and someone else was responsible for the illegible chicken scratch within. He found something and pointed a stubby finger. "Here. We found boxes of forty-five 230 grain full metal jackets. Same brand—Federal Bear Silvers. Like Lorber said, looks like they all used the same ammo.”
Patterson's foot throbbed, feeling like it was a water balloon about to burst. “How long is it going to be for the GSR tests?” she asked.
“That'll take some time.” Lorber said, his eyelids looking even heavier now. “At least a couple days.”
"What else?" Wolf asked.
"Daphne has Oakley’s phone, which we found in his pants pocket," Lorber said, gesturing to a room on the other side of the hallway. He walked over and knocked on the open door.
"Yep?" Daphne answered.
"Sheriff is here with his detectives, wanting to know about the phone," Lorber said.
“How are you, Daphne?” Wolf asked, leading the group as they crowded into the office.
Daphne turned around in her chair. Her shoulder-length hair was dyed a deep bruise-purple this week and pulled back into such a tight ponytail the shine of her hair was reflected in the computer screen in front of her. "I’m great. Hey, Patty, heard about your ankle.”
She turned around and clicked her mouse, apparently done with the sympathies. “We have a lot of text messages between Chris Oakley and the other miners—Scott Sexton, Eagle McBeth, and Kevin Koling. Mostly bathroom humor.”
“That’s important stuff,” Rachette said.
Daphne cocked her head a few degrees, her hand coming off the computer mouse.
“Sorry,” Rachette said. “Continue.”
“Thanks. There’re some more intimate texts between him and his girlfriend, a woman he refers to as M.E., ME. A lot of scheduling sex, what I’m going to do to you next time we have sex, here’s my freshly shaved sex organ.”
Lorber cleared his throat. “Daphne, let’s…”
“Move on? Okay. Thursday, the day before he was killed, he had an exchange with Kevin Koling.” She clicked the mouse, revealing the speech bubbles of a text conversation on her screen.
Oakley: If we don't start getting gold in the box I'm bouncing. Fuck him.
Koling: I don't blame you.
Oakley: You're not bouncing too?
Koling: And go back to what?‘
Oakley: Who cares? Working at Burger King up in Jackson will pay more. Screw this.
She clicked and another conversation popped up on screen.
“Here’s another very interesting exchange. Of course, I’m not the investigator here. But take a look at this.”
Spritz: Hey bro, I saw Hammy and ME making out last night at the bar.
Oakley What???
Spritz: Yep. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.
Oakley: You sure?
Spritz: 100% I wouldn’t make that shit up.
Oakley Okay. Thanks.
Spritz: Yep.
“Who’s M-E?” Patterson asked.
“The phone number is registered to a woman named Mary Ellen Dimitri. It’s a three-oh-three area code. Her current address is in Dredge.”
“And what about Spritz?” Rachette asked.
“Not sure. It’s a prepaid phone. No name associated.”
Patterson looked at Rachette. “You writing this down?”
He upturned his hands. “You’re usually on top of this.”
She flicked her eyes to her cast, and then the other hand holding the crutch.
“Oh, yeah.” Rachette pulled out his notebook again and scribbled furiously.
Daphne pulled up another set of texts. “Here’s another one. Oakley’s final, between him and Mary Ellen Dimitri, or ME.”
Oakley: Hey, come up and visit tonight? I’m lonely.
ME: I’m so tired. Long shift today.
Oakley: I’ll pamper you. Give you a massage. The way you like it.
ME: Okay. Fine. I’ll see you after I’m cut.
“And that’s it,” Daphne said.
“Wait, so Spritz told Oakley his woman was cheating on him, and then Oakley lures her up there to come visit?”
“Looks like it to me,” Daphne said.
“Anything else?” Wolf asked.
“No more messages after that. Really, nothing of any importance I can see before Thursday, but I’ll put a couple weeks-worth in the full report.”
“When exactly did Oakley’s phone die?” Wolf asked. “Did you figure that out?”
Daphne clicked the keyboard. “The phone stopped transmitting to the towers Saturday morning at 3:38 a.m."
Patterson cleared her throat. "Are you sure that's when it stopped transmitting, or when it was turned off?"
Daphne cocked her head toward Patterson this time, her hands dropping to her lap. "I'm sure. Power drained at 7:42 a.m. Stopped transmitting four hours earlier."
"Aha. I see. Thanks."
"So, are we saying that's when he was buried?" Rachette asked. “At