a deep breath. “His pajamas were splattered with…” She tried to shake the image out of her head and sighed heavily. “After we found him, we took a second hard look at the crime scene. Some of the smears could have been his footprints near his mother’s body and, again, in the kitchen by his father.”
Adam looked at the sleeping child and his heart constricted. It would be hard enough to help a small boy rid himself of the fear of monsters after the experience he’d had. An autistic boy would present a bigger challenge. Anger simmered right beneath the surface. In his profession, no matter how often he’d come in contact with the face of evil, it still never ceased to surprise him. “Did he say anything when you found him?”
Liz shook her head. “Sal and I found him. He took one look at our uniforms and got hysterical. Remembering what Kate had told me about uniforms, I slipped on one of his mother’s blouses. I told Sal to call the paramedics and to go into Dave Henderson’s closet and find shirts, hopefully large enough, for everyone to wear until we could get the child calmed down.
“But Jeremy continued to scream and thrash about so much I had to forcibly hold him down until the paramedics arrived so he wouldn’t hurt himself. I wrapped my arms around him and held him against me as tightly as I could. After a few moments, it seemed to calm him.”
Adam nodded. “You did the right thing. Many autistic children can’t tolerate light touch but crave deep pressure. Just like we swaddle infants in blankets to provide them with a sense of security, sometimes autistic children experience sensory overload and need swaddling as well to help them calm themselves.”
She washed a hand over her face and Adam realized just how exhausted she was.
He walked around the bed and stood beside her. He had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But after what he’d done, the poor choices, the mistakes, he didn’t deserve her friendship or her forgiveness—yet. But that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. What he needed was time to prove he had changed and convince her that he was worth a second chance.
Instead, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You need to go home, Lizzie, and get some sleep. Doctor’s orders.” He grinned, trying to lighten the somber mood.
“I can’t. I have to get to the office. I’m sure the state boys have arrived by now. We have to form a task force and discuss investigation strategies.”
“Call your office on the way home. Delegate tasks to other people.” He clasped her forearms and gently pulled her up to face him. “I’ve heard you are a good sheriff, Lizzie Bradford. Rumor has it that you are a great sheriff. But an exhausted, dead-on-her-feet sheriff isn’t going to get the job done. Go home. Grab a couple of hours’ sleep. The state police will still be here when you wake up.”
“You’re right.” She smiled at him and there it was again, that bolt of sunshine hitting him in the face. Her smiles had always had that effect on him. They looked into each other’s eyes. Slowly, a tension, an awareness of past relationships, past hurts surfaced between them and he watched again as memories stole her smile away. She broke eye contact, glanced over her shoulder at the boy and said, “Please take good care of him, Dr. Morgan.”
She crossed the room and paused in the doorway. “And Adam…” When she had his attention, she continued. “Call me Liz. You can even call me Sheriff. Nobody calls me Lizzie.”
He arched an eyebrow. “That’s all I ever called you.”
“I know.” Her words held a sadness that almost broke his heart. “But not anymore.”
Then she slipped out of the room.
TWO
“Sal, can you come in here for a minute?” Liz placed her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk.
The wiry Italian strode in. His brown shoulder harness held his Glock in place. Muscular biceps puffed out the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. A thin gold necklace ringed his neck. He grinned, his teeth white and even, and it was all Liz could do not to laugh. He was a walking caricature of a mafioso wannabe—an Italian tough guy. He knew it and played it to the hilt for the ladies. She’d found herself immune to this particular part of his charm years ago.
Sal folded his wiry body onto one of the straight-back chairs in front of her desk and crossed an ankle on top of his knee.
“Never thought you’d be one of the missing-in-
action’s. Where you been? The spa?”
“I wish.” Liz ignored his lighthearted teasing. He’d been her right hand for over four years now and she didn’t know what she’d do without him. “Wait a minute. Does Country Corners even have a spa?”
“Sure does. I heard the Thompson pig farm offers mud baths at half price this week only and they’re selling fast.”
“That so?”
“Has to be true. I got it straight from Gertie Simpson’s mud-caked lips.”
Liz laughed out loud at the mental image of old maid Gertie Simpson covered with mud and thinking it was a beauty remedy.
“Okay, I admit that was a good one. Now, get serious and fill me in.” Liz sat down and pulled her wheeled chair closer to her desk. “I take it you met with the state boys.”
“Sure did. Detective Frank Davenport will be acting as liaison between our people and his men. They’ve agreed to handle the physical evidence—follow up with the state lab on the ballistic reports, prints and so on. They’re also investigating the Hendersons’ background prior to their move here.”
Liz nodded and continued listening.
“Darlene enlarged all of the crime scene photos. She gave copies to Davenport and posted the other set to our board in the conference room.”
Liz breathed a sigh of relief. Adam had been right. A couple hours of sleep hadn’t prevented progress from being made on the case.
“Anything helpful in the photos?”
Sal shrugged and took a sip of coffee from the cup he’d carried in with him. “Not yet. You know how that goes. You don’t know what is or isn’t helpful until you have more of an idea about what happened in the first place.”
“Thanks, Sal. I appreciate you coordinating things for me.”
“No problem.” He grinned at her like a kid who’d nabbed the top score on a school test and then continued updating her. “Our department’s handling the investigation of the Hendersons since their move here in January. I’m running a check to see if there are any business ties we should be looking into. Paul’s checking out Mrs. Henderson’s social calendar. He’s also interviewing neighbors to see if anybody saw anything—which is unlikely since the houses are so remote and secluded out there, but it’s worth a shot. Miller’s off this shift. I sent him home. I figure the guy’s kissing retirement. Don’t see any reason to ask him to work double shifts. Not yet, anyway.”
“Darlene?”
“She’s on a B and E call. I don’t know—home invasions, murders, dead drug dealers, breaking and entering. All of a sudden our quiet little town isn’t so quiet anymore.”
“Tell
