The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

process why it had happened. And then the memory came flooding back and she took in a sharp gasp of air. Kyle. He had called her. Kyle O’Neil knew exactly where she was, which meant he was out there, somewhere, watching her, hunting. She began to shake. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her eyes so wide she could feel the strain of her skin. “I remember. Oh my God! Kyle—it was Kyle. He knows I’m here! ” The shuddering overtook her, rocking her body like waves.
    “Get a blanket,” her father commanded, and Ben obeyed. “Cameryn, are you sure? Could it have been someone trying to play a joke?”
    “No, Dad, I know his voice—it was him!”
    “I knew it!” Justin hissed. His hand, balled into a fist, hit the edge of the couch. “I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll kill him myself.”
    “I think that’ll be my job,” her father shot back. “Sheriff? Can you trace the call and get a location on that bastard?”
    “I’ll get right on it,” Jacobs said. He held up Cameryn’s BlackBerry, which he must have already taken from her when they carried her to the couch. “But I’ll lay money that he called her on a disposable phone.”
    “A what?” Patrick asked.
    “A cheap phone you buy and throw out when the minutes are up—you can’t track them. My next step is to notify the FBI and the Durango police, but before I do”—he bent close to her, narrowing his eyes—“it’s very important that you tell me exactly what he said. Can you do that, Cammie?” Without breaking eye contact he pulled out his pad and pen.
    “Now?” Justin snapped. “Why don’t you give her a minute?”
    “No, Deputy, we do it immediately, while it’s still fresh in her mind. Procedure, remember?”
    Slowly, painfully, Cameryn repeated the nightmare conversation. Sheriff Jacobs nodded once, twice, three times, then abruptly turned to Dr. Moore. “Would it be okay if I used your office to make the call? It’ll be more private from there, Doc. If we’ve got any chance of tracing this wacko I need to move now.”
    “Be my guest,” Dr. Moore replied. Suddenly, Cameryn registered the doctor’s hand on the top of her head, patting her as though she were a child. It was the first time he’d ever touched her. When she looked up into his gruff face she saw his eyes glisten with emotion. “I have every confidence that your father, the deputy, and the sheriff will keep you safe,” he told her. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed somewhere beneath the folds of his neck. “Add my name to the list. I’d never let anyone hurt my star protégée.”
    “Thanks, Dr. Moore.”
    “Now go home and get some rest.”
    “But Joseph Stein . . . the autopsy . . .” she protested.
    “We’ll manage.” He turned his gaze to her father, then to Justin. “Keep her safe. I’ve already seen what Kyle O’Neil is capable of. I never want to see his handiwork again.”

    “Mammaw, I’m fine,” Cameryn moaned. “Stop hovering!”
    “You call it hoverin’, do ya?” her grandmother snapped as she paced around the kitchen table where Cameryn sat. “Hoverin’, when there’s a madman out there looking to snatch you away! Hoverin’, when the next time Kyle O’Neil shows up it might be in person, and then what will you do?” Her tone shifted ever so slightly as she added, “Now I’d like you to eat. Today’s been a shock.”
    Sighing, Cameryn propped her head on her hand. Steam from the bowl wafted to her face. Although it smelled delicious, her stomach closed against it. “I’m not hungry.”
    “Of course you are. Take a bite.”
    “Mammaw, not every problem is solved by food.”
    The normally soft Irish lilt her grandmother spoke with, a legacy from her childhood in Ireland, turned crisp as she said, “This trouble circles back to you being around all that death. I’ve said all along forensics is wrong and now my words have come home to roost.” In a red Valentine sweater, her earlobes elongated by heavy plastic heart-shaped earrings, Mammaw looked like the majority of Silverton grandmothers, with her square face crowned by a wreath of short, white hair. But Mammaw was different from the other women. She was an Irish force of nature.
    “Please,” Cameryn begged. “Don’t start.”
    “I’m only saying you should forget this autopsy nonsense and dedicate your life to becoming a real doctor.” As always, her grandmother reminded Cameryn of a chicken hunting grain. Peck, peck, peck—her words nibbled away at