Rob stared at the linoleum with its pattern worn bare in distinct pathways, the antiseptic steel tables and sinks, the hospital-green walls. Cold. Soulless. Rob examined everything—anything—to divert his eyes away from the black body bag pulled out from the morgue drawer and the eight by ten glossies the sheriff had scattered on the steel table. Rob could only manage a single glimpse, but it was enough. He had known from the first it was Nate.
Rob scarcely heard as the coroner droned on about the results of the autopsy. Rather, he fingered the large chained wallet Nate always used. His thumbs explored the worn leather as his mind wandered through fond memories until, scalded by the jagged feel of deep canine tooth marks, he dropped it back into the box of his brother’s belongings. “Did you get all of it?” he asked abruptly.
“That’s everything we found on his person, Mr. Daniels,” the coroner answered.
Rob wagged his head. “No. I mean, did you get all of him?” He didn’t want to think about the answer. “I would like to see where it happened,” he added before the man could respond.
“Murdock thought you might,” Sheriff Gutierrez answered; “—the rancher who found the truck. He has to drive out that direction today and will wait for you over at the diner ‘til ten.”