23
Miller, the white Styrofoam coffee cup in his right hand, gazed down at the broken and bruised corpse of Liz. He shook his head. What a waste, he thought. If only she hadn’t talked to them, things would be okay right now and she wouldn’t have had to die.
The deep purple bruise ringing her throat showed that she’d struggled for life. It impressed him that she fought. She had been such a worthless b***h otherwise. s*x, dope, and partying were all she cared about in that empty head of hers. No, he corrected himself, empty life.
He knelt down, and with the long fingers of his left hand, he closed her eyelids to cover the vacant stare. Good night my sweet, he thought.
“Sheriff.” It was Summers, coming up behind him. “Should I set up the crime scene tape around this area so we’re ready fo
