The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

parka and faded jeans didn’t help. Instinctively she rocked slightly onto her toes, adding a modicum of height, which made her feel better somehow.
    “Just how short are you, anyway?”
    He must have seen her stretching. “Tall enough to cut up a body,” she replied.
    “Point taken.” Smiling, he pushed open the door and ushered her inside. That was how it had been the entire drive down—they’d kept it light, talking about the case and the urgency of Dr. Moore’s call. They both knew they had sailed into new waters, and yet Justin, thankfully, was giving her space . Still, there was an unspoken tide moving just beneath the surface. She could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on hers a beat longer than before, the way he let his hand graze against hers, his fingers light against her skin. He was holding back, waiting, watching for her “yes.”
    “You know, no matter how hard they scrub it, this place still reeks of death,” Justin whispered into the top of her head. “I’d rather smell your hair.”
    “You mean my dandruff shampoo.”
    “Ah, is that what it is?” He took in a deep whiff. “Nice.”
    “You like the smell of salicylic acid and selenium sulfide?”
    “You’re showing off, Cammie.”
    “Well, you did call me short.”
    “A mistake I will never make again,” he said. “You know too many big words.”
    “Right. Okay, Justin, you need to be serious. Two people are dead and we’re on duty. Focus.”
    “You want me to be serious?” Thrusting out his chin, he said, “I wish it was Kyle on that autopsy table. He’s the one who should be dead. But the universe isn’t always fair, is it?”
    “You worry too much about me,” she answered. Without thinking she laced her fingers through his, and she noticed the corner of his mouth bend up as he squeezed her hand, then released it. Without a word they walked on.
    The foyer had a ficus tree propped in a corner; the tips of its branches brushed her as she walked past. Justin was right—there was a smell, a faint sickly sweet odor masked by disinfectant. Noisome traces of the dead. If she believed what Lyric told her, the human cells floating through the building were already being pulled into the soil to be reborn through the leaves in an endless cycle of rebirth in an endless succession.
    Cameryn, though, had been raised on the certainty of science intertwined with the mystery of her Catholic faith. It was through these diverse filters that she attempted to explain the uncertainty of justice. How was it that two people had died while Kyle roamed free? She had to believe Kyle would be caught because of forensics, and if science didn’t nail him she’d settle for the hand of God, Old Testament style.
    After making their way down the hallway they stopped at a desk made of blond wood. A woman Cameryn vaguely recognized looked up.
    “Hey, Justin. Who’s your little friend?” She eyed Cameryn’s pink Swatch watch and her chewed fingernails. Cameryn quickly shoved her hands in her coat pockets.
    “This is Cameryn Mahoney,” he answered. “Patrick Mahoney’s daughter. She’s assistant to the coroner. Dr. Moore asked her to come.”
    “Oh, right.” There was the barest of nods. “I remember now. The child prodigy.” The woman wore a name tag that read Amber Murphy . She was about twenty-five, with short red hair and a heart-shaped face. Her eyes slid back to Justin and she gave him a bright smile. Cameryn noticed Amber had dimples.
    “So, Justin, where have you been hiding?” Amber asked. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
    “I’ve been on duty, protecting the good people of Silverton.”
    “We could use a little of that down here in Durango, cowboy. There’s a lot of wild things going on in our big city.”
    “Did you just call Durango a big city?” Justin asked, laughing. “Remember, I moved here from New York—”
    “Excuse me, can we go back now?” Cameryn interrupted. “Dr. Moore made it sound like the case is time sensitive.”
    Amber blinked, as though she had already forgotten Cameryn was there. Clearing her throat, she said, “Of course. But I’m supposed to ask you a question. Dr. Moore’s having a holy fit about security, so . . . did anyone approach you about the decedents at any time before you got here?”
    Justin said, “No,” while Cameryn shook her head.
    “Good. I feel stupid asking, like I’m one of those security people at the airport. I mean, who doesn’t know by now not to