Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  Hand trembling, Thorne placed the glass over the photo and shuddered out a breath. ‘Motherfucking sonofabitch,’ he said quietly, then looked at Jamie. ‘It’s a medal. And a key.’

  Jamie’s eyes went wide. ‘What the fuck?’ He lurched from his chair to grab the photo and magnifier before sliding back to sit. ‘Holy shit,’ he murmured.

  Gwyn was looking at the two of them like they’d lost their minds. ‘What kind of metal?’

  ‘Not metal,’ Thorne said. ‘Medal. Like a trophy.’ He scrubbed at his face with his palms, suddenly numb. ‘There was one stuck in Richard Linden’s body, in about the same place. A medal with a key attached.’

  ‘So this is a copycat murder,’ Gwyn said.

  Thorne shook his head. ‘The medal wasn’t made public. I mean, I saw it when I was trying to stop his bleeding, but when his body got to the morgue, it was gone.’

  Seven

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Sunday 12 June, 11.55 P.M.

  Gwyn was staring at Thorne. ‘It was just . . . gone? How could a medal have just disappeared from a dead body?’

  Jamie set the magnifier aside, his hands trembling.

  Patricia Linden Segal’s murderer was no ordinary copycat. It was somebody who knew details that weren’t public.

  Jamie rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘We thought at the time that one of the EMTs or morgue employees took it. We never knew why. We didn’t press, because it was better for Thorne that it disappeared.’

  Gwyn’s frown deepened. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I had one of those medals,’ Thorne said. He swallowed hard, forcing back the bile that burned his throat. ‘They were given to everyone on the soccer team for making it to the state championships that year. I put mine with all my other trophies in my bedroom, but Richard had a hole bored in his and made it into a key ring. That’s what I saw shoved into his gut. It still had a key on it.’

  ‘But it disappeared,’ Jamie reiterated. ‘And so had Thorne’s.’

  Phil stood behind Thorne, hands covering his shoulders. ‘Thorne’s mother and stepfather cleared out his room when he was arrested. By the time we got him out on bail, they’d put all this things on the curb and the garbage truck had come by and taken them.’

  Thorne watched Gwyn’s expression morph from shock to sympathy to rage.

  ‘Everything?’ she asked.

  ‘Everything,’ Thorne confirmed. ‘Every photo, comic book, piece of clothing. All my CDs. All my trophies. All my notes from classes. My bicycle. Everything.’

  Jamie’s voice was bitter. ‘When he came to us, he didn’t even have the shirt on his back, because he’d used it to try to stop Richard’s bleeding.’

  Gwyn swallowed hard, her expression going carefully neutral. Which meant her temper was boiling. ‘So you didn’t know where your medals were. Which meant that you couldn’t prove it wasn’t one of yours in the body.’

  ‘Essentially,’ Thorne said quietly.

  ‘So who did know about the medal in Richard Linden’s body?’

  Jamie sighed. ‘Thorne knew. And the real killer, obviously, assuming he was the one who’d put it there. The EMT would have seen it. Possibly the morgue tech, if it was still there when the body was cleaned up. Whoever plucked it out of the body knew about it.’

  ‘The cops knew.’ Thorne’s jaw tightened, remembering. ‘Because I told them. I told Detective Prew. I don’t think he believed me.’

  Jamie looked sick. ‘I advised Thorne not to press it. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.’ He ran a shaking hand through his hair. ‘Shit.’ But then he looked up and over Thorne’s shoulder, meeting Phil’s eyes. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he promised, making a visible effort to be calm.

  ‘I know,’ Phil said unsteadily, his hands clenching on Thorne’s shoulders protectively. Almost painfully.

  ‘It means that whoever killed Patricia Segal did not get all his info from court transcripts,’ Thorne said, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

  ‘But it would have been in the police report.’ Gwyn cocked her head. ‘Right? If you’d told the police you’d seen it, the detective would have listed that in the report. Patricia’s murderer could still have gotten the info that way.’

  Thorne shook his head. ‘No. It didn’t end up in the police report either.’

  She blinked. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ He closed his eyes. ‘But I saw the report, and it wasn’t there. There were moments when I thought I’d fabricated it in my mind. That I was delusional.’

  ‘I imagine it’s normal to second-guess yourself in that situation,’ she said quietly. ‘You were so young and under so much stress. Grieving Sherri.’ A beat of silence. ‘Did Sherri see it?’

  Surprised at the question, he opened his eyes to see hers narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see it until right at the end. Just before the cops showed up. I’d been using my shirt as a makeshift bandage, so that I could put pressure on the wound. But it was so huge, the wound. It soaked my shirt, so I took off my T-shirt to use, and when I removed the first shirt, that was when I got a glimpse of the medal with the key in the wound. Sherri was on the phone up by the office by then. Seconds later, the place was swarming with cops. So if you’re wondering if she was killed for seeing that, no. Unlikely anyway.’

  ‘That was what I was wondering. What was the key to?’

  It was Thorne’s turn to blink. ‘I have no idea. Never even thought to wonder.’

  ‘You’re wondering if the key itself was the reason it was removed from Richard’s body?’ Jamie asked, respect in his tone.

  Gwyn shrugged. ‘It just seems like a weird thing to steal off a body. It didn’t have any real worth. Not like Richard was a celebrity or the medal was from the Olympics or anything. The medal wasn’t diamond-encrusted and . . . I mean, ew. They had to stick their hand in a frickin’ body to get it. That’s just gross.’

  Jamie seemed to be considering the notion. ‘Not if the EMT took it, or someone in the morgue. EMTs get bloody on a routine basis, and morgue employees can’t be too grossed out by bodies or they wouldn’t last long. We need to add the names of the EMTs and the morgue personnel to our list of people to interview.’

  Thorne suddenly felt a million years old. ‘I don’t remember their names.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Jamie said. ‘But they’re listed in the court transcripts because they testified for the prosecution. I’ve got all those files in a box in the basement.’

  ‘I can fetch it for you,’ Thorne offered, but Jamie shook his head.

  ‘That’s okay. I know exactly where it is.’ And he had a small elevator that transported him to the basement and back again.

  Thorne knew better than to argue, so he just nodded.

  ‘Well,’ Gwyn said on a sigh, ‘the ME is going to find the medal in Patricia’s body, if he hasn’t already. He’ll tell Hyatt’s detectives and they’ll ask you questions about it. What will you tell them?’

  ‘The truth,’ Thorne said without hesitation.

  Phil’s hands clenched again, and Thorne winced but said nothing because he sensed that Phil was holding on by a thread.

  ‘I think that’s the wisest thing at this point,’ Phil murmured. ‘Offer nothing. Answer what you can when asked. Besides, many of us saw Richard with the medal after he’d made it into a key ring. Your coach thought he was a total dickhead for drilling a hole in it, by the way. Any one of the old teaching staff still around can ID it as belonging to Richard.’ Giving Thorne’s shoulders a final pat, Phil moved away, clearing the mugs from the table to the sink, and Thorne noticed with a start that the older man’s face had grown gray. ‘Phil? You okay?’

  Phil smiled. ‘Of course. Just tired.’ He pointed to the clock on the wall. ‘We’re seeing Prew at nine thirty tomorrow morning, so we should get some sleep. Rush hour�
��s a bitch. I’ll get you some sheets and blankets, Gwyn.’ He moved slowly, and Thorne was distressed to realize that age was creeping up on the two men who’d taken him in when he’d had no one.

  On Phil, at least. Jamie still looked ten years younger than his partner. He always had. He’d been nearly forty that day in the jail, but Thorne remembered thinking he looked about thirty. Which had seemed ancient at the time.

  He stayed Phil with a touch to his arm. ‘I’ll take the sofa,’ he said. ‘Gwyn can sleep in my room.’

  Gwyn frowned. ‘No, I’m taking the sofa. You’ll never fit.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I’m not planning to sleep.’

  Three sets of eyes now frowned at him. ‘Thorne,’ Jamie said with a shake of his head. ‘Please. Don’t do this to yourself.’

  ‘I have to,’ he murmured. ‘They could come after any of you. All of you.’ Because of me. It was too overwhelming.

  ‘And you’re our guardian?’ Gwyn asked, a thread of annoyance in her voice that Thorne hadn’t expected, and he jerked around to stare at her.

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped back. ‘You have a problem with that?’

  Her chin went up. ‘Yeah, I do. I never asked you to be my guardian. I don’t want you to be my guardian. There is a good security system here and a cop sitting out on the curb. What I want is for you to be well rested so that when we leave this safe place tomorrow, you can be on your guard in case someone tries to hurt you in the light of day. I want you well rested so that you can listen to what people are telling you and what they are not saying. Because if you think they’re just going to fess up like you’re some Perry-fucking-Mason, you have another think coming.’

  He found himself snarling at her. ‘Back off, Gwyn. You’re the one who said everyone in my fucking sphere is in fucking danger. You’re the one who said you’d be safer with me. That all of you would be safer with me.’

  She straightened in her chair. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  From the corner of his eye he saw Jamie blanch, as if realizing that his own words were at fault. But Thorne’s attention was riveted once again by Gwyn, who pushed to her feet, leaning across the table until he was breathing in the scent of lavender and vanilla.

  ‘What I said was that I wanted you safe, with people who care about you.’ She gestured to Jamie and Phil. ‘I wanted these people who care about you to benefit from the cop on the curb. Yes, I did say that everyone in your sphere was in danger, but I never said you were responsible for guarding anyone other than yourself.’

  ‘That was me,’ Jamie said quietly. ‘And I was wrong to have said it. I’m sorry, son.’

  Helpless fury surged in Thorne’s chest and he heard himself utter a frustrated growl. ‘Don’t apologize. You were right,’ he snapped at Jamie, then pointed at Gwyn. ‘And you’re wrong. This is happening because of me. That it’s not my fault doesn’t matter. What does matter is keeping you safe. All of you. So I will sit on that fucking sofa and keep watch.’

  Her jaw tightened, but she kept her voice calm. ‘I am not sleeping in your bed, Thorne.’

  That she managed to stay calm when he wasn’t . . . it just made him angrier. Which he knew was ridiculous, but damned if he could stop himself.

  ‘Fine.’ He stood slowly and watched her eyes narrow, because in her bare feet she was a full foot and a half shorter than him. He leaned across the table, purposely looming over her, and watched her eyes flash with resentment. ‘Stay awake all night then, but stay out of my way while you do it.’ He grabbed the copy of the crime scene photo she’d taken and slapped it on the table between them. ‘This is what they’re capable of doing. Do you think I want that to happen to you? To any of you?’

  She craned her head back to lock her gaze with his. ‘Of course you don’t,’ she said, still maddeningly calm. ‘Nobody said that. But there is a cop sitting out there on the curb and it’s his job to keep the bad guys away from us.’

  She might seem collected, but her eye had started to twitch. He’d known her long enough to be aware that that was her tell. She was one tiny push away from losing her temper, and he suddenly needed her to. Needed to know he wasn’t the only one scared shitless by this whole situation. ‘Like the cops can be depended on to keep people safe?’ He hated the sneer in his voice, but he had to make her recognize that the threat was real. That four walls and a cop outside weren’t enough to ensure her safety. ‘How’d that work for you and Lucy four years ago?’ Because cops had been guarding Lucy, and Evan had still managed to get them both.

  Gwyn flinched, growing pale, and Thorne instantly knew he’d overstepped.

  ‘Thorne,’ Phil murmured in shocked reproach. ‘Stop. Now.’

  ‘I’m s—’

  She interrupted his apology with a raised hand. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered, but her voice cracked on the single word. She took a step away from the table. Away from him. When she spoke again, it was at a normal volume, but shaky. ‘Suit yourself. Stay awake all night. Then tomorrow, when you need decent reflexes and you have none because you are exhausted because you were fucking drugged last night and should still be in the goddamn hospital, your reflexes will say “Sorry, dude, we’re plumb tuckered” and you’ll get hurt. And then what? Who’ll have to bind you up and call 911 and hope you don’t fucking die?’ Her finger jabbed at the air between them and tears filled her eyes.

  Her tears shocked him like none of her words had. ‘Gwyn, I’m sor—’ he started, but once again she swept her hand between them, silencing him.

  ‘Me,’ she spat. ‘I’m the one who’ll have to watch you bleed. Or lie so still that I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. I had to call them this morning.’ Blindly she indicated Jamie and Phil, who watched wide-eyed. ‘I had to tell them that you were non-responsive. They freaked out because you were fucking non-responsive, Thorne. And because they love you like a goddamn son, which makes you lucky, because not all of us get that. So go ahead.’ She blinked and the tears streaked down her face. ‘Go ahead and stay awake all night worrying because you think that’s all we need you for.’

  ‘Gwyn . . .’ He wasn’t sure what else to say, but it didn’t matter because she’d already marched herself out of the kitchen.

  ‘I assume the room with all the posters of Pamela Anderson in a tiny Baywatch bathing suit is Thorne’s old room?’ she called behind her.

  Phil coughed. ‘Yes,’ he called back. ‘That’s the one.’

  Thorne rubbed his chest, because it physically hurt. She’d cried. Over me. And he’d hurt her when that was the last thing he’d really wanted to do. But he couldn’t put words to any of that now. He forced his eyes to roll. ‘Really, guys? I took those posters down years ago.’

  Jamie’s eyes were still wide. ‘We put them up today because we assumed you were coming here to recuperate. We thought it would make you laugh.’

  He blew out a sigh. ‘Sure,’ he drawled. ‘This is a laugh riot.’

  Phil pursed his lips. ‘Gwyn’s right, you know. She was terrified for you this morning. I knew it was bad, because she was falling apart. In all the years I’ve known her, all the times we’ve talked, I’ve never seen her as scared as she was today.’

  Thorne sank back into the chair, exhausted. ‘I know.’ He’d considered how she’d felt finding him in bed with another woman, but not how she’d felt at finding him near death. She was always so . . . strong. So Gwyn.

  Except right after Evan, and even then she’d kept her trauma buried deep. Nobody knew that she’d sat in Thorne’s bed and rocked herself for hours after she was safe. Nobody knew but Thorne, because he’d held her every painful minute that she’d been lost in her own mind, reliving the worst experience of her life. He’d held her as she’d rocked, willing her to come back to him.

  She’d never let herself fall apart in front of anyone else. Yet today, she had.

  ‘You were a dick to her,’ Jamie stated.
<
br />   Thorne dropped his head in his hands with a groan. ‘I know. I’ll apologize when she cools down. I just . . . I lost it. Today’s been a shitty day.’

  Phil was pragmatic as usual. ‘You may have to wait until morning to apologize, because she’s really upset. And now she’s taken the bed, so you’re stuck with the sofa. We do have an inflatable mattress. We’re told it’s quite comfortable. I’ll go get it.’

  That left Jamie and Thorne alone. Jamie reached over and rubbed Thorne’s arm lightly. ‘You need to talk about it?’

  Thorne recoiled. ‘No. God, no.’

  Jamie’s chuckle was low and familiar. ‘Well, for what it’s worth, she cares about you. That much is clear.’

  ‘Squarely in the friend zone,’ he said, fighting tears of his own. He’d already lost it once. He was not going to cry on top of it all.

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. She’s been walking in a fog for four years, Thorne. Let her wake up a little more. Let her feel like she’s in control of her own decisions. Let her be in control of her own decisions.’

  ‘And if she decides that I’m not worth the risk?’

  Jamie sighed. ‘Well, I would question her sanity, but I’m a little biased in your favor. But seriously, if she decides that, then you respect it and find a way to move forward. Easier said than done, I know. But you won’t be entirely alone. You still have family, Thorne. And we won’t leave you. Ever.’

  Thorne’s eyes stung. ‘Thank you.’

  Jamie rolled his chair away from the table. Moments later, Thorne was enfolded in strong arms that had been there for him for more than half his life. The same strong arms that had held him when he’d collapsed after learning of Sherri’s death, too shocked to cry. He’d shaken so hard he’d thought his bones would separate, and it had been Jamie who’d held him together.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘For being all I’ve ever needed.’ He lifted his head and rested his forehead against Jamie’s, the gesture one he’d learned from his father and had shared with Jamie all these years.