Strong Alibi by K.C. Turner (story reading txt) 📗

of the body appeared to be contracting. It began to spasm and its mouth and nose gurgled. Before Dr. Wexler could move out of the way, the corpse spewed a pinkish, red substance from its dead lips onto the lenses of his glasses. Martinez’s face coiled as he covered his mouth, placing his forefinger under his nose so he could smell latex instead. It didn’t help.

Dr. Wexler pulled off his glasses, wiped his face with a medicated hanky, leaned over and dunked his specs in the lake. Drying off the lenses he continued, “Putrefaction has begun as evidenced by the purge fluid that was just expelled.” He examined her hands one by one. As he lifted her left hand, he looked up at Martinez. “Well, she’s married. Someone has to be looking for her.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe they already know where she is.” He wrapped his fingers around the charm in the shape of a heart hanging from a silver chain around her stiff, cold neck. It had a single diamond in the center surrounded by a starburst. Turning it around, there was an engraving on the back that read, Love, Brandon. “Shit.”

“What is it, detective?”

“I think I just identified our victim.”

“Ah. That is a good thing, yes?”

“Depends who you’re asking.”

“Of course. That sounds more like your line of expertise. For now, I am going to place the time of death somewhere within the past 24 hours. I’m afraid I won’t know more until we perform the autopsy, which we need to conduct as soon as possible due to the circumstances. Once the body hits the air after being in the water for some time, the rate of decomposition is quite rapid.”

Martinez stood up and said, “I understand, Doctor. Can you leave everything in tact until the ID is made? I can be there within the hour with a presumed family member.”

“We have a few hours at least.”

He nodded at Dr. Wexler’s assistant and looked back to the doctor and said, “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it.”

The doctor and his assistant prepared the body for transport as Martinez walked back up the dock to the sidewalk to meet Officer Lucas who was waiting for him.

“Lucas, make sure this entire area is sealed off. Take a look around and look for any signs of blood, a weapon, or personal belongings that might have been ditched. Have Duval check with the border patrol and find out if anyone was on duty at this port within the last 24 hours. Also, find out who owns that Buick over there. It looks out of place.” Martinez pointed to an old four door, tan Buick with rust around the frame, which was parked in the middle of the parking lot. He grabbed his keys from his pocket and walked towards his vehicle.

Lucas looked irritated being left with the grunt work yet again. “Where are you going, Martinez?”

Leaning on the driver’s side of his vehicle with the door open he hesitated for a moment. “I’m gonna try and ID our victim, Lucas. Once I do that, I have some very bad news to break to a few people. Unless, of course, you wanna trade?”

He immediately regretted asking the question. “I think I’ll just stay here with Duval and investigate further.”

“Good choice, Lucas.”

Driving a few blocks into downtown, Martinez pulled into one of the diagonal spaces in front of the Silverton Tribune just in time for them to open at 8:00 am. It was a massive, old, three story stone building taking up the entire corner of Jackson Street and Water Street. Tribune was plastered on either side of the building in large letters. He entered the lobby through the front doors nestled within the large archway in the middle of the structure.

Making his way to the front counter, he was greeted by a young lady with shoulder length white hair and a bull piercing through the center of her nose. She wore a faded, black T-shirt with I know my First Amendment rights written on it and a closed fist underneath. Her blue eyes thrust beneath the dark liner on her lids. “How can I help you?” she asked.

Placing his hands on the counter, Martinez scoped out the place. “How’s it going? I need to speak with Brandon DeFranco. Is he around?”

“He might be. Who are you?”

Flashing his badge on his belt he replied, “Detective Angel Martinez. It’s official business. I’m afraid it’s a private matter.”

Looking at his badge then to his face, she said, “Yeah. Sure. Let me see if he’s here.” She came around the counter and headed up the wide marble staircase, disappearing into an office on the next floor. Within minutes she returned to her station behind the counter. “You can go on up. He’s in the conference room across from the landing.”

Martinez looked up the stairs. It was wide-open leading to the second floor. Nodding a thank you to the girl, he began up the staircase, holding onto the antique wooden rail. Reaching the landing, he glanced through the windows of the conference room. Brandon sat at a long table with two other people. The door was ajar, waiting for Martinez to enter. Rapping on the glass window of the door, he slowly entered the room.

An average sized man with blonde, spiky hair and icy blue eyes immediately stood to greet him, shoving his hand towards Martinez as an invitation. “Detective, come in, come in! We’ve much to discuss.” He grabbed Martinez’s hand and shook it hard. “Jim West, managing editor of the Tribune. So glad to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you Mr. West. I’m afraid I need to speak with Mr. DeFranco alone.” Turning to Brandon he asked, “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”

Before Brandon could answer, Jim spoke up again. “Nonsense, Detective. We’ve actually been hoping to have the chance to speak with you!”

Turning again to Brandon, Martinez said, “Mr. DeFranco, I’m afraid this is a delicate matter. You may want to