The Body Keeper

by Anne Frasier

  A light rap at the door and the boy entered, cupping a bowl with his small hands, moving carefully, Elliot behind him.

  “It’s ice cream,” the child said. Raspberry chocolate—her favorite.

  “Thank you.” Accepting the treat, Jude watched the child, noting eyes that were an intense blue. Like hers. Like her father’s.

  She looked at Uriah, who was still waiting for her verdict. “I think it’s the truth.”

  So strange how things intertwined in the most unexpected ways, and yet it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Last night in the hospital she’d made the decision to try and adopt the boy. This new information about his possible identity didn’t change anything. He was the same person today as he’d been yesterday. He was the same abused and unsettling and charming child, who might or might not have dark tendencies, who might or might not have inherited the desire to do bad things. But she wasn’t afraid.

  She ate a little of the ice cream, then put the bowl aside, leaned back against the pillow, and closed her eyes. She heard Elliot usher the boy from the room. “Let’s go downstairs and feed Blackie.” They left, but Uriah lingered. She felt the bed dip, and when she opened her eyes again, he was lying on his side next to her, elbow on the mattress, head propped against his hand.

  “What else?” she asked. She could see he wasn’t done with his news.

  “I got the MRI results and I’ve scheduled my surgery.”

  Now she was afraid. “When?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  Her throat tightened. “That’s so soon.” She needed more time.

  “The doctor said we should hurry. And this case is solved. Not completely wrapped up, but nothing major going on. Everybody will be fine without me.”

  Not true. And it was so easy to die. Too easy.

  “You’ll come back, won’t you?”

  He considered her question. The fact that he had to think about it at all terrified her more.

  “You have to come back,” she said. “For me.”

  He smiled at her as if either journey, living or dying, was nothing.

  CHAPTER 61

  Two weeks later, Loring Park, Minneapolis

  Sitting alone on a park bench facing the frozen lake, Jude folded the copy of the New York Times, wishing Uriah were sitting next to her so he could read it too. The day was a throwback to a true Minnesota winter: temperature about twenty degrees, blue cloudless sky, sun shining, and, as happened when you acclimated to the cold, it felt warm, almost shirtsleeve weather.

  She scanned the crowd of skaters, looking for the boy, and spotted his red knit hat. Elliot was on one side of him, Ava Germaine on the other, both holding his hands. Occasionally, Octavia would glide past Jude’s bench, her purple scarf flying behind her, and she’d wave with heartbreaking innocence. How Jude’s father had known Nan, she wasn’t sure. It wouldn’t have been a stretch for him to have been a client of the traffickers.

  Back before Uriah’s terrible surgery, they’d found the meat locker with the bodies, six in all. Two were thought to be still in the lake. It would be spring before they could search for them, once the ice melted. But that didn’t keep the curious and morbid away, hoping to find another child.

  They might never know everything about the boy, and he might never be able to be fully socialized. But she would deal with that. DNA results confirmed Savoy’s story. The child was not related to Nanette Perkins, and he was in fact Jude’s half brother. They’d also run his DNA through their databases. No match to any of the bodies found on Jude’s father’s property. There could still be buried girls, killed by her father, unaccounted for. That was Jude’s suspicion. She would keep looking for the boy’s relatives while at the same time trying to give him the life he deserved. And a name.

  In a cluster of laughter and the sound of blades on ice, all four of the skaters converged on the bench. Red cheeks, smiles, eyes that were bright. And it hit Jude that all of them, including herself, had been affected by the same evil man. But anyone who saw them today would never suspect their dark histories.

  She lifted the folded paper. “This is fantastic journalism,” she told Elliot. “Congratulations.” He almost had her convinced to take her part of the inheritance—divided three ways now that the boy was here. The child’s share would be used for his education, but she could do a lot with hers. So many worthy nonprofits out there.

  “Thanks,” Elliot said.

  His piece, “The Body Keeper,” about Perkins and Ford and Savoy, had been published at a time when it felt like nothing new would be added to the child-trafficking conversation, but the story of the bodies had reawakened outrage and reconfirmed the nation’s commitment to keeping kids safe. The president had even invited Jude to the White House to discuss a task force to enhance already-existing organizations.

  It was hard for her to imagine that the scale of events and the operation of years ago could happen today, what with measures implemented over the past decade, but you never knew. Unfortunately, evil would always find a way to exploit the innocent. Her father had proved that. No measures would ever be enough, but she had to believe they would help.

  She wasn’t really surprised that Savoy had fooled her. That day she’d picked him up from the airport, any oddity she’d detected had been filed as PTSD and the damage that happened to detectives who worked child murder cases, especially ones they couldn’t solve. And it wasn’t unusual for a person who felt no sense of guilt to have no tells. Many could even breeze through lie detector tests.

  The group drank some hot cocoa and talked softly, then the four of them skated away, moving across the lake in a row, all four holding hands now, leaving Jude alone on the bench. She was healing but wasn’t well enough to risk a fall and another concussion.

  “Leroy?” a voice from behind asked. She turned to see Uriah standing there, coffee in one hand, a knit cap covering his postsurgical head. Most of his hair was gone, but it would come back.

  “No.”

  He sat down beside her. “Jed.”

  “No.”

  “Just seeing if you were paying attention.” So far, he’d suggested about fifty names for the boy. “How about Ira?”

  “Hmm. Maybe. He has to like it too.”

  “Let me remind you that the names he’s suggested so far are Kitty and Panda. Panda is kind of cool, but I don’t know if it has legs. Hopefully you can find something you both agree on.”

  “You were gone a long time.”

  “The vendor ran out of coffee and had to make another pot.”

  “I would have gotten it for you.”

  “I need to do things for myself.”

  Almost losing the boy, followed by thinking she might lose Uriah, had changed her, lifted the numbness and cracked the protective wall she’d built around herself during captivity. Little steps. And sitting in the waiting room with his family while his brain was cut open, dreading yet needing to hear the results of the surgery, had been some of the worst hours of her life. But he was okay, and she was okay, and they were all okay.

  Bittersweet, aching beauty could still be found in the aftermath of grief and evil. That’s what she’d learned over the past year, over the past few months. And a lot of that realization was due to Uriah and his steady and cool and collected and unruffled self.

  She touched the back of his hand and felt his small jerk of surprise. Then, without a word, he fumbled for a stronger grip, squeezing firmly, silently conveying how much she meant to him. As he held her hand, he seemed razor-focused on the skaters, but she caught a suspicious glint in his eye.

  The surgery had made him more emotional, probably due to the anesthetics that could linger in a person’s system. He wasn’t yet a hundred percent. He tired easily, but that would pass. And she wasn’t the only one coming to terms with this new life. His wife had been gone less than two years.

  “Ira’s a nice name,” she said.

  He nodded. “It means watchful. It’s good to be watchful and aware
. Oh, I got something for you.” He reached inside his coat, pulled out a scrap of paper, and handed it to her.

  A lottery ticket.

  “If you win, are you going to keep it?” he asked.

  “Maybe.” She thought about it. “Yes.”

  The sun was sinking behind the city skyline, illuminating the geometric outline of the IDS Center and the gothic-looking Foshay Tower, turning the sky pink—a pastel blush that could come only in the deep heart of a Minnesota winter. Jude inhaled, pulling in crisp air, the tip of her nose cold now that evening was coming fast. And for the first time in years, she found herself looking forward to tomorrow, even if it meant another murder to solve.

  BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  How does Jude differ from traditional female detectives? Does the difference make Jude more appealing to you?

  In this book, we learn a little about why Jude was allowed to return to work so quickly. Should she have returned at all?

  What would Jude be like today if she’d never been kidnapped?

  Jude’s captivity changed her. Did it make her a better cop? If so, how and why?

  Is Uriah a good homicide partner for Jude? Why or why not?

  Do you think Jude will ever be able to have a normal life?

  Do you want Jude to have a normal life?

  Have you ever been to Minnesota? If not, did the book expand your knowledge of the state beyond being the birthplace of Bob Dylan and Prince?

  Would you like to visit Minneapolis after reading the book?

  Did the winter setting make you wonder why anybody would ever live in Minnesota?

  What was the most heart-pounding part of the book for you?

  What was your favorite scene?

  What was the most surprising part of The Body Keeper for you?

  Could something like the events in the book occur today?

  The story can be emotional. Did you react in an emotional way to events in Jude’s life?

  Did you empathize with Jude or Uriah? If so, with whom and why?

  Did you find the suspense compelling? If so, what elements of it were particularly compelling for you?

  What qualities of Jude do you wish you had and why?

  If the series is developed for television, who should play Jude and Uriah?

  The author has written books in various genres, including two critically acclaimed memoirs. She feels memoir writing taught her to dig deeper into characters. Can the experience of writing nonfiction help when writing fiction? If so, how?

  If you’ve read other books by Anne Frasier, how does the Jude Fontaine series (The Body Reader, The Body Counter, The Body Keeper) compare to the Elise Sandburg series (Play Dead, Stay Dead, Pretty Dead, Truly Dead)?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2018 Martha Weir

  Anne Frasier is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Detective Jude Fontaine Mysteries, including The Body Keeper, The Body Counter, and The Body Reader, which received the 2017 Thriller Award for Best Paperback Original from International Thriller Writers. Her other thrillers have hit the USA Today bestseller list and have been featured in Mystery Guild, Literary Guild, and Book of the Month Club. Among Anne’s other honors are a RITA for romantic suspense and a Daphne du Maurier Award for paranormal romance. Her memoir The Orchard was an O, The Oprah Magazine Fall Pick; a One Book, One Community read; a B+ review in Entertainment Weekly; and one of the Librarians’ Best Books of 2011. She lives in Saint Paul, Minnesota. For more information, visit her at www.annefrasier.com.