Divine Evil

chicken poop to give a garden the edge.”
    She buried her face in the shirt, drawing breath after deep breath. And she could smell him, as clearly as if she'd been sitting beside him.
    “Why did you leave me that way?” She kept the scent of him pressed hard against her skin as she rocked as if she could absorb what was left of him. And the anger came, hot waves of it that twisted tight around the smothering grief. “You had no right to leave me that way when I needed you so much. Damn you, I wanted you there. I needed you there. Daddy. Oh, Daddy, why?”
    She lowered herself to the floor and let the tears come.
    Ernie watched her. His body had been atremble with anticipation and power. Now the dark excitement ebbed, and a hot wave of shame, unexpected, unwanted, washed over him. He felt it burn his face and neck as her hard, wrenching sobs filled the room. As he crept away, the sounds of grief chased after him until he was running to escape them.
    * * *
    Dr. Loomis sat in the chair in front of Cam's desk, his hands neatly folded on his briefcase, his polished wingtips heel to heel. Cam wondered if the coroner would tap them together and whisk off to Kansas or wherever the hell home was.
    “When I learned the deceased was your father-”
    “Stepfather,” Cam corrected.
    “Yes.” Loomis cleared his throat. “When I learned he had been your stepfather, I thought it best if I brought you my report personally.”
    “I appreciate it.” Cam continued to read the autopsy report, word for grim word. “This confirms homicide.”
    “There's no doubt he was murdered.” Loomis's fingers steepled up, then folded again. “The autopsy bears out my original theory. The deceased was beaten to death. From the bone fragments and the splinters of wood we found, I would say at least two clubs were used. One of natural pine and one that was stained, commercially, to an ebony color.”
    “Which means we have at least two murderers.”
    “Possibly. If I may?” Loomis picked up the pictures Cam had taken at the scene. After tapping their edges neatly together, he turned them as if he were about to show off family snapshots. “This blow to the base of the skull? It is the only wound on the back of the body. From the bruising and discoloration, this was delivered before death. It would be sufficient to render unconsciousness. Then you note the wrists and ankles.”
    “Someone clubbed him from behind, knocking him out. Then he was tied.” Cam picked up his pack of cigarettes. “Flat on his back for the rest of it.”
    “Precisely.” Pleased, Loomis nearly smiled. “From the depth of the wounds and the amount of fiber in them, he struggled violently.”
    “You would agree that he wasn't killed where we found him?”
    “I would, most definitely.”
    Cam blew out a long stream of smoke. “We located his car. His stereo unit was removed, along with his gun and a case of beer from the trunk. The receipt for the beer was still there. He'd just bought it that afternoon.” Studying Loomis, he tapped the cigarette in an ashtray. “People have been killed for less.”
    “Indeed they have.”
    “How many homicides of this nature come through your office in a year?”
    Loomis waited a moment. “I have never, in my eight years in this county, examined a body so viciously beaten.”
    Cam nodded. It was no less than what he'd expected. “I don't think Biff Stokey was killed for a stereo and a case of Bud.”
    Again Loomis steepled his hands. “I'm a pathologist, Sheriff. That makes me a detective in my way. I can give you the cause of death, the approximate time of death. I can tell you what the victim enjoyed as a last meal and if he had sex with a woman. But I can't give you motive.”
    Nodding, Cam crushed out his cigarette. “I appreciate you getting back to me personally, and so soon.”
    “Not at all.” Loomis rose. “The body was released to the next of kin.” Noting Cam's expression, Loomis felt a pang of sympathy. It hadn't taken long for the gossip to reach him. “Your mother requested that Griffith's Funeral Home here in Emmitsboro handle the arrangements.”
    “I see.” She hadn't called him once for help, Cam thought, and stonily refused every offer he'd made. Smothering the hurt, he offered a hand. “Thank you, Dr. Loomis.”
    When the coroner left, Cam locked the reports andphotographs in his desk drawer. He stepped outside and after a moment's debate decided against taking his car. The funeral