Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

if I were a betting man, I’d put my money on Jack Roberts. That’s what my gut tells me.”
    “You have any leads yet?” Snow asked. “What about robbery?”
    Harris looked at Snow. “Nothing was stolen. So it wasn’t robbery, unless they changed their mind about taking anything after they clubbed her. Now, first off—you know I can’t divulge anything that’s confidential to the case.”
    “Is there anything confidential to the case?” Alice said.
    “Nothing the lieutenant has told me to keep my mouth shut about. No. But you know I shouldn’t even be sitting here discussing the case with you. I could get my ass in a sling for this. It was different with your brother-in-law’s murder, Snow. He was your family. And we’re family. We worked together. Am I right?”
    “Of course,” Snow agreed. “This isn’t about the case. We’re just friends having coffee together. Just shooting the bull.”
    Everyone nodded.
    Snow leaned forward. “So what have you got?”
    Harris took a sip of his latte and set it back on the table. He licked the foam from his upper lip and started in: “The neighbors didn’t see or hear anything. The lab people checked the whole house and didn’t find anything suspicious. No sign of forced entry, nothing out of place, except the end table and lamp that got knocked over when the victim fell. There didn’t appear to be a struggle or any sign of sexual assault. The crime scene looked like the victim was caught by surprise. She might have put a hand up to try and block the blow, but the body was so badly burned that the coroner says there’s no way to check for bruises or anything on the outside of the body. They did check for semen wherever they could internally and didn’t find any. All he could tell me was there weren’t any broken bones. Other than her skull.
    “The lab people checked the victim’s car pretty thoroughly—and the roommate’s car. No signs of blood anywhere. No prints in the victim’s car other than those of the victim and her roommate. That’s to be expected; they were best friends and probably palled around together, shopping and stuff women do together.” He took another sip of his latte and shrugged. “So we don’t really have any hard evidence yet—except one thing.”
    “What’s that?” Snow asked.
    “Work boots,” Harris said.
    “Work boots? The actual boots?”
    “No. Impressions. Size eleven and a half or twelve men’s work boot prints in the dust leading from the side of the road to the body. The tread pattern was very clear—no attempt to try and cover them up. So my guess is the perp disposed of them after the murder.”
    Snow nodded and took a sip of coffee. “What was left of the body?”
    “Like I said, not much, other than bones and teeth. And some partially broiled organs. It was burned beyond recognition. A motorist on another road nearby saw the fire from a distance. The body was engulfed in flames. It was about sixty feet from the side of the road. By the time the fire truck got there, it was almost out—and the baseball bat was nothing but a charred stump.”
    “The baseball bat?” Snow asked.
    “The murder weapon,” Alice said.
    “Right,” Harris continued. “It was on top of the body, along with the empty gas can sitting next to it on the ground. All of that was on fire.”
    Snow nodded. He looked at Alice. Their eyes met for an instant. Then they turned their attention back to Harris. “Anything else?” Snow asked.
    Harris thought for a moment. “The boots,” he said.
    “What about the boots?” Alice asked.
    “From the prints in the dirt, the crime scene analyst said it looked like they were fairly new.”

“Is it my imagination, or has Mel become less of an asshole?” Alice said.
    They had left the coffee shop and were now driving eastbound along Charleston Boulevard in Alice’s Chevy.
    Snow stared at the passing buildings through the passenger window. “I’ve never thought of him in that regard. He’s a little dense, but I’ve never had a problem with him.”
    “That’s because you never had to work with him; you never had a chance to get to know him. And you’re a man; he doesn’t treat you the same way.”
    “Maybe.” Snow turned his attention to her. “But it’s also possible your perspective is colored…I mean biased.”
    Alice kept her eyes on the road ahead. “Sounded like a Freudian slip.”
    “It wasn’t,” Snow said. “But that’s what I’m talking about. At