Don't Believe a Word

by Patricia MacDonald

  Then, she listened to the third message. It was from Flynn. ‘I spoke to Gideon Lendl and he put a call in to your boss at DeLaurier. Gideon agreed with me that we were better starting over somewhere else. The less you and I have to do with one another, the better. I can’t work with someone who wants to sabotage me. This is the best way. Good luck and all that.’

  Eden’s face flamed. This is what you get, she thought. You knew better than to take on this project with Flynn Darby involved. Her chest felt like it would explode. He was right about one thing. Nothing would please her more than to sabotage him, in any way that she could. I still have a day or two before my time here runs out. There must be something I can do, she thought, with the time I have left.

  SEVENTEEN

  The Cuyahoga County coroner’s office was located in a huge government building with a dreary, uninviting façade. After breakfast, Eden had programmed its address into her GPS and driven over to it. She parked in the visitor’s parking of the official lot and hurried, gripping her coat shut against the wind, into the vestibule. She asked at the information desk and was directed to the coroner’s office at the rear of the building. All the way down the bustling corridors, she rehearsed a convincing argument for why she should be allowed to have a copy of the autopsy. Last night she had imagined several scenarios of resistance and persuasion, reminding herself not to act indignant, except as a last resort. She knew that it would be nearly impossible for her to walk away with a report which the police didn’t even have yet. But she had decided that as long as she was still here, she had to at least try.

  The door to the coroner’s office was ajar, and she walked in. A number of clerks were busy at their computers. She walked up to the chest-high counter which separated the people working there from the general public. No one looked up as she entered. Eden felt discouraged immediately.

  A young black woman, her hair fashioned into elaborate cornrows, wearing glasses and a tight leather skirt, pushed away from her desk and got up. She walked over to where Eden was standing.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she drawled, as if helping someone were the last thing she wanted to do.

  Eden forced herself to smile. ‘Hello. My name is Eden Radley and I was wondering if I could obtain a copy of my mother and half-brother’s autopsy report. They died about a month ago. I went to the police and they said they hadn’t received the reports yet. The detective I spoke to said there’s a real backlog and that it probably isn’t finished, but I thought if I came over here maybe I could find out how long …’

  The woman pushed a form across the counter to Eden. ‘Fill this out,’ she said.

  Eden recognized the brush-off. Jump through a hoop, fill out a form. Get nowhere. In the end, after much bureaucratic flummery, she was pretty sure she would walk out as empty-handed as she arrived. But she was here to go through the motions. She filled out the questions on the form. They were surprisingly few. She pushed the form back at the woman behind the counter.

  ‘Photo ID,’ drawled the clerk.

  Eden rummaged in her pocketbook and produced her New York driver’s license.

  The woman looked at it impassively, and then picked up the filled-out form and glanced at it. She set it down and began to enter information into the computer on the desk below the counter.

  ‘Do you actually let the public have copies of these reports when they’re finished?’ Eden asked.

  The woman stared at the screen. ‘Not the public. Immediate family,’ she said.

  ‘Really? Well, that’s me,’ said Eden.

  The woman did not reply. She pressed several keys and then typed in some information. ‘We have it,’ she said.

  Eden stared at the woman’s bent head, the intricate, gorgeous cornrows. She could hardly believe her ears. ‘You have it? But the police don’t even have it yet.’

  The woman looked up at Eden, expressionless. ‘You want it or not?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. I want it,’ said Eden.

  The young woman ambled over to one of the printers along the wall, her back to Eden, and set the copier in motion. She gathered up a sheaf of papers and stuffed them into an official envelope from the coroner’s office. She came back to where Eden was waiting, and handed it across the counter to her. ‘Two fifty,’ she said, pushing her glasses back up on the bridge of her nose.

  Eden shook her head. ‘Is that the code for this kind of report?’ she asked.

  ‘Two fifty,’ the woman repeated irritably. ‘That’s what you owe.’

  ‘Two hundred …?’

  The woman shifted her weight from one hip to the other. ‘Two dollars and fifty cents. And I got no change,’ she said.

  Eden asked no more questions. She rummaged in her purse and came up with the exact sum. The woman took it without comment and put it into a drawer.

  Eden took the envelope, filled with wonder. ‘This is really it?’ she asked.

  ‘No pictures,’ warned the clerk. ‘That’s extra. And you can’t get that today. That’s a whole ’nother procedure.’

  ‘I don’t need pictures. Thank you so much.’

  The woman smiled slightly, as if pleased with herself. ‘S’all right,’ she said, and sat back down at her desk, as Eden clutched the envelope and headed for the door.

  The moment she left the coroner’s office Eden got on her phone and called the police station. She asked the dispatcher if she could speak to Detective Burt. After what seemed like an interminable delay, the dispatcher told Eden that he could not be reached.

  ‘Do you know where he went?’ Eden asked.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ said the dispatcher. ‘I do not.’

  ‘I need to talk to him,’ Eden insisted.

  ‘Is this an emergency?’ the dispatcher asked.

  ‘It’s about my mother’s autopsy report,’ said Eden.

  ‘I’ll take your name and number, and he’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Please tell him it’s important,’ said Eden, trying to convey a sense of urgency.

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ the dispatcher said in a disinterested tone.

  Eden ended the call, frowning. She opened the envelope and looked at the papers therein. There was no point in trying to read it. She knew it would make no sense to her. She had planned to bring it to Detective Burt and question him about it. But when she thought about it, maybe it was lucky that he wasn’t there to receive it. He had already made his mind up. She needed the help of someone with an open mind. And scientific expertise.

  She thought about Dr Tanaka, suggesting that they might be missing some information about Tara’s death. Telling her that she should pursue it. Who better to ask? He already seemed suspicious of the official verdict. Dr Tanaka would be able to see any medical irregularities, even if forensic science wasn’t his specialty. She drove directly to the clinic, and made her way up to Tanaka’s office. The sympathetic young woman at reception from her previous visit was still there.

  Eden could barely contain her agitation as she waited while a mother made another appointment for her son, and the two discussed the weather and the weekend. Finally, the woman pushed her son out the door in his wheelchair, and Eden had access to the receptionist.

  ‘I’d like to see Dr Tanaka, again. I’m Eden Radley.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Oh yes. I remember you.’

  ‘Can I see him? I know how terribly busy he is, but—’

  ‘I’m afraid not. He’s—’

  ‘Just to give him something. I need his opinion—’

  ‘Dr Tanaka is not here. He went to a conference in Seattle. He won’t be back for a week.’

  The news landed with a thud in Eden’s stomach.

  ‘Can I make you an appointment for when he returns, Ms Radley?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Eden, shaking her head. ‘No. I’ll be gone by then.’

  The receptionist shrugged and then tilted her chin, indicating that Eden should move out of the way. She smiled at the woman who was waiting patiently behind Eden.
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br />   Eden left the office and walked numbly down the hall. She hadn’t thought of that. Gone for a week. She would be back in New York by then. She took the elevator down to the first floor, and then sat down on a leather bench in the big, glass, plant-filled atrium.

  Another dead end. She didn’t know what to do next. She had this report, but it was meaningless to her. And, in fact, probably didn’t say anything that the police didn’t already know. Hadn’t Detective Burt said that the coroner called and gave him his findings over the phone? What could be in here that would make any difference at all? She took the report out of the manila envelope and looked it over. It was actually two reports, one for her mother, and one for Jeremy. There were pages of test results and paragraphs of medical jargon, but the cause of death was clearly stated. Death from asphyxiation due to carbon monoxide poisoning. She stared at the words until they blurred in front of her eyes. What am I doing here? Disliking Flynn is one thing. But I am trying to implicate him in a murder that is not a murder. And why? Just because her mother had lain down on her own bed to die? It was hardly what one might call evidence. It was a perfectly normal thing for a person to do, and there could be any number of possible reasons for it. Her mother must have been despondent, and despondent people often do not act rationally.

  She felt suddenly as if she had been alone too long. She was still in mourning, after all, and she was living in some second-rate hotel in a city where she knew no one. A city where her mother had died. Eden felt suddenly deflated and sorry for herself. She folded over the report and was about to stuff it back in the envelope.

  A voice behind her said, ‘You look like you’re having a bad day.’

  Eden turned around, startled, and looked up. It took her a moment to recognize him, wearing his parka over his lab coat. He looked somehow older and more grim in the face than he had when Eden met him, but the doctor speaking to her was DeShaun Jacquez, Lizzy’s husband. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  ‘I work here,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You’re Eden, right? You left that message for Lizzy.’

  ‘Yes, I saw your wife a couple of nights ago at her folks’,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she told you.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said DeShaun dismissively. ‘Were you just in Tanaka’s office? Is that about your brother?’ he asked, nodding toward the manila envelope.

  Eden peered up at him. DeShaun Jacquez might only be an intern, but he was a doctor. It was worth a try. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Actually. Do you have a minute?’

  DeShaun grimaced and looked around. ‘I’m on my break. I just went out to get this.’ He was holding a brown bag from Starbucks. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Here, sit,’ said Eden, moving over on the leather bench. DeShaun sat down beside her. ‘Have your coffee.’

  ‘I will,’ he said. He took the latte cup out of the bag, and tossed the bag in a nearby trash can. Then he took off the lid and blew across the top. ‘They have coffee in our break room, but it tastes like motor oil.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad I ran into you. Look. This is a little bit delicate. What I have here are the autopsy reports for my mother and my half-brother. As you know, the police said my mother committed suicide. But the people who insured my mother’s life have received a … tip … that my mother’s death was not a suicide.’

  DeShaun looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘A tip from whom?’

  ‘They didn’t say. They don’t know.’

  DeShaun frowned. ‘Wow. That’s kind of … sick.’

  Eden nodded. ‘The cops told me to disregard it. That the insurance company just didn’t want to pay out on my mother’s policy. And maybe that’s all it is. But I found out that no one had an autopsy report for either my mother or Jeremy. Not the cops. Not the insurance people. That kind of got me angry, and I decided to go down to the coroner’s office and raise some hell. But when I got there … well, all I had to do was ask for it. And pay two dollars fifty. I walked out with both reports. The problem is, I don’t know what the hell the reports say.’

  DeShaun listened thoughtfully. ‘Who’s the beneficiary?’ he asked. ‘On the insurance policy.’

  ‘Flynn, of course,’ she said.

  DeShaun sipped his coffee, his eyes narrowed. ‘So, they won’t pay it out to Flynn. Because they think their deaths might have something to do with him.’

  Eden put a hand on the arm of his down coat. ‘Yes, I think that’s what it means. But please do not say that to anyone. I mean, anyone.’

  ‘You mean Lizzy,’ he said.

  ‘I mean anyone,’ said Eden grimly.

  ‘Don’t worry. There’s no talking to Lizzy on the subject of Flynn. She thinks he’s some kind of literary genius. And now, a tragic hero as well,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘He must have told her about his book,’ said Eden. ‘He wrote a book about his life with my mother.’

  ‘Well, I’m not surprised. He was always glad to talk about his favorite subject. Himself,’ said DeShaun.

  ‘You’re not keen on him, I see.’

  DeShaun shrugged. ‘Let’s just say I’m not impressed. But I don’t really know the guy. It’s Lizzy who was involved with the family. She’s very tender-hearted, though. She always thinks the best of everybody.’

  Eden nodded. ‘But you don’t like him.’

  ‘He strikes me as kind of a blowhard,’ said DeShaun.

  ‘Oh, he’s definitely that. I’m just wondering if he’s something … much worse,’ said Eden.

  DeShaun carefully rolled his paper coffee cup between his hands. ‘I’ll take a look at those if you like,’ he said.

  Eden looked at him hopefully. ‘You would?’

  ‘I can’t look at them right now,’ he said. ‘I’m on duty. But I’ll look at them tonight.’

  ‘I’m probably going to be leaving town soon,’ said Eden, still holding the envelope.

  ‘I’ll get back to you tonight,’ he said. ‘I must admit, you’ve got me curious.’

  She scribbled something on the envelope and handed it to him. ‘That’s my number,’ she said. ‘Call me when you’ve had a chance to look it over.’

  DeShaun tucked the envelope into his backpack. Then he stood up.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Eden.

  DeShaun looked at her with a flinty gleam in his eye. ‘Anything I can do to help you,’ he said.

  EIGHTEEN

  The call from Eden’s boss, Rob Newsome, came not long after Eden had returned to her room. She could tell from the tone of his voice that the news was not good. But she had guessed that already. In the age of emails and text messaging, some news could not be delivered electronically.

  ‘Eden,’ he said.

  ‘Hi, Rob.’

  ‘We got a call today from Gideon Lendl.’

  ‘I know,’ said Eden.

  ‘You know?’ Rob asked.

  ‘Flynn told me yesterday that he wanted to get a new editor for his book. He said that he had called his agent about it.’

  Eden could tell that Rob was relieved not to have to explain everything. ‘We tried to reason with him. We offered Lendl a new editor if Darby was absolutely certain he couldn’t make this work with you. According to Lendl, his client wouldn’t hear of it. He wants a clean break. He’s going to return the advance.’

  ‘Well, he won’t need money anymore,’ said Eden bitterly, thinking of her mother’s insurance policy.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Rob.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Eden. ‘I was just thinking out loud.’

  ‘What the hell happened with you two?’ Rob demanded.

  ‘I guess I should have realized that it wouldn’t work,’ Eden admitted. ‘Too much history between us.’

  ‘It sounded as if your author was being incredibly stubborn,’ said Rob.

  Eden was grateful for what almost sounded like support from her editorial director. ‘He’s not been easy to work with,’ she said. ‘But that was my job.
To work it out with him. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to.’

  Rob sighed. ‘You know you have to be very diplomatic in this job.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Eden patiently. ‘But everything I said rubbed him the wrong way. I’m really sorry about this.’

  There was a silence on Rob’s end of the phone. ‘It’s very unfortunate,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ said Eden. ‘Does this mean … I mean, I’m concerned about my future at DeLaurier.’

  Rob sighed again. ‘That’s not up to me. I’m gonna plead your case with Maurice. I’ll emphasize the complexity of the whole thing. Going in, we knew about your prior strained relationship. And this idea came from their side of the net. I hope to be able to put your situation in a better light.’

  ‘I’m sorry to put you in that position,’ said Eden.

  After a short silence he said, ‘I don’t know what Maurice is going to do, but you might need to consider the possibility of …’

  ‘Of what?’ Eden asked.

  ‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Eden. But let me just say this to you. In this business people do move around a lot. If you resign to look elsewhere, no one would find that odd.’

  ‘You think I should quit my job?’ she cried.

  ‘I’m talking about a preemptive strike. You could leave with good references and possibly even improve your position. People move from one house to another all the time. Sometimes it’s to their advantage.’

  ‘In other words, quit before I’m fired.’

  ‘I did not say that,’ he protested.

  ‘Oh, be honest, Rob. Publishing in New York is like a small town. This will create a little scandal. Everyone in the business will know what happened.’