“Frank Sullivan’s granddaughter.”
Declan straightened. “And she’s involved because…?”
“She’s a medicolegal death investigator.”
“I didn’t realize Pine Ridge had one of those.”
“We don’t. She works for the Philadelphia Medical Examiner’s Office.”
“The locals pulled someone in from the outside?”
“Not exactly. She’s just visiting.”
Declan exhaled. “Let me guess—you smiled at her, said something charming, and she offered to help you out of the goodness of her heart.”
“Actually, she dumped coffee on me the first time we crossed paths,” Patrick said, smiling at the memory.
“She’s the out of towner that spilled coffee on you and blew you off?”
“Yep.”
“I like her already,” Declan rumbled. “So what changed?”
Patrick’s smile faded. “She’s got a vested interest in this one. The dead guy? She’s seen him before—at a crime scene in Philly.”
“That tracks. No one around here knows anything about the guy. Got an ID?”
“Working on it. Thanks to your contact, Morgan was able to get photographs and obtain information that should have been in the official report and wasn’t—including an injection site they either missed or chose not to see. We took the prints over to my dad this morning, and Uncle Mick will run the hair sample for DNA.”
Declan whistled softly. “Hell of an update there, man.”
“Yeah.”
Declan returned to the heat gun.
They worked the railing steadily, the old paint coming up in curling strips, the wood beneath showing itself to be in better shape than it looked. The porch boards needed replacing in two spots, but the beadboard ceiling above them was still in great shape.
“You like this girl,” Declan said matter-of-factly.
“She reads scenes the way other people read text.” Patrick worked a stubborn patch of paint loose. “The pattern recognition, the analytical work. She’s better at the physical evidence side than anyone I’ve worked with.”
“Not what I meant, but we’ll pretend it was if it makes you feel better,” Declan said with a smirk. “Too bad she’s just visiting. Sounds like she’d be a useful resource for someone looking to build an investigative practice.”
Patrick didn’t like thinking about Morgan returning to Philly, and not simply because it might be dangerous for her to do so. She belonged in Pine Ridge. He felt it in his bones.
He sat back on his heels. “The digital infrastructure is where the real edge is, especially when you have a family like ours. Youdon’t need a building full of people if you have the right tools and the right eyes.”
“We’ve got the tools.”
“We’re getting there,” Patrick agreed.
They’d need to do some paperwork to make it official. Set up an LLC. Apply for licenses. All doable things, well within reach.
What they didn’t have was someone who could read a situation and read it the way Morgan could. Someone who knew enough to know exactly when things didn’t add up.
Declan picked up the heat gun again. Said nothing.
Patrick’s phone buzzed on the drop cloth. Riley.