Her eyelids fluttered then closed against the early afternoon sunshine. “Shit. I’ve never thought of ears as particularly offensive one way or another, but I believe I’ve revised my opinion.”
“Here, drink some water. You’re still under the influence of the drugs you were given.” He pressed a bottle to her lips and watched the delicate workings of her throat as she sipped.
“Thanks. And I appreciate you not calling an ambulance.” Her cheeks ripened to a bright crimson. “Considering my line of work, you must think me a sissy. But here’s the thing. You know how nurses can handle blood all day long, yet drop at the sight of their child’s injury?” A brief pause let her words sink in. “It’s kinda the same thing. I’d bet my next paycheck that the—tissue—belongs to Wendy.”
“It’s the same for many parents, and I do understand.”
“Whose truck?”
“Matt’s. He’s gonna take care of—mine.” To mention the severed part would multiply her discomfort.
Royden and Matt had snapped into work mode the minute they discovered the cause of the alarm. Royden corralled the remaining funeral attendees without offering specific details for the necessity. Whispers and suppositions drifted from the gathered group as to the cause of the detention. One of the college girls had slipped away, the one with the pink-striped hair. The others remained with Royden as he calmed them.
Each waited for their interview before cleared to leave, their curious glances and low speculative murmurs a nuisance his nervous bundle didn’t need. Matt had sectioned off the area around the crime scene until the mobile lab processed the evidence.
“Who carries crime tape in their vehicle?” With a touch to her forehead, she groaned.
“My brother, Matt. Speaking of which, he’s gonna want to talk to you.”
She straightened with his brother’s approach. “I can get up now. Thanks.” The hem of her linen slacks caught on the running board as she stood beside the open door.
“Always glad to help.”
Straight to the point appeared to be her MO as she addressed Matt. “Why is the bastard taunting me? I could understand if he wanted to kill me since I had physical contact. That night, he knew I was in the car before he got a good look at me.”
“About that.” Matt stepped forward and peered down into her face, concern etched in his features. “Any new thoughts, bits of memory coming back? He obviously came prepared to kill Gena yet called you by name before chasing you through the woods.”
“Maybe he recognized my SUV? Damn cocky son of a bitch. If only I had scratched him or yanked a few hairs.”
“Damien and I couldn’t find the rock you used to bash his head.”
“Which means he’s adept at sanitizing his working area,” Billy suggested. “Not a first timer.”
“He could have killed me instead of making me a play toy. Hell, he probably cleaned my hands.”
“He doesn’t want you dead. We just need to figure out the connection and what the hell he does want.” Matt gestured to the approaching blue van to pull aside.
“At least not yet. Sooner or later, my luck will run out.”
“Billy, stick with her for the time being. I’ll have Royden spell you later.” Matt handed him the shepherd-shaped key ring. His gaze encompassed part curiosity, part challenge. He wanted to say more.
Billy frowned and shook his head. There was more going on with the ME than they understood. Tact and lateral passage made for a better approach.
“I’m not curtailing my normal activities. This prick won’t send me into hiding.”
“Didn’t think that a possibility. You wanna go grab a coffee or head back to your place?” Setting the tone of their working relationship sooner, rather than later, would reduce conflict. As much as he didn’t want her in public, if he tried to dictate her life, they’d spend their time fighting tooth and nail.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You have a protection detail. We’ll be as unobtrusive as possible.”
“I guess you’re gonna want to stay in my house.”
“We’d be much more effective, yes.”
“I have frequent sleepovers.” Her raised brow challenged him to argue.
A spontaneous snort masked his disbelief. “I’ll make sure Buckeye and Holly wear ear muffs. Let’s head out. I can take a formal statement at the farm.”
A quiet afternoon followed the purchase of a few groceries from a mom-and-pop mart and detailing the morning’s events in written form. When she’d signed the statement, he shoved the papers aside.
He hated grilling her with more questions, but her psycho stalker had upped the ante. “Why don’t we sit on the back porch? You’ve got a great view.”
“You’re trying hard to avoid cop mode. Why?”
Awareness slipped a wedge of amusement in rationalizing his actions. He liked her, plain and simple. Beauty provided surface attraction, but the core of her character and personality drew him into the craving for simple conversation. “You’ve had a rough week. You don’t need anyone adding to your stress by poking at your memory.” It was a rare treat to be on the same page and so at ease with someone. “After you.”
Fresh air caught a soft lock of mahogany curls when she took a seat on the couch and tucked her feet beside her.
The same furniture groaned under his greater weight. “We’re all more than the sum of our parts. This bastard stalker is not taking a break. Yet it’s exactly what you need, space and time to catch your breath.” The quiet reprieve offered an intimacy he’d never experienced. He hated having to shatter it.
“I’m fine. You have questions. Fire away.”
He was toeing the edge of a precarious situation, a burgeoning respect for her intelligent, analytical mind, and the desire to delve into the many what ifs surfing the back burner of his thoughts. With his heart and mind at war, he ceded to middle ground, sitting beside her and cuddling Holly on his lap. The cat was fur-suited contentment, grasping at his hands and keeping him from reaching out to offer Remie comfort. Buckeye jumped up beside her and rubbed his head against her chest.
“Tell me about your ex.”
“It wasn’t him. The guy Wednesday night was taller, thinner.”
“Any other old boyfriends in the wings?”
“No. What about you? Since you didn’t handle the knife at the scene and your whereabouts beforehand have been accounted for, you’re just as much of a target. Maybe leaving the evidence in your truck set crosshairs on your back.”
If that fact hadn’t muddied the investigational waters, he would’ve been relieved. “Any chance of taking a few extra days off from work?”
“No. I go back tomorrow, though I have to admit, I wish I could take Buckeye with me.”
Considering her lifestyle, admitting to that small chink in her armor took an emotional toll. Billy’s mental snapshot of the dog’s presence creating havoc in the morgue reminded him of his brother’s significant other, Lexi. Whatever celestial body paired Buckeye and Holly with Remie knew what they were doing. “Security will be posted in the hallway.”
Rehashing events provided no further information.
For days after the funeral, Remie remained withdrawn, protecting herself in a way recognized by anyone who’d borne a heavy burden. On prior afternoons, he’d waited in the reception area of the morgue for her to come out at the end of her shift.
Evenings had fallen into a routine of stimulating conversations over favorite books, a quiet movie, or sitting on the porch to watch the riot of colors slip over the horizon. If not for the looming threat, he could imagine a lifetime of the same.
His hesitation to enter her work domain didn’t alter the necessity of overcoming extreme reluctance. Reality declared the area safe, but a dark imagination would paint his face on every soulless husk in the cold lockers, lined up and waiting their turn for respectful examination.
He’d wondered what tolls fate demanded from the dedicated staff devoting their l
ives to uncovering hidden truths. Years of experience would dictate Remie an expert in her field, able to appreciate and discern the minute differences in detailing a victim’s death, but at what cost?
On the few occasions he’d visited, he couldn’t dismiss the odor, despite the incense and oils designed to keep it at bay. Downdraft ventilation systems on the tables helped, but nothing erased the pungent odor. Seldom was the occasion his attendance became necessary since criminal cases were usually dryer, cleaner, and seldom abused the sinuses.
When he pushed through the double doors to the lab, another doctor worked quietly at the end of the six-table row. Hanging microphones and lights that swiveled on arms contributed to the uncanny setting. Each station included an overhead magnifying lens on an adjustable arm for close inspection. Every cabinet, every tray, every instrument was precise, ordered, and conformed to the space as a whole.
The far wall consisted of three rows of doors, each column a self-contained refrigerated unit with a toggle switch beside the doorframe. Inside, cool temperatures slowed the rate of autolysis, the body’s decomposition into simpler, basic elements.
Remie’s grin as she set aside a pair of pruning shears and lifted off a chest plate pulled him up short. A tilt of her head acknowledged his reluctance to enter her world of soulless stares and blue and reddish blemishes denoting the body’s cells having ceased their work. The thought of essentially field dressing a cadaver, cutting from pubic bone to the throat encouraged him to keep his gaze on the surrounding walls.
Damn, Lexi uses a pair of shears just like that for gardening.
The chill circling his vertebrae arose from the disparity of her smile and the unknown material smearing her vinyl apron. It had nothing to do with his recent brush with death. If he were laying on one of the six tables lined up in marching order like the barrel-chested, gray-haired man undergoing her current exam, anxiety would not be an issue.
“Hey, just thought I’d come in a little early and see how things are going after your first week back to work.” He hoped she didn’t notice the blood draining from his face or the dampness on his upper lip.
Unlike her personal life, she kept her workspace neat and organized. Various tools lay side by side on the extended tray of her cart, waiting to uncover the secrets of the dead.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize the time. Let me tidy up and I’ll meet you in the office.” She jutted her chin in the direction of a small room close to the entrance.
Retracing his steps allowed time to reconcile the contemplative brunette who’d single-handedly dismantled a toaster to the doctor wielding precision instruments with ease.
Adjacent to the double-door entrance, the medical examiner’s office included space for each employee. The large room contained four desks, each bearing a lamp, tower computer, and framed pictures. A small oscillating fan sat on the table in the corner.
Remie’s desk made itself known with three file folders laying open alongside pictures of Holly and Buckeye cuddled on her couch. A photo of an older couple sat on the opposite corner. Remie had her father’s eyes and mother’s thick hair.
His fingers itched to straighten the folders. Instead, he sat in her chair and noticed the top middle drawer ajar. Several chocolate bars, a small calculator, and a novelty pen from a medical conference gave him another glimpse into Remie’s preferences. She’d probably love a basket of chocolate. He made a mental note for her birthday.
The swinging door opened and made him jump like a kid caught in the middle of a prank.
“Hey, sorry for the wait. Any leads on locating Wendy?”
“No. We’ve checked with family, friends, and neighbors. She hasn’t gone home and isn’t using her credit card or appearing on any surveillance cameras at the college or in town.”
“How do you monitor all that? I wasn’t aware CPD had that capability.”
“Uh, we have a techie in the family, kind of speeds things up on occasion.”
“Hmm, interesting. I’d like to meet him.” Her gaze fell to the open drawer.
Quiet reservation weighted the corner of her mouth and furrowed her brow, a burden he’d noted immediately before Gena’s funeral. Each night, he’d softly prodded with leading questions, yet she held herself in check, as if self-denial kept some ominous occurrence at bay.
“It’s Ethan’s better half, and you’ll meet her soon.” Unless he could convince Remie to open up, he’d ask Lexi to do a little digital snooping. Lives are at stake.
“Ah, the one who sent fur-lined cuffs to her boyfriend at the police station.” She paused then frowned as she reached for a candy bar. “What’s this?” The corner of a white envelope jutted up, her name scrawled across the front.
“I don’t know...Who writes letters these days.”
As she ripped the seal, he snatched it from her grasp.
“No, wait.” Instinct saw Billy sliding the paper out with little handling. The folded note fell to the desk where meager air currents from the oscillating fan blew it open.
“Stop screwing the detective or he dies, and you donate a pound of flesh.” Large block print filled the page. She looked to him as if to confirm it a silly prank.
“Shit. Your office is so close to the exit and people come and go around here like clients at the MVA. It’s gonna be hard to narrow down a suspect pool.”
“And here I thought dead bodies would set us apart. Is the killer afraid our working together will catch him that much sooner?”
“Either that or he’s infatuated and jealous. Hell, Remie. I don’t know how many people traipse through here during the day, but I’ve seen three in the few minutes since I’ve entered.”
“I haven’t been in the office since this morning. Even then, I don’t remember opening the drawer. Hell, someone could’ve placed it here last night.”
“Damn it. We’ll drop this off at the lab on the way home. While you’re changing your clothes, I’ll check with security out in the hall, see if anyone entered he didn’t recognize.”
Whoever designed the office building lacked foresight in planning security and brainstorming the layout. The front lobby, though cold and professional, boasted tall ceilings with a camera in one corner. Due to the wall’s height, the lens’ angle would provide a great shot of the top of someone’s head. A fifth grader could avoid detection.
As expected in checking with the officer posted, each visitor who entered had worn a uniform or was known to conduct business inside. He’d never given much thought to how much foot traffic entered the building. When he checked the footage of the building’s rear, someone had beaten him to it and erased the file.
The call to his oldest brother prompted a grimace as he imagined Matt pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah, Billy. What’d you get into now?”
“Remie received a message, a note. I’ll drop it by on our way home. It seems her secret admirer doesn’t like me hanging around.”
“Figures. Watch your back. Maybe it’s time to double up.”
“No. She already feels smothered.” To add to Remie’s protection detail would thrust her in defiance mode. They’d gotten along too well to ruffle her feathers unless necessary.
“Fine but stay alert.”
“Have you located Gena’s funeral crasher?”
“Not yet. I’ve talked to the kids, but they’d just met her that day at the funeral. Nobody seems to know her. She’ll turn up sooner or later, and I’ll get some answers.”
Knowing someone thwarted his eldest sibling’s best efforts would’ve provided amusement under different circumstances. Like any well-trained, seasoned detective, Matt’s instincts were sharp and usually on target. He suspected the pixie enigma’s involvement and wouldn’t give up.
“Serial killers don’t usually have partners.” Billy’s recent brush with twisted minds allowed doubt to tinge his years of experience and knowledge to the point he second-guessed himself at every turn.
“My gut
tells me she’s involved. Damn. She looked so young… if a little rough around the edges. I think the situation is a bit more convoluted. One thing is for sure. I will find her.”
Chapter Eleven
There wasn’t enough coffee in Remie’s kitchen to thaw the block of ice in her chest. She’d become the target of a warped mind with the added bonus of not understanding the rules or endgame. Despite her chosen profession of unraveling the mysteries of death, she connected with many of the living on a professional level. This felt personal, twisted.
Dr. Weller’s previous call added additional weight to seal her gloom. Her second mammogram, followed up with a sonogram, revealed ill-defined borders and microcalcifications with spiky extensions. Jesus, I don’t turn thirty for three months.
As she swirled water in the coffee carafe to rinse it out, a shudder racked her frame. “I have no idea why life has taken such dark turns.”
“Talk to me, Remie.”
She wasn’t ready to give voice to the traitorous cells growing in her breast, adding another layer of oppressive reality. As close as she’d grown to the detective, their routine as comfortable as snuggling with her four-footed animals, she couldn’t tolerate seeing pity in his gaze.
“I will. Things are just so—muddled right now.” There was so much to do. She hadn’t sorted through her parents’ things, straightening or donating what she could stand to part with. In the corner of the master closet stood a bureau with her mother’s wig, a cold reminder of her own future.
“I spoke with Matt.” He hesitated at the kitchen island before lifting the carafe from her hands and nudging her to the side of the sink. Taking the sponge and thoroughly cleaning the glass indicated he’d drink the coffee, too, from a clean pot. “The results of the tissue sample left in my truck came back.”
“And?”
His slight droop in shoulders normally held square, along with a gaze hesitant to meet her eyes, outlined a scenario she didn’t want to hear.
McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two Page 35