“Quincy’s on line two for ya, Sarge.”
I answered Deputy Mullins with a sigh and a nod before picking up the receiver. I cleared my throat. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” Grabbing my coffee, I leaned back in the chair. “What do you got today, some chickens choked by a crazy cauliflower?” I took a sip. “A pesky Pekinese pummel a Pomeranian?”
Quincy frequently reported fictitious crimes. He had found a dead cow once along Route 4 and called it in as a UFO probing gone deadly. A gang of rogue raccoons broke-in to Petey McGee’s barn, and for the assault on Darla Jenkins’ cat by an armed and dangerous Blue Jay, he had secured two witnesses who had seen the whole thing. As irritating as his antics were, you couldn’t blame the guy. He was the Medical Examiner in a town that had never had a violent crime. He was bored, but in all my years as Chief of Police, Quincy had never called this early.
“Uh, Sarge, I think we’ve got a problem. I’m over here at Eagle Ridge, and you know how they’re doing all those renovations on the houses?”
Usually booming, Quincy’s voice was quiet, borderline shaky. I became suspicious. He was a good actor, had a hankering to hitchhike out to Hollywood in his youth to take a gamble at the silver screen, so I played along. “They got some loose pigs pillaging the pantries?”
“Uh, no,” Quincy said. “Looks like the boys found what appears to be…human remains.”