The Healer

by Dee Henderson

  “Mom took me out to eat afterward. I was too nervous before then.”

  “What did you have?”

  “She talked me into trying the scampi. It was pretty good.” The girl’s tears were fading. “I just thought he might come.”

  “Love always hopes,” Rachel said softly. “He’s still hurting over the fact that he was driving.”

  “Yeah.”

  Marissa had fought for two years to get her life back. But family wounds hurt so much deeper than physical ones.

  “Am I doing something wrong?” Marissa whispered.

  Rachel closed her eyes. “No. Your dad always wanted to protect you. Now he feels a need to protect you from himself. It will eventually get better, Marissa. Remember when we talked about how time changes people? Keep giving him opportunities into your life. There will be a day when he’ll feel able to come. When he does, just start with ‘I love you.’”

  Silence lingered. “Thanks.”

  “Time, M. It will help.”

  Rachel leaned over to pick up two jacks a child had missed.

  “Greg Sanford asked me to the prom.”

  “Did he?” Rachel was pleased to hear the news, for she knew how much Marissa had hoped to be invited. “I’ve got to meet this gentleman. I already like him. What did you say?”

  “I said yes, as long as he wouldn’t ask me to dance. We’d just go.”

  “Greg has been there for you this last year. Trust me, you’ll have a wonderful time.”

  “I wish he didn’t graduate and leave in four months. I’m going to miss him.”

  “Did he receive his acceptance papers yet?” Rachel asked, feeling out the changes coming for her friend.

  “From the Air Force academy. He wants to become a pilot like his dad.” Marissa hesitated. “Do you think we could maybe have a soda next time you’re in town?”

  “I’m nearby,” Rachel said. “I can meet you tomorrow, or we can do something next week when I get back from visiting Jennifer.”

  “After school next week would be nice.”

  “It’s a date.” Rachel wrote a note on the palm of her hand until she could update her day planner for the month of March. This kind of fatigue shot holes in her memory. “Anything you need or want me to tell your mom?”

  “Everything there is okay.”

  “Anything you’re not telling me that I should know?”

  Marissa paused to think about it. “I’m okay there too.”

  “Then I’ll see you next week. If you want to talk before then, promise to call me?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Rae.”

  “Honey, I’m proud of you.” Her pager went off again. “I’ll call your mom tomorrow to confirm arrangements for next week,” Rachel said as she got to her feet. It was a page from Jack, and that meant trouble at the levee.

  “Cole.” Rachel shook him gently, wishing she didn’t have to wake him. He’d fallen asleep sitting against the wall with his chin tucked against his chest, arms folded. She admired his ability to close his eyes and drop off. If he worried about things, she’d never been able to figure out when. They certainly didn’t affect his sleep.

  Cole opened his eyes, blinked, and focused on her.

  “Jack paged. They need you at the levee.”

  He took a deep breath and sighed. “Okay, I’m awake.”

  “It’s 1 A.M.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  She let her hand settle on his forearm as she smiled back at him. “I know, but your watch stopped. It’s blinking this strange pattern of red and white numbers. Nathan thought it was your night-light.”

  “Water and watches do not mix. It’s never going to dry out.”

  She stepped back as Cole rose to his feet.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Jack said something about too much mud in the water—it’s clogging the pumps.”

  Cole reached forward and rested his hand on her shoulder. “You were up?”

  “I had another call.”

  “If you need a place to hide so you can get some sleep, try the front seat of one of the fire department vehicles. No one will find you.”

  He was taking care of her in the same way he took care of his men. It was nice. “Thanks.”

  “Take me up on it. And bring Adam down to the levee later this morning. Jack’s got something he should see.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “You really said yes to finding time for dinner?” His thumb rubbed her shoulder blade. “I would hate to think I had been dreaming.”

  She chuckled. “Chinese. And hopefully an evening with no interruptions.”

  He was stalling, not wanting to break this moment. She didn’t either. He was so good-looking half asleep—she wanted to give him a hug and get swallowed in one in return. “Go to work, Cole.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled at her and headed toward the door.

  Rachel watched him leave and then settled back on her sleeping bag. She reset her pager and wrapped her arm around her pillow. When she closed her eyes, she was still smiling. A smile from Cole and an invitation to dinner was nearly as nice as getting flowers.

  “What’s happening, Jack?”

  Cole found Rachel’s brother in the parking lot where they had the flat-bottom fire rescue boat parked testing brake lights on the trailer. “I didn’t want to worry Rae. Lisa needs us. She said to bring a body bag.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Rosecrans Road.”

  Cole squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried to get past the fact that it was 1 A.M. “Please tell me she knew I was joking with her earlier. Is the body embalmed?”

  “Lisa’s first words when I returned her page were, ‘the water is destroying my crime scene!’ Then she got testy. It sounds real to me.”

  “You’ve got interesting sisters.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Cole pulled out his keys. “I’ll drive. Do we need more than the two of us?”

  “It sounds like she needs us for transport. Company 42 is working in the area.”

  “Okay. Let’s go see what she’s gotten herself into.”

  Two

  The intersection of Rosecrans Road and Clover Street had become a parking lot for emergency vehicles. A hundred yards further east, Rosecrans disappeared into standing water. Men were wading through the water around a brick house three blocks down, visible in the improvised lighting set along the edge of the roof. The house was on a slight rise, but the front yard and the driveway had disappeared underwater. Cole saw a man leaving the garage lose his balance. “Another few minutes and those men are going to find themselves unable to get back here to safe ground.”

  Jack swung down from the truck. “Cops are just like civilians when it comes to underestimating rising water. How are we going to float the boat?”

  Cole walked into the water until it reached his bootlaces. The roadway flooding appeared to be backwater with the current coming toward him. “I’ll back up the truck.”

  Jack buckled on his life vest. “I was afraid you were going to say carry it.” He released the straps across the boat, climbed up on the hitch, removing the locking pin on the winch. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Cole backed up along the road until Jack was able to shove the boat off the trailer and float it. Cole returned the truck to a safe distance, parked it, and picked up the body bag they’d brought along in the truck bed. He waded back to where Jack was idling the boat. The water quickly deepened.

  Jack steered the boat right up the driveway of the house in question and gently beached the flat bottom of the boat on the concrete. Cole stepped off the front of the boat and tied the rope to a brick planter by the garage. Men were working to build a break wall across the front steps with bags of dirt, birdseed, and anything else they could find in the garage.

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “Detective Brad Wilson, inside.”

  Cole knew the name. “Wait here, Jack.” He stepped over the improvised wall
to enter the house. Four men were in the hallway, and he could see another two in what looked like the dining room. With the power out, the lighting inside was established by bright flashlights.

  “Cole, good timing.” Detective Wilson came to meet him, picking his way around evidence markers. “This situation is getting away from us. I didn’t want men walking back through the water in the dark.”

  “Jack can take five at a time.”

  “You know this river better than I do. Can you handle the water battle and arrange the evacuation? I need what time is left to work the crime scene.”

  “Sure.” Cole stepped into the living room. Halogen flashlights had been set around to provide basic lighting. He dealt with fire deaths, but murder was something else. A woman, probably in her thirties, who appeared to have been shot once in the chest, was lying on her side near the coffee table. It was a sight that made Cole feel nauseous. He couldn’t see her face and he had no desire to. This memory would already be hard enough to shake. Lisa O’Malley was bending over the body, slipping paper bags around the lady’s hands to protect evidence.

  “I’ve got your body bag.”

  Lisa looked over and rose to cross the room and get it. “Thanks, Cole. I went through the three I had with me at a car accident.” Her shoes squished. “Would someone please stop this water? Sandbag the doorways or something.”

  “It’s coming up through the flooded basement,” one of the officers working the problem called.

  “Then block the basement doorway. Start a bucket brigade and haul it out. I need more time.”

  Cole stepped around the man dusting for fingerprints and went to see the problem. Two inches of water stood in the kitchen and had made it across the dining room floor. The water was beginning to soak the living room rug. He tagged the two nearest men. “Check under the kitchen sink and in the utility room. Garbage bags, freezer bags—grab whatever there is. Fill the bags with water and stack them—create a barrier at the basement doorway, another at the kitchen doorway, and a third at the dining room doorway. If you can’t stop it, try to control it. Lisa, prioritize. You’ve got ten minutes max.”

  “Make it fifteen.”

  “Ten, and your time is running.”

  “You’re killing me here.” She had the body bag open. “Wilson, let’s get her out of here.”

  Cole sent five men to the boat and then turned his attention to helping create the final barrier into the living room. The cushions from the dining room chairs worked as a fast sponge to stop the water from crossing the boundary. One of the officers tossed him some of the empty plastic bags they’d found.

  “Does anyone have a name for her yet?” Lisa asked the room at large.

  “I just found her purse,” an officer said. “Carol Iles. 32. Her driver’s license expires in July.”

  “What else does she have in her billfold?”

  “Seventy-nine dollars in cash, credit cards, library card, and what looks like an electronic key card—to the federal court building no less.”

  “Great. Marcus is going to love to hear that.” Lisa’s brother was a U.S. Marshal, a job that involved protecting the federal courts and those who worked in them. Lisa pointed to an officer. “An address book, bills, files from her desk—shove them in a box and get it out of this water. Find me as much as you can about Carol’s life.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Do we have pictures of the blood splatters on the wall?” Lisa asked the crime lab photographer.

  “Got ’em.”

  “I need as many pictures of this room as you can take, then get the hallway and doorways. And if you can get out there, I need photos of the garage and her car.” She pivoted on her heel to look around. “Someone start bagging these couch cushions and throw pillows. If it’s fabric and it moves, I want it sealed and out of here.”

  “What about the bloody lamp shade?”

  “Take it.”

  Lisa rose and with Detective Wilson’s help lifted the body bag. They carried the woman to the hall.

  Lisa came back to examine the scene afresh, shining her light around the living room walls and floor. “She was shot, but where’s the gun? Where’s the shell casing?”

  “This room is a hiding place for small objects,” Wilson said.

  “Then let’s start moving furniture. We need that shell casing.”

  One of the officers working to keep the water away from the front door stepped inside. “The boat is coming back.”

  Cole sent two cops and two of the coroner technicians transporting the victim out to the boat, along with all the bagged evidence they could carry.

  “Lisa.” Cole waited until she turned. “We can take the living room rug if you want it. But we’ve got to do it now.”

  “Yes, I want it. See if she has clean sheets in the hall closet. I want something as a control barrier before we roll it. Who checked her bedroom?”

  “I did,” a technician called out.

  “Have sheets been gathered to take, toothbrush and hairbrush, medicine bottles?”

  “Bagged and ready to go.”

  Cole helped Wilson move the couch into the dining room to free the floor rug. “Four minutes, Lisa.” The house was groaning. He could hear the water gurgling up into the floorboards under their feet. It would be pouring out of the heating ducts any moment.

  Lisa spread out the sheets. Cole had done some unusual things in his job, but rolling up a bloody rug by flashlight was a first. Wilson helped him lift it. “Let’s set it on chairs until the boat gets back.” Water began cascading into the room from the floorboard ducts. Lisa jumped back as it swept across her feet.

  He heard Jack’s call. “There’s the boat. Everyone is leaving this trip.”

  Cole let the technician and Detective Wilson take the carpet out. He helped Lisa gather up the last of the evidence bags.

  “So much stuff I didn’t get…”

  “There’s no choice, Lisa. We’ve got to go.”

  Cole waded to the boat, unloaded the items he carried, and came back for Lisa as she stepped outside. He grabbed her as the floodwaters hit her feet and tried to knock her over. “We stayed too long.” He carried her down the flooded drive to the boat. Jack helped her over the side. Cole heaved himself into the boat and took a seat on the bench beside Lisa.

  “Someone is getting away with murder because of a flood.”

  Cole leaned around Lisa and got them both towels. “Who found her?”

  “A cop checking on the mandatory evacuation. From the rigor mortis, it happened probably three to four hours ago.”

  “As bad as the scene was, it could have been worse. She might not have been found until after the floodwaters subsided.”

  “I know.” Lisa tried to wring water out of her denim pant legs. “Man, I hate wet socks. Wilson, do you have any ideas?”

  “The mail on the dining room table was in two stacks, one opened and one unopened, with one envelope dropped on top half-opened. There was an open soda can on the counter, still cool enough that the can was sweating. I didn’t see signs of forced entry. Her purse still had cash in it.”

  “She opened the front door and someone shot her,” Lisa offered.

  “Could be that simple.”

  “I saw nothing in her home that suggested two people lived there— milk was bought in a half gallon; the shoes I saw were the same size; the sink had one cereal bowl and one glass. There were no pictures of her with someone, not even one that looked like a family picture. Did you see anything in the house that suggested otherwise?”

  “No.” Wilson braced the rolled carpet as Jack swerved the boat to miss a floating tree limb. “She lived alone; she was shot for a reason other than robbery. It’s probably domestic trouble.”

  “Maybe.” Lisa shook her head. “Her car was in the middle of her two-car garage. The soda was on the counter, not at the table where she was opening the mail. A second person could have been there and tried to get outside. There may be another victim we
didn’t find. Until the water recedes we’re guessing.” Lisa leaned over and tapped her forehead against Cole’s shoulder.

  He smiled and squeezed the back of her neck, understanding well how an O’Malley reacted to being stymied. “Time will tell.”

  She sat back with a sigh. “I want the murder weapon found.”

  “Cole.” Jack pointed to the north.

  A dog was swimming in the water, trying to make it to dry ground, his eyes the first thing visible as the torchlight reflected on the dark water.

  Cole leaned over the side of the boat and called the dog. The mutt changed course toward them but the current impeded his progress. Jack steered to meet the animal. Cole hauled the animal aboard. He got a lap full of wet, exhausted dog. The animal was shivering, his fur wet and plastered to his body, appearing to be nothing but skin and bones. There was no sign of a collar.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Lisa asked.

  Cole stroked the mutt’s tattered ears. He had room for a dog at his place, and he wouldn’t mind keeping him if no owner could be found. The animal could also use some immediate help. “For tonight, take him to Rae.”

  Three

  Rachel snapped her fingers to get the dog’s attention. She offered him a breakfast biscuit one of the children had dropped by the picnic table. It was taken carefully from her fingers. He looked like part sheepdog for the curly coat, part basset hound for the ears, and part German shepherd for the nose.

  Cole had been like a little boy in his delight, lugging the wet animal up the stairs of the community shelter last night. It had been a labor of love to try to clean the dog up. She’d sacrificed some of her no-tears shampoo and a blanket taken from her car trunk. She banished the animal from staying inside but had made a bed for it in a box that she set in a sheltered spot of the breezeway.

  The animal slapped his tail against her jeans. “I know; you love whoever feeds you.”

  The dog took off to rejoin Adam. It’d been sticking like a shaggy shadow to Adam’s side this morning, for the boys were lavishing the mutt with attention.