Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

a clipboard. Her digital camera hung from a strap around her neck. The plastic tarp she’d spread for Benjamin was still in the bay of their station wagon, beneath the gurney, smooth and shiny. Not a drop of Benjamin had leaked out of the body bag, so there’d been no need to replace it.
    The passageway was an eight-foot-wide sliver that ran between the Carriage House and the Highlander Apartment Building. To the south and parallel to Greene Street, a narrow alleyway opened to the back walls of businesses that stood shoulder to shoulder on Greene Street. In order to keep the alleyway clear, snowplows had piled the snow into a towering wall wedged between the two buildings. In front of that icy barricade lay the body, a patch of blue illuminated by a bank of lights.
    “She’s right up ahead,” Justin told her. “Gun’s still in her hand.”
    Cameryn stopped. “She? It’s a female? Dad said it was a boy.”
    “Well, actually, it’s hard to tell. We won’t know for sure until we turn her over. The hair’s short enough for a boy but the shape looks more like a girl to me. That’s why we need you here.” He put his hand on the small of her back, propelling her forward. “We lawmen can’t touch the decedent until the coroner releases it. You’ve got the power.”
    “All I need is the photographs and then you can roll her,” Cameryn said. “Or him.”
    “That’s the idea.”
    Although narrow, the passageway was more than one hundred feet long, bricked in on either side by walls more than three stories high. A 1,000-watt halogen work light illuminated the snow so that it sparkled as though it had been salted with diamonds. In the distance Cameryn could make out a figure lying, head toward the wall, its feet sprawled apart at an odd angle. She could see the gentle rise of the back, the blue jeans-clad legs, the tread of the sneakers, and a halo of short blonde hair moving in the winter breeze like seaweed beneath water. It was the blue of the parka that caught Cameryn’s eye—the same bright blue Mariah had worn. For a moment she started as the thought Mariah flashed through her mind. But blue parkas were a dime a dozen, she reminded herself, and the hair was short, not long and in a braid. Realizing this, Cameryn’s heart began to beat again.
    Justin stopped her. “What’s up? You just turned as white as the vic.”
    “Nothing. I’m just thinking of the stuff I have to do,” she lied, covering up with a barrage of words. “Did I tell you we’ve switched to using only a digital camera?” Holding her camera away from her chest, she babbled, “The pictures are stamped electronically so you can tell if anything’s been altered, which means a digital shot will stand up in court. So that’s all I’m using now—no more black-and-white. We just put it on a disk and then we’re done. It saves a lot because of the higher cost of regular film.”
    He watched her closely as she spoke. Justin’s eyes were trained on her mouth, as though he were listening not with his ears but with his eyes. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s do it, then.” When she turned, Cameryn’s feet nearly slipped from beneath her. Justin grabbed her arm beneath the elbow. “Careful—there’s ice.” Even through her coat she could feel his warmth.
    Halfway down the alleyway, at a doorway, stood Sheriff Jacobs, one leg propped against a wall. He was interviewing a man who frantically sucked on a cigarette. Although the man’s face was passive, Cameryn could see his fingers tremble as he brought them to his lips. It took her only a moment to place him: Barry Leithauser, the cook from High Noon Burgers.
    She was about to pass them when Jacobs said, “Cameryn, hold on a tic. Barry, I’ll need just a second. This here is official business. This girl is the coroner.”
    Barry nodded and let his cigarette dangle from his hand, its tip burning red against the brick.
    Sheriff Jacobs wore the same clothing he’d worn to the scene of the car crash, minus the hat. The bank of lights illuminated one side of his face. His thin hair seemed to float above his scalp, and his sharp nose and chin obscured his face so that half of him was lost in shadow.
    “The thing is—Coroner—you’re only seventeen. I’m not so sure you should be working a case like this alone.”
    “I’m not alone,” Cameryn countered. “Justin’s with me.”
    “I meant without your father. I know he thinks you hung the moon, but what you’re