Sunday, June 8
Sunday, June 8By early morning, fog had risen from the ocean to enfold Santa Catalina. At their posts on the trail under the bluff, where the body lay quietly enough, Deputy Coroner Seth Forman and Sheriff’s Detective Ted Price flung off blankets, got up and walked stiffly up and down the trail as they had done from time to time through the night. Nothing more than a flighty deer had stirred on their watch. In unison, they checked the vacuum flasks that lay beside their folding chairs. Empty, both of them.
“Now that we can see if anyone’s coming along, one of us could go get some coffee,” Forman suggested. “Flip you for it: heads I go, tails you stay.” When Price protested, he laughed. “Just checking to see if you’re awake.” He looked at his watch. “Never mind. Day shift’s
