by BJ Bourg
“Do you think she’ll pull through?” I asked.
Jill bit her lower lip and studied Mrs. Doe’s medical chart. Finally, she said, “She’s barely hanging on right now, but, and this is a big but, if she can make it through tonight and tomorrow, I think she’ll pull through.” She looked up. “Doctor Barrios was surprised by the brain swelling, considering the beating wasn’t that severe. She’s attributing it to dehydration.”
“She looked pretty banged up to me,” I said.
“Oh, she got knocked around pretty good,” Jill said, “but it shouldn’t have been life-threatening. By the way, are y’all any closer to finding out who she is? We really need some consent forms signed and some information on her medical history.”
“We might know,” Dawn said, “but we need her DNA and fingerprints before we’ll be able to confirm it.”
“Blood or hair?” Jill wanted to know.
Dawn told her we wanted blood.
“I’ll draw a vial and y’all can go in and fingerprint her. Just be careful, because she has an I.V. in her left hand.”
I nudged Dawn. “You’ve got this one, right?”
“Brandon, you know I hate doing fingerprints.”
“I’ll even get the kit for you,” I said.
Her chin was set. “I’m not doing it.”
I laughed, hurried to the elevator. When I’d arrived at ground level, I stepped out into the parking lot below. The hospital felt colder than the morgue did and I welcomed the warm air. Once I’d retrieved the kit and was walking back toward the hospital entrance, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out, flipped it open.
“Daddy! It’s me, your daughter, Samantha!”
I stopped in my tracks, turned so the wind wouldn’t interfere with our conversation. “I was worried about you. I tried calling you a few times.”
“We were in church. Are you finished your case?”
“Church? When did y’all start going to church?”
“I don’t know.”
I shrugged to myself, not understanding at all what was going on with Debbie. One minute she was cursing me to hell and the next minute she was in church. I was confused, but decided not to try and figure it out. I was just happy they were safe. “Did you have fun?” I asked.
“Yes! I went to children’s church and I drew a picture for you and Mommy.”
“Oh, wow, I can’t wait to see it. Look, Pumpkin, I’m really sorry I had to work.”
“Mommy and me heard on the radio that a man was dead and a baby’s in trouble. Are you working that case? Are you going to catch the bad guy who did this?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do—me and Miss Dawn.”
“Well, I don’t mind you bringing me home. I want you to get the bad guy so he doesn’t come get me. Mommy said I can go to your house next weekend.”
“She did?”
“Yep! And we can go back and play at McDonald’s!”
“Sure thing. Can I talk to your mom?”
“Here, Mommy. Daddy wants to talk to you. Bye Daddy!”
“Bye, Baby.”
I heard some shuffling and Debbie came on the phone a second later. “Look, I’m really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have hit you. I was wrong. I don’t know what came over me. I just...”
I hadn’t heard an apology from Debbie in a long time. Sure, there were times when she’d come close, but she never quite got it all the way out. I grunted, more to myself. She probably thought I was going to have her arrested and she was afraid, which would explain her not answering the phone earlier. “Don’t do it again,” was all I said.
There was a long moment of silence, and then Debbie said, “Hey, do you want to come to church with us next Sunday? Samantha would really like it.”
My face twisted into a scowl. “Church?”
“Yeah, we go to this church on the east side of Seasville. It’s a really wonderful place. It’s new, but a lot of people go. They’re all very nice.”
I stopped walking, slid my fingers into the opening in my shirt, and ran them across the scars on my stomach and chest. “I don’t know. Church isn’t my thing. You know that.”
“This one’s different. It’s not like that other church.”
“I don’t know.”
“Please, just come to a service and see it for yourself before you pass judgment. Samantha would love for you to come.”
I took a deep breath, exhaled forcefully. Church was the last place I wanted to go, especially considering what had happened two years earlier, but I’d walk barefooted through razorblades if it meant putting a smile on Samantha’s face. “Okay, I’ll go. When and what time?”
“There’re services on Sunday mornings at nine o’clock and in the afternoon at four, and on Wednesday nights at six.”
“I’ll try to make one. Kiss Samantha for me. I need to get inside the hospital. Dawn’s waiting for me.”
I made my way to the ICU, wondering what kind of mess I’d gotten myself into.
“It’s about time,” Dawn said when I stepped out of the elevator. “I thought I’d have to report you missing, too.”
I handed her the fingerprint kit, which she reluctantly took, and we followed Jill to Mrs. Doe’s room.
“Samantha called me,” I told Dawn.
“Awesome! How is she?”
“Good. They were at church—that’s why they didn’t answer the phone.”
“She’s in here,” Jill said when we reached ICU room 301. She slid the glass door open and we walked inside. Mrs. Doe lay in a bed surrounded by machines with buttons and gadgets attached to them. There were monitors with numbers and symbols glowing bright. Tubes and wires snaked from the machines to various parts of Mrs. Doe’s body. Her face was clean, but was swollen and littered with sutured cuts. Her head was encased in a thick white bandage.
I wondered if I’d looked that helpless during my time in the ICU. I pointed to Mrs. Doe’s bandaged head. “Y’all shaved her head for the surgery, right?”
Jill nodded without looking at me. She helped Dawn position Mrs. Doe’s fingers for rolling.
“Did you notice if any of the injuries had a pattern to them?” I asked.
Jill stopped what she was doing and looked up. “As a matter of fact, I did. There were a number of circular cuts on her head and face. They looked like half moons.”
“How big?”
“About this big.” Jill held one hand up and indicated about half an inch. “We have pictures.”
When I asked for copies, she said she’d print them up.
When Dawn was done collecting the prints, Jill washed off the victim’s hands and we followed her to the nurses’ station. Jill retrieved a narrow glass vial and syringe from a large supply closet and disappeared into Mrs. Doe’s ICU room. When she returned a few minutes later, there was a small amount of blood in the vial. She handed it to Dawn, dropped into a rolling chair, and slid toward her computer. After punching on the keys for a few seconds, a printer in the corner fired up and spat out a number of pages. Jill slid to the printer, snatched up the pages, and handed them to me. “And here are the pictures of her wounds.”
I glanced down at the colored photographs. They were crisp and of good quality. Mrs. Doe’s head was shaved in patches. There were a dozen cuts on her face and head, and they appeared similar to the wounds on Mr. Doe’s body. “These pictures are real good, Jill,” I said. “Keep this up and you can have Dawn’s job as crime scene photographer.”
Dawn glared at me, but said nothing.
“No, thank you,” Jill said. “It takes real guts to do what y’all do, and I’m a chicken.”
“One more thing,” Dawn said. “Did you check to see if this lady’s pregnant?”
“We did—she’s not. She is a mother, though.”
“How can you tell?” I asked.
Jill cocked her head sideways. “The stretch marks, the c-section scar—do you want me to go on? Because I can get real graphic if you want me to.”
“Shit,” Dawn said when we stepped into the elevator. “I was hoping the baby was inside of her.”
“That would’ve been too easy.”
She nodded absently. “I guess this nightmare is real. We definitely have a missing baby on our hands.”
CHAPTER 12
Dawn and I drove to the detective bureau and, once we arrived, I reached into the back seat for the evidence from the autopsy and hospital. Dawn walked to the door first and opened it for me. With both hands full, I slipped through and she followed. While I filled out the evidence forms, she went to her desk to contact her new detective friend from Arkansas. When I was done thirty minutes later, I walked to Dawn’s desk. She was still on the phone.
“Right. Okay. Yes, you can tell them to contact me if they have any questions. Wait...here? I don’t know if I would advise that. I guess you’re right. Okay. Thanks.” She hung up and looked up at me. “As you can expect, the family didn’t take it well. They’re planning a trip here tomorrow.”
“I certainly understand that. I’d leave tonight if I were them.”
“The detective,” she glanced down at her notes, “a Tricia Clark, is going to make the trip with them. Her sheriff wants her escorting them here and she offered to keep them at bay for us while we work.”
“Sounds great.” With nothing more to do for the night, I dropped Dawn off at the substation and then drove home. I was unlocking my door when a voice nearby startled me.
“Hey, Brandon, you’re acting stuck-up tonight.”
I turned around and saw Kristen Boyd sitting in a lounge chair in the dark. She wore extremely short shorts and a thin T-shirt. In the light shining from the front window of the apartment, I could clearly see her perfect figure. I tried not to stare at her exposed skin, but my eyes were drawn to her beauty.
“I’m sorry.” I said. “I didn’t see you there. I certainly would’ve acknowledged you.”
She tossed her head upward to indicate the light bulb above us. “It’s burnt out. I called maintenance, but you know how that goes. It’ll probably be Christmas before they get around to it.”
I grunted. “No kidding. If I remember, I’ll replace it tomorrow.”
Kristen stood to her feet and it was then that I noticed there was a wine glass in her hand. “So, what’re you doing out so late, Mr. Man? Hot date?”
“Nothing that exciting. I was actually working.”
“I bet you’re hungry.”
It was at that moment I realized I hadn’t eaten supper. “A little, I guess.”
“Good! Then it’s settled, I’m buying.” She took my hand and pulled me toward her door. “I have a gourmet meal waiting for you inside.”
My heart thumped in my chest. I hesitated, pulled back. I wanted nothing more than to follow her inside and let the chips fall where they may, but I wasn’t sure where I stood with Debbie. I certainly didn’t want to do anything that would decrease my chances of living under the same roof with Samantha again. “I...I can’t. I’m married. It wouldn’t look right.”
Kristen slapped my arm. “I’m not asking you in for sex, silly.”
I felt my face catch fire. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying it wouldn’t look good, you know...me being alone with you in your apartment.”
“Look, you’re newly single and I’ve always been single. In fact, I’ll probably die single. But anyway, we’re just two single people, two grownups, hanging out. We’ll talk some, eat some great food, and talk some more. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m bored and you speak English. I need some company. If you’d be a girl, I’d be doing the same thing.”
I tried as hard as I could to remember a time when I was single, but I couldn’t even remember life before Debbie. “But I’m not single. I’m married.”
She cocked her head sideways. “Last I checked, you live here alone and your ex-wife lives somewhere else. That’s called separated, which is the same as being single.”
Accepting her logic, I followed her inside. She led me to a small table in the dining room and I noticed her apartment was a reverse mirror image of mine, but much fancier and fully furnished. She pushed me toward a chair. “Have a seat while I serve you.”
“No, that’s okay. I can serve myself. I’m a grown—”
She pushed a finger against my lips. “Sit! Let me do something nice for you. You’ve been working hard and you deserve a little pampering.”
I did what she said and couldn’t help but appreciate the back of her smooth legs as she walked toward the kitchen. “My work isn’t really hard,” I muttered, not thinking she heard me.
“It’s definitely important.” She disappeared behind the wall to the kitchen and returned a short time later carrying a plate and a can of Coke. “I know you drink Coke, because I always see you unloading a case of it with your groceries. And I left this in the oven so it wouldn’t get cold.”
She leaned over and placed the Coke and plate in front of me, her hair brushing the side of my face when she did so. She was extremely comfortable in my personal space, and I wasn’t complaining. I smiled when I saw two large slices of supreme pizza on the plate. “I get it,” I said. “Gourmet is a type of topping.”
She smiled back and squeezed my cheek as though I were a little boy who’d done something cute. “You’re funny.”
I stared at the playful woman in front of me and wondered how many glasses of wine she’d had. She was beautiful, sweet, and even funny. She had obviously waited up for me. Had prepared—or purchased—a meal and kept it warm until I got home. And she did it all without complaining about how late I worked. I caught myself wondering what it might be like to come home to Kristen Boyd every night. Would things change over time? Would she, too, become tired of the job and start barking ultimatums? Would she become crazy with rage and kick me out if I were ever to pick my job over her? Would she slap me if she didn’t like something I said?
Guilt started to rear its ugly head, but Debbie’s words came stinging back. How many times had she told me she was done with me? That it was over? That she didn’t love me anymore and was going to divorce me? And why? Because I did my job. She knew what she was marrying into long before we traded vows. She had been fine with my work during that first year we met and dated. It wasn’t until after we’d gotten married that she started giving me problems...a week after our honeymoon to be exact.
CHAPTER 13
Monday, June 18
Brandon Berger’s Apartment
I jerked up from my bed, reached for my beeping cell phone. It was six-thirty. Who’s texting me at this hour? Through blurry eyes, I read the message from Sheriff Calvin Burke saying he wanted me to brief the entire command staff at eight o’clock sharp. I rubbed my face and cursed myself for staying up until one. But when I thought about the long conversation with Kristen, I immediately forgave myself. Suddenly, I felt as though I might have a social life after Debbie, if she chose to stay gone.
After shaving and showering, I quickly dressed for work and wolfed down a bowl of Life cereal with chocolate powder and milk. Ever since the “Mikey likes it” commercials from when I was a kid, I’d been hooked. Before walking out the door, I stopped by the mirror in the hallway and checked my tie. There would probably be a press conference later that day and I didn’t want to look sloppy. It was the worst part of the job, having to wear a tie, but I found that if I kept the top button on my shirt open I could tolerate it.
I stepped out the door and slammed it a little harder than usual. I walked slowly down the sidewalk and lingered by the driver’s door to my Crown Victoria, making a show of fumbling with my keys. After several long seconds, I looked up toward the front of Kristen’s apartment just as her door flung partially open. I smiled—my ploy had worked.
“What’re you doing up so early?” she called from the crack in her doorway. Her tanned face and a bare shoulder were exposed while the rest of her body was hidden behind the door.
I turned from my car and
made my way back up the sidewalk. “I have an important meeting at work today. Why are you up so early?”
Smiling, she said, “Because my noisy neighbor slammed his door so hard my picture frames fell off the wall.”
“I’m sorry.” I shrugged. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.”
That made her laugh.
“I had fun last night,” I said. “It was the first time in a long time.”
“I had a great time, too. Would you like to hang out again tonight? I could cook you something real nice, like a casserole or a stew or Mexican or more pizza.”
My heartbeat quickened. She must’ve really had a great time if she wanted to do it again. “Yeah, but I thought you said you had to work.”
“I get off at three thirty. I’m a manager at the bank, so I don’t have to stay late if I don’t want to. I’ll be home by four and I could have supper done by five.”
“Why don’t you wait until I get home? I can help you cook.”
“You know how to cook?”
“Hell, yeah!” I nodded emphatically, then suddenly stopped and shook my head. “No, I can’t cook. I can’t even toast bread without burning it, but I can follow directions. You just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Kristen laughed and nodded as she bit her lower lip. “Okay, that’ll work. It’s a date then.”
“Yep, it’s a date.” I stood there smiling, unsure of what to do next. I finally waved and turned to walk away. Kristen was still standing in her doorway when I started the car. I waved again and turned on the radio, backed out of my spot. A tinge of guilt tugged at my chest. What am I doing? What will Debbie think when she finds out what I’m up to? Will she get angry and try to hit me again? Will she try something with Kristen? Worst of all, will Samantha approve?
I was still pondering those things thirty minutes later when I reached the bureau parking lot in Payneville. I tried to study the situation from every angle, wondered what the right choice would be. The answer didn’t come to me, so I finally shut off the engine and stepped out of my car.