Dead & Buried: Partners in Crime, Book 1

Jameson Kennedy made his way around the tangled crowd of vehicles and people. A flash of his badge, and he ducked under the yellow tape, steeling himself for the sight of yet another body. The sideways looks he was getting from the other cops and techs made the hairs on his neck stand up. Donovan had been his partner for all eight years of his detective career. They knew each other’s families, their kids went to school together, his ex-wife and Donovan’s wife were friends – they were as close as brothers. If this was Donovan lying in the mud at the side of the road, he had to keep it together. He couldn’t break down in front of everyone.

Finally, the last row of people parted, and he stepped close enough to see the body.

He couldn’t stop the complex intake of breath. It felt like someone had just punched him in the chest. Mud splattered the sweatshirt and jeans of the figure before him, but he recognized the college logo and the splash of green paint he’d put on the faded blue cloth just last week. The face was mud-splattered, battered and bloody, but he knew it well. He tried to speak, but his voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and said, “Yes, that is Michael Donovan.”

“Identification made of the victim as Michael Donovan, detective second grade, Harbor PD,” the coroner said as he moved back to allow his assistants to finish bagging Donovan’s hands and putting his body into the bag.

“Sorry for your loss, Kennedy,” Dr. Finney said as he passed him.

Crime makes a mark. It leaves a scar that resonates in the atmosphere of the place where it happened. Jameson Kennedy knew he would never pass this place again without feeling the pain of Donovan’s loss.

“I want to do the notification,” Kennedy said.

“Take Edgars with you,” Sergeant Simmons replied.

“Whatever,” Kennedy muttered as he headed back to his car.

Jerry Edgars, new to the squad, stood beside the car when Kennedy arrived.