scene?”
“I don’t rely on a crystal ball, if that’s what you mean.”
The two deputies in the background laughed out loud.
Ignoring the sarcasm, Marion asked, “Who called you?”
“Sheriff Keller. He usually does for one of these. And sometimes he calls me for poker night if he’s got an empty chair.”
“You’ve worked murders before?”
“Of course. I’ve logged plenty of court hours on the witness stand.”
Marion wrote that down. Turnbull would probably already be familiar with Doc Shetterly.
“Dr. Shetterly,” Marion said.
“Call me Doc,” the man requested. “Everybody does.”
“Thank you. What can you tell me about the victim?”
Doc flicked ash from his cigarette into a plastic bag in his pocket. “He was shot to death. Close range.”
“How do you know that?”
Shetterly regarded her thoughtfully. “How strong is your stomach?”
“Strong enough.”
A smile thinned Shetterly’s lips. “I guess we could test it then. If you really want to know the answer to that question, come here.”
That’s a challenge. Marion knew the invitation for what it was. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to ignore the stench of fresh death in the room and crossed over to Shetterly’s side. This is what you signed on to do. Get it done.
The coroner took an ink pen from his pocket. Leaning over the dead body, he pointed toward black spots on what was left of the dead man’s face.
“Do you see this?” Shetterly asked.
Marion had a hard time discerning the black spots at first. All she could see was the gory ruin of Marker’s face. Broken ivory bone showed through the crimson pulp. Blood covered the bed sheets.
Not trusting her voice, Marion nodded.
“Those are tiny burns from the muzzleflashes of the murder weapon. When you hold a firearm close enough, when you shoot, it’ll cause those.”
“I’ve seen them before,” Marion said hoarsely.
“Really? Where?” Shetterly seemed immediately interested.
“In classes on physical evidence. Never—” Marion’s voice broke. She sipped a quick breath. “Never in person before.”
Shetterly nodded. “Burns like these generally mean the murder was personal.”
Marion seized on that. “You think Marker knew his killer?”
“I’ve got near a lifetime spent working things like this,” Shetterly said. “Somebody kills this close up, it’s because there’s a lot of emotion involved.”
“It also means the killer wanted to make sure the job was done,” Keller added.
“Was Marker awake when she killed him?” Marion asked.
“That’s hard to answer.” Shetterly moved his face within inches of the dead man’s. He used a stainless steel forceps to sift through the wreckage. The physician breathed out smoke and the gray vapor flushed across the torn and broken flesh. “If he was awake, she didn’t allow him to sit up.”
“How do you know?”
Shetterly slid the dead man’s head over to reveal the ragged mattress below. “I expect we’ll find the bullets in the floor below.”
Marion’s stomach flipped a little. “How many times did she shoot him?”
Keller answered that. “When we took the .357 Magnum off her, all the rounds had been fired.”
Grateful for the chance to turn away from the corpse, Marion looked at the sheriff. “How many rounds does the pistol hold?” She thought she knew, but she wasn’t certain. She didn’t like to assume.
“Six.”
She fired six rounds into a man’s face at point-blank range. Marion tried to imagine what would drive someone to do something like that. She had no idea.
“I think he was awake for a moment,” Shetterly said. “But only just.”
Marion swiveled back to the physician. “Why?”
Lifting the dead man’s left arm, Shetterly indicated the torn flesh across the knuckles. “Those tears are fresh. I think he managed to hit his killer before she killed him.”
Leaning down, Marion took pictures of the damage that showed on the knuckles. Light glinted from the military ring the dead man wore. “You’re sure this is recent?”
“Yeah. There’s no sign of clotting or scabs. He hit her, then she killed him. There was no time for the healing to begin.”
Marion shifted her attention back to Keller. “Does the woman have any marks to corroborate this?”
Keller touched his left temple. “Here. You can see the bruising and scratches. Probably from the ring.”
“There’s something else,” Shetterly said.
“What?”
Shetterly pointed to the dead man’s chest. Marker had gone to bed shirtless. The physician traced a muddy print on the lifeless flesh with his forefinger. “It was raining when the woman arrived.”
“What is that?” Marion asked. Then, just before Shetterly answered, she recognized it.
“That,” Shetterly said, “is a muddy footprint.” He looked up at Keller, who had come over to join them. “I spotted this after you went outside. Thought you’d like to see it.”
“Can we get a print off it?” Keller asked.
“Take pictures of this,” Shetterly said. “Then take pictures of the bottom of the shoes that woman has on. It’s almost as good as fingerprints.”
“She put her foot on him?” Marion asked.
Shetterly nodded. “I think so.”
“Why?”
The medical examiner took glasses from a shirt pocket, slipped them on and examined the muddy print. “Looks like she used her foot to hold Marker down while she shot him. He knew it was coming. She made sure of that.”
“Do we know what Marker was doing here?” Marion stood outside the motel room while Shetterly and his assistant took care of the body.
“No.” Keller smoked and watched the rain pouring from the eave.
Marion glanced at her wristwatch. Almost an hour had passed since her arrival. It had only seemed like minutes. The death smell clung to her and she couldn’t wait to get home to shampoo the stench out of her hair.
“There is the connection to the Ellis family,” she said. “We could follow up on that.”
Keller nodded. “Got that penciled in. But folks like the Ellises don’t live the same lives you and I do, Counselor. The air’s a mite more rarified where they are.”
Marion knew that. Phoenix tended toward a city of absolutes. Rich and poor families lived there, but they seldom interacted.
“Even if we do get a chance to interview them, they’re not going to tell us any more than they want us to know.”
“Personal experience, Sheriff?” Marion asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” Keller hesitated a moment. “Brian Ellis may have come home from Vietnam as a returning prisoner of war and a military hero of sorts, but he didn’t leave here that way.”
“What