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She’s tough. She’s brilliant. And her first murder case might just break her.
The address was on Bonny Oaks Drive, in east Chattanooga. Pitch dark. For a second I thought I had the wrong place. Then I saw the gate, standing open, and past it the old sand quarry, lit up like noon by four light towers.
Doc Sheddon was up a stepladder propped against a section of concrete culvert, stood on end, its mouth open to the sky. All I could see of him was his white Tyvek backside.
“Nasty one, Kate,” he said, coming down. “Go take a look.”
I didn’t need to. I could smell it. But I suited up, climbed the ladder, and looked over the rim of the pipe.
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