by Alex Kava
“About three years ago. Is he on his way?”
She shook her head. “He’s a bit squeamish when it comes to stuff like this.”
“I’m sorry, are you from the sheriff’s department?”
The woman finally pushed off the bumper.
“Medical examiner’s office.” She walked over and extended her hand as she slipped the sunglasses to the top of her head. “Vickie Kammerer. Call me Vickie.”
“Maggie O’Dell.”
“So three years ago? You probably worked with Dr. Tomich.”
“Yes. How is he?”
“Retired,” Vickie said as she took out a key and unlocked the padlock. She slid the bolt back then grabbed the handle at the bottom of the garage door. It groaned then squeaked as it slowly started rolling up.
“Nice guy.” Vickie was still talking about Dr. Tomich and appeared oblivious to the pungent odor that immediately began leaking from the open space. “First time I met him he scared the crap out of me.” Her eyes were taking in the unit’s contents as far as the sunlight reached. She continued, “You know he has that crotchety, old man stare that feels like daggers.”
“So you’ve worked with him?”
This time she looked over at Maggie as if suddenly realizing something. “No. I’m sorry, I probably wasn’t clear. I replaced him.”
“You’re the medical examiner?” Maggie heard the slip of surprise before she could stop it.
“Yup.”
The woman didn’t look offended, but Maggie noticed a slight grin at the corner of her lips when she turned back to the storage unit.
“That’s okay,” Vickie said. “I didn’t peg you for an FBI agent.”
She pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and started taking photos without stepping any farther inside.
“We get together for lunch,” she said.
“Excuse me?” Maggie asked.
“Dr. Tomich and I. We get together for lunch every month that has an R in it.”
“An R?”
“His idea, not mine. A quirky way of saying he doesn’t like to go out much during the hottest months.”
Maggie noticed the whole time Vickie talked she continued to take photos. Maggie stepped in beside her and started examining the inside of the unit for the first time.
It looked like a mad scientist’s closet. There were dozens of plastic specimen cups, racks with test tubes, several five-gallon buckets with lids, foam takeout containers and stacks of trash bags. Many of them had cracked or leaked, contributing to the foul odor.
And yet, in the back corner she could see a mop handle with a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Alongside stood a tall stack of paper towels, each singly wrapped. And each had a bold, black banner with the price of 59 cents that she could read all the way from the door.
“Clayton told me to wait for the FBI before I got started,” Vickie said. “Why the federal interest?”
Before Maggie could answer, the medical examiner asked, “Does it have anything to do with that case three years ago?”
This time she stopped snapping photos and gave Maggie her full attention, waiting for the answer.
“How much do you know about it?” Maggie asked as she noticed one of the buckets had a label that read: TISSUE SAMPLES.
“Dr. Tomich told me some of the details. Clayton mentioned that this might be connected, so I pulled up the file. Let me see if I have this right. Three years ago, some guy who called himself Joe Black sold body parts to doctors to be used for educational purposes. Legal at the time. Not a lot of restrictions. However, there were speculations as to how bad-boy Joe acquired the body parts.”
She glanced at Maggie for confirmation. Then she chin-pointed to the contents of the unit. “Flash forward to last week when a Pensacola man buys the abandoned contents of a storage unit for $900 at auction. He opens the door and immediately smells something funky. Then he finds what he thinks might be a human heart in a Tupperware container. Freaks him out. Clamps the door shut and calls the cops.”
The medical examiner paused as she tucked her phone away and pulled on latex gloves. She handed a pair to Maggie and said, “I immediately thought of organ harvesting. Or at least the leftovers. Hearts are worthless unless they’re transplanted in a very short time frame.”
She looked over at Maggie and asked, “Isn’t that what you’re thinking?’
Maggie accepted the gloves and began tugging them on as she scanned the mess. There had to be dozens of disposable takeout containers. Seeing them here and suspecting what was inside them made her stomach flip.
One of Maggie’s first cases involved a killer who enjoyed placing assorted parts of his victims in takeout containers and leaving them in public places. When he discovered the name of the newbie FBI agent tracking him, he started leaving pieces of victims for Maggie. Victims she knew. Actually she didn’t really know the victims, but they had all come in contact with her. And that contact—that brief acquaintance—had made them targets.
“Actually my first thought was a serial killer,” Maggie finally said.
Vickie raised her eyebrows. Maggie shrugged and added, “Occupational hazard. Serial killers are sort of my specialty.”
“Sweet! Mine used to be floaters.”
Maggie’s turn to look surprised.
“I started my career in Minnesota. Land of 10,000 lakes. Seemed like we were constantly fishing a body out every other week.”
Vickie put her hands on her hips, not in a hurry to do anything more for now.
“I got the impression that Sheriff Clayton thinks these are Joe Black’s leftovers,” the medical examiner said. “But you don’t?” she asked.
“It’s possible. But Joe was a lot neater,” Maggie said pointing to a supersized soda cup. It had tipped over, spilling its contents. The blob was shriveled and unrecognizable. “He also had a fetish for cling wrap.”
“And yet, you came all this way.”
Maggie checked again, looking to see if the woman was offended by having her own county sheriff call in the FBI. But Vickie Kammerer appeared only curious. The medical examiner’s phone started ringing. She grabbed it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen.
“My staff. I need to take this,” and she headed back across the lane as she answered the phone.
Maggie took the opportunity to pull out her own phone and began snapping some shots. She took a few steps closer then zoomed in to take a shot of the only organized part of the unit—the back corner with all the cleaning supplies and the neatly stacked paper towels. She couldn’t help thinking there weren’t near enough paper towels to clean up this place.
Even Albert Stucky would be appalled at this mess. Stucky was the serial killer who had precisely extracted his victims’ organs and neatly tucked them into takeout containers. Then he left them to be found on café tables and counters in truck stop diners.
“I gotta go,” Vickie said. “Dead body in the forest. Maybe two. Sorry, I can’t leave you here without someone from my office.”
“Two dead bodies?”
Vickie stopped at the storage unit’s padlock to glance over at Maggie. “I’d never hear the end of it from local law enforcement if I bring along an FBI agent.”
“How about one who specializes in serial killers?”
Chapter 7
Baptist Hospital
Pensacola, Florida
Kayla Hudson waited in the hallway while nurses settled her son in the hospital room. They’d just brought him back from the regular barrage of tests including a CT scan to rule out anything else. Ten-year-old Luke slept through all of them, waking up only once to vomit.
There was a time when all of this would have sent Kayla over the edge of panic. That wasn’t to say his seizures didn’t scare her anymore. This morning when he stumbled into the kitchen she had been sitting with a cup of coffee. His blood sugar had been in perfect range when she tested him earlier that morning at one o’clock. She didn’t even wake him anymore when she gently took hi
s finger and pricked it.
Even as he reached for the cereal, he simply looked half asleep. The cereal didn’t make it into the bowl. Luke collapsed. Lucky Charms went skidding across the tile. In seconds her little boy was convulsing, his jaw clenched so tight she couldn’t squeeze the glucose gel past his teeth. She knew to call 911 as she raced to the drawer for the glucagon kit. Her hands still shook every time she prepared the syringe.
Kayla had confessed to her sister that she worried she’d never get good at this. Her sister simply told her that she didn’t need to get good at it. It wasn’t a skill that she needed to master. She just needed to do it. Kayla knew her sister was right. Panic only made the situation worse. Luke needed her to react quickly and do what was necessary.
She still remembered his first seizure. Remembered exactly how it felt, like someone had ripped into her chest and grabbed her heart in a fist. The fear paralyzed her so completely she couldn’t breathe, let alone move. If Kayla’s sister hadn’t been there...
She didn’t want to think about it. She couldn’t think about it, or all she’d do was beat herself up. Or remember how much she missed her big sister. And none of that helped Luke right now.
She made sure her cell phone was still on vibrate before she checked her messages, though there was no one she expected to hear from. No one she could call.
Stop it! She told herself. You’re starting to feel sorry for yourself, and this isn’t about you. It’s about Luke.
But the truth was she missed having someone take care of her. At least worry about her. Was that so wrong?
Luke’s father had been serving in Afghanistan when Kayla first learned why their sweet, affectionate Luke had suddenly become belligerent and moody. How did she not notice that he was always so thirsty, or that he was getting up three or four times a night to go to the bathroom? It was the weight loss that freaked her out. Shopping for school clothes, she realized his usual size was too big when she was expecting him to need a size larger.
How could she not know that her child had type 1 diabetes?
Her sister helped her through it. She went with Kayla and Luke to the doctor. Came over every day that first week to help with the insulin shot. She was there for his first seizure.
And Eric? He was 8,000 miles away, wishing he could be home. Always ending their video chats or phone calls with that exact phrase, “Wish I could be home with you guys.”
But then, when he finally came home for good last February, he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t give his own son an insulin shot. Couldn’t prick Luke’s finger or remember to bring Skittles. He said the grocery store was too crowded, too loud, so he couldn’t even deal with that one simple chore. Eventually, just picking Luke up from school became a problem for one reason or another.
One by one, everyday tasks were removed from Eric’s list of what he could do, and what he couldn’t do. The tough, brave soldier couldn’t handle or remember a lot of things, at least not without the drugs. And then he couldn’t handle anything at all because of the drugs.
No, Kayla didn’t understand PTSD. How could she be expected to take on one more thing? Her sister had just passed away before Christmas, and it felt like something had ripped inside of her. But she’d looked forward to having her husband back. She looked forward to having a partner to relieve some of the daily stress.
Instead, what she got was an addict who didn’t leave the couch except to go play cards with his veteran buddies. And without her sister to lean on, Kayla felt more alone than she had when Eric was in Afghanistan.
Maybe it wasn’t his fault. When he first came home, he tried. His contribution? One of his veteran buddies had offered a dog for Luke.
A dog!
Like she didn’t have enough bodies to take care of. Eric made it sound as if the dog would be able to help with Luke. Like it would relieve them in some way.
She had never heard of such a thing, but even after she read up on it, she still didn’t believe it. She dealt with the day-to-day realities of Luke’s diabetes. Eric didn’t deal with it at all.
But Eric had agreed to take this dog without telling her. Agreed to it back in February then completely forgot about it when his addiction took over his life, and he no longer ventured out of the house. In fact, the only way Kayla knew about Eric’s agreement, was a phone call updating her about the dog’s progress, and that she’d be ready in the fall just as planned. Luke overheard, and father and son were so excited, how could she say no?
In a surprising turn, it had spurred Eric on. Last week he’d finally agreed to check into a rehab center. He found a doctor he trusted and a facility that was only thirty minutes away.
She should have been happy her husband wanted to get better. And she was. Yet, she couldn’t help wondering if Eric would be any help taking care of the dog.
Still, Kayla thought she’d be sad leaving him at the facility. Sad that he’d be locked away in some stark and sterile rehab center. But the place was nothing like she expected. It was immaculate with sunny rooms, manicured grounds, a restaurant-style cafeteria and a solarium looking out over a huge swimming pool. Instead of feeling sad, Kayla caught herself feeling jealous. Here Eric was copping out by getting addicted to drugs, and what does he get? Something that looked like a vacation at a five-star resort.
Kayla? Back to being mom and medic 24/7. Back to being alone.
“Mrs. Hudson?”
Kayla startled at the nurse’s voice.
“Luke is awake. He’s having a snack. I can stay with him if you’d like to go get a cup of coffee or something to eat. I know you must be exhausted.”
Kayla glanced at the nurse’s name badge while thinking the woman was probably Kayla’s age, late twenties, early thirties. But that’s where the comparison ended. The nurse had an air of confidence, was tall, pretty and blond with a figure men would notice even under her scrubs. All of that was the exact opposite of Kayla.
“Thanks Taylor.” Kayla turned to look down the hallway. “Are you sure they’ll let you do that?”
“We’re pretty quiet today.”
“Downstairs was crazy busy,” Kayla told her as she walked to Luke’s doorway and found herself crossing her arms over her bulging mid-section as she walked by Taylor. She knew they’d want to keep Luke for a while and check for slurred speech or incoherence. The seizures were physically exhausting for him though he didn’t remember them.
Her sister always insisted that was a blessing, the fact that Luke couldn’t remember why his body ached afterwards. Kayla thought it was ridiculous to think any of this could be considered a blessing. But that was her big sister, always looking on the bright side.
Now without her, Kayla struggled to find those imaginary blessings or bright sides. How could she, when her husband had decided to checkout on them? How could she, when she couldn’t stop her little boy from collapsing right in front of her, no matter how many precautions she took?
She glanced inside the room. Luke was sitting up watching the television up in the corner and sucking on a straw.
“Hey Luke. How’re you doing?”
He smiled around the straw while he raised the glass a little. He took two seconds to say, “chocolate shake,” then continued to suck it down as if he thought it was the best milk shake he’d ever tasted.
“I’m going get a snack for myself. Be right back, okay?”
He nodded, and his eyes darted back to the television. She should have felt comforted that he adjusted to these emergency hospital visits so well. Instead, she hated that they were becoming a regular part of their lives. More and more it was difficult to remember what their lives were like before the diabetes.
Kayla thanked Taylor, and she tried to not hate the woman because she was pretty and fit. Kayla knew she wouldn’t be overweight if she had some time for herself. She headed for the elevators. When she was safely inside and all alone, she leaned her head against the wall and allowed a sigh of relief.
Things would get better. S
he could do this. She could be strong.
Those were her sister’s words, not Kayla’s. Her sister who believed in blessings and mantras. None of which saved her from the cancer.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened to another bright sterile hallway. Kayla wandered out. The early morning adrenaline rush was gone, leaving in its place a mind-numbing fatigue. She ran her fingers through her tangled, shoulder-length hair and tried to remember if she’d even brushed it before Luke’s seizure.
Things would get better. She could do this. She could be strong.
Who was she kidding? Even she didn’t believe that bullshit anymore.
Chapter 8
Baptist Hospital
Pensacola, Florida
Taylor Donahey was relieved the mother agreed to leave. It gave Taylor an excuse to stay away from the other nurses. Her second week on the job was not going so well. She was a trauma and surgical nurse with a tour of duty in Afghanistan under her belt. Her last assignment had been in an ER back in Virginia. Fresh trauma was her specialty. And where did they put her?
On the pediatric floor!
Maybe it was preparation for getting her son back. A lesson on being around kids, because she definitely didn’t specialize in kids. Or perhaps it was punishment for deserting him all those years ago.
This wasn’t punishment though. She liked Luke Hudson. He reminded her of William, though Luke was four years older. His grandparents were calling him Willie.
She winced at the nickname. Was there any going back? Maybe she no longer had a right to how he was addressed.
“I’m getting a dog,” Luke told her out of the blue.
From his chart, Taylor knew he’d crashed early this morning. Juvenile diabetes. He’d arrived by ambulance and had gone through a barrage of tests. And yet here he was, cheerful and optimistic. She’d forgotten how innocent and genuine children could be. How resilient. Could she really expect to drop back into her son’s life? She knew so little about him. How could she ever be a good mother to him?
“Boy or girl dog?” she asked, thankful for the diversion.