by Anne Frasier
“What’s she doing here?” David directed his question at Avery, ignoring Elise, seeming unsurprised to see her standing there, straight from her hospital bed. Even more unsurprised that she still wore the cotton gown.
He must have come directly from her house, because he was dressed in the same rumpled shirt, had bedhead, and still needed to shave. On his hands were black latex crime scene gloves.
“This wasn’t my idea,” Avery said. “I tried to stop her.”
Elise pushed past Avery, intent on getting inside.
David took a wide stance and blocked the door with one arm. “You aren’t going in.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Elise.” He was calm, direct. “Stop and listen to me. You don’t want to go in there.” His voice dropped. “It’s your mother. I’m sorry, but she’s dead.”
“I know.”
“Think about how hot it’s been lately.”
They stared at each other. “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t try to shield me from this.”
“It will do no good for you to see her.”
“It might.”
“You’ll never be able to forget it. I know. I’ve been there.”
“This is different. She’s not a loved one.”
“She’s your mother.”
“She gave birth to me. That’s a totally different thing.”
He considered her for a long minute, then dropped his arm and stepped aside.
It must have already gotten around that the body on the floor was Elise’s birth mother, the woman responsible for leaving her on a grave all those years ago. As soon as the crime scene techs spotted her, they silently backed away, someone pausing long enough to shove a pair of latex gloves in her hand.
Elise heard David say something about leaving her alone. Avery’s phone rang, and he answered it, moving away from the tiny house as he talked. Footsteps and voices faded, and then everyone was gone, the only sound in the room the buzzing of hundreds of blowflies, along with a few bees.
Odd the way bees, a pollen insect, were drawn to death. What was it about the horrible scent that confused them? Made them think it was something sweet, something good?
Elise snapped on the gloves.
The cottage was hot, unbearable really. Elise did a mental calculation, factoring in the highs of the past few days, knowing a small room in southern Georgia could reach temperatures of 120 during the day. The body was so severely bloated that an ID would have been hard if not for the tangle of long gray hair. The lips and eyelids were turned almost inside out, legs and arms double in size. Most of the crime scene team had been wearing hazmat suits. Understandable. It was going to be a challenge to move and transport the body without gas escaping. A small explosion could occur, splattering guts on anyone within a few feet or even yards.
Even though the body was grossly deformed, there was no way to miss the ligature marks around the throat, the pool of dried blood under the head.
Murder.
Two days gone, she’d guess. Which meant it had happened before the incident at the morgue. And if the same people were behind it, it meant they—or he—had been very busy.
This was a message. Clearer than the others, since Loralie was directly connected to both Elise and Sweet. And who was next? That was the big question. Because at this rapid rate there had to be a next coming very soon.
Minutes earlier, in Avery’s car, Elise had been thinking about how she’d never be able to forgive her mother, alive or dead. But looking at her now, knowing what a harsh life she’d led . . . Elise’s throat tightened.
She was too hard on people. She was known as the cop who treated criminals with compassion, but where was her compassion when it had come to Loralie? And even to her father?
She turned from the body and moved slowly around the room, looking for anything that might give up evidence. Just as she remembered, the space was sparse and fittingly monastic. The only real sign of life was the overflowing ashtrays—evidence of Loralie’s chain-smoking.
Nothing seemed out of place. There was no sign of struggle, so at least that was something. Loralie had been taken by surprise. Death had come quickly. She hadn’t suffered long.
Elise looked through kitchen cupboards, pausing when she came upon a stash of unopened cigarette cartons and boxes of pralines. It took her a moment to realize the cigarettes and candy were the gifts she’d sent.
Why hadn’t Loralie smoked or eaten them?
Elise heard footsteps and looked over her shoulder to see David approaching. “Avery had to leave, and the crew needs to get back in here.”
She closed the cupboard door. “She didn’t smoke the cigarettes I sent her. Or eat the candy. It’s all here. I wonder why.”
“Saving the reminders of you.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I seriously doubt that. Your lack of cynicism is frightening sometimes.”
“Oh, I can be cynical.”
“I should have sent a book,” Elise said. “Or something that wasn’t for consumption. But she said she wanted cigarettes and pralines.”
The crime scene team was filing back inside. David nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Outside they both snapped off their gloves and tossed them in a nearby biohazard bin. The day was already hot, and wordlessly they moved to a small patch of shade, away from the police and forensic team, upwind from the cottage. From somewhere that couldn’t be seen, Elise caught a whiff of damp marsh. It almost covered up the stench of death.
She looked toward the brick colonial, at the cluster of nuns standing near the back door. Loralie had lived there over twenty years. The nuns had protected her, given her a place to hide from the world. But the world had come to them.
“If this is Remy,” David said, “and I think it is, then this is revenge. He’s coming after people connected to Sweet. Your father listed the people to warn, but Loralie wasn’t one of them. Not that it would have helped. She’s been dead awhile.”
“I’m guessing two days.”
He nodded.
Elise crossed her arms, hugging her stomach, feeling uneasy. “How far is Remy’s reach?” She was thinking about people beyond Savannah. She was thinking about Audrey, who was possibly the person Sweet cared for most in the world, Strata Luna being the second.
“Right now Savannah seems to be his focus. But I think we should contact friends and loved ones as far away as, yes, Seattle. Tell Audrey and Thomas to keep their eyes and ears open. If nothing else, I wouldn’t put it past him to try to at least contact Audrey with a call or e-mail, just to shake her up. And shake us up even more.”
David’s phone rang, and he did a screen check. “Avery.” He answered, listened, told him he was on his way. Once he disconnected, he said, “Our office is ready. But that’s not the real news. The composite artist has come up with an image of an aged Remy, and Avery is calling a press conference so we can get the drawing into circulation as quickly as possible. He wants me there.”
Without further discussion, they circled the big house and moved in the direction of his car. “I’ll drop you by Strata Luna’s on the way.”
“I’m coming downtown too.”
“Sit this one out. Go to Strata Luna’s. Get some rest. Come back tomorrow.”
“There’s no way I’m going to be able to lie around at Strata Luna’s while she plies me with food and mojos. You know that.”
They got in the car. David lowered the windows, turned the ignition key, and guided the vehicle across grass and past milling people until they were riding over the dirt road that would eventually turn to blacktop and return them to town. “Okay. I give up,” David said. “Let’s grab some food and swing by my place. You can chill with Isobel while I take a shower and get into some clean clothes.”
They stopped at Parker’s Market on Drayton Street. Five minutes later they were in David’s apartment. He put the carryout on the counter. “Make yourself at home. I’m heading for the shower. Eat without me. I�
��ll either eat on the way or once we get to headquarters.”
The thought of food made her stomach churn, but she knew she needed to eat something. She sat down on the couch. Isobel immediately appeared, circling Elise’s ankles. Instead of opening the paper bag, Elise leaned back and closed her eyes. She was so exhausted she could hardly process the past hour, let alone the past twenty-four. Just the idea of trying to pull food out of the bag, unwrap a sandwich, and bring it to her mouth, chew, seemed impossible.
“Sure you don’t want to stay here?”
Elise woke with a jolt.
David stood in the living room, dressed in clean clothes, hair damp, face freshly shaved. He belted his gun and reached for his jacket. “It’s not as safe as Strata Luna’s, but it’s the next best thing.”
At some point Isobel had gotten on her lap. Elise lifted her aside and stood up, careful not to let David see how weak she was feeling. “I’m coming.”
“You didn’t eat?”
“Fell asleep.”
“I noticed.”
He grabbed the bag of uneaten carryout and gave a quick pet to Isobel, and they were out the door, heading for Savannah PD. On the way, David’s phone buzzed. He read the message aloud: Avery, reminding him that the meeting would be starting in an hour.
At the police station David parked in his old spot. They took the wide sidewalk to the front door, said hello to the woman at the desk, and passed through the metal detector. Elise had nothing to leave in the container or gather on the other side. David grabbed his belongings, and they shot straight for the elevators before anybody could catch their eye.
Stepping into their old office on the third floor was equal parts sad and soothing. “Never expected to see this place again.” Elise looked out the window at Colonial Park Cemetery.
“Which desk do you think Lamont used?”
“I’ll bet mine,” Elise said. “It has a view.”
“I think he would have found more satisfaction using my desk, even if it faces a brick wall.”
“Maybe he alternated.”
She needed to find some proper clothes before the press conference. Maybe she could borrow a jacket from someone, or dash around the corner to one of the nearby shops. “It makes me uncomfortable to even talk about him,” Elise said. “Because there’s nothing nice to say.”
David plopped down in his old chair, testing the bounce, grabbed the bag of food, and began unpacking it. “Just because a guy’s dead doesn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole.”
CHAPTER 25
The press conference was supposed to be brief, so it was held without any fanfare in a police-department room used for such things. Low ceiling, bright lights, podium, Georgia state flag. Flanked by Elise and Avery, David looked out at the audience settling into metal folding chairs. Most wore press and media passes around their necks or clipped to pockets. David glanced at Elise’s pale face and once again thought she should be in his apartment or at Strata Luna’s. He’d thought so before Loralie’s murder, but now . . .
From lost-and-found she’d dug up a floral top with a round collar, along with a yellow cardigan. If their current circumstances weren’t so dark and dire, he would have joked that she looked like she was dressed for a sixties sitcom.
Avery started the conference before everybody was seated. That’s how anxious he was to get it over with. He dove in and held up a copy of the composite drawing. Said a few sentences, adding, “You’ll be able to download it from our website.” Gave them the website. “We’ll be circulating it nationally too, with a strong focus on Florida.”
They’d all three looked over the sketch from a reputable artist. And they’d all discussed the unfortunate generic quality of the piece and talked about how it was going to generate false leads. White dude in his early sixties, average weight, salt-and-pepper hair.
Hands in the crowd went up, some held high, like in grade school, others demonstrating a polite half raise. David preferred the half. It wasn’t aggressive, and it was a lot more likely to get a go-ahead from him.
True to her earlier performance, without waiting to be chosen, Lucille shot to her feet. Cradling a clipboard and iPhone, she asked if they’d yet assigned anyone to the chief-of-police position, vacated over a month ago.
“That’s not a position we assign from within,” Avery told her. “The mayor’s office is working on it.”
He’d barely finished when she hit him with something else, her questions taking on the tone of an interrogation. David’s feelings about Lucille were quickly mimicking Elise’s. “What about the body found at the monastery?” Lucille asked. “Any connection to the Novak homicide or the incident at the morgue?”
Avery tried to hold his ground. David had to give him points for that. “This conference is about the composite drawing, nothing else,” Avery said.
But the questions kept coming. About John Casper and Mara, about the yet-to-be-disclosed identity of the monastery homicide victim.
David took pity and jumped in. “As Detective Avery said, this meeting is for the sole purpose of sharing the composite sketch of what the man named Frank Remy might look like today,” he said. “He’s our focus right now, and with your help we’re hoping we can wrap this up fairly quickly.”
Lucille actually appeared to pout a little before plopping down heavily.
Another cluster of hands. More questions. “Who’s he targeting? Who’s in danger?”
Elise finally spoke. “At the moment we don’t think the general public is at risk, but his focus could always change. There’s no way to sugarcoat this. He’s killed children, so parents need to be especially cautious.”
Avery gripped the podium and shifted his weight. “That will be all for now. Thanks for coming.” That was one way to shut down a conference. Blunt, with no transition.
Disregarding Avery’s statement—or reacting to it—Lucille stood again. “I want to discuss what happened to Detective Sandburg last night,” she said. “I’m talking about the cemetery incident.”
David tensed at the word “cemetery.”
“Is it wise for her to be here today?” Lucille asked. “To have someone who’s obviously mentally unbalanced working such a high-profile and serious case?”
A collective gasp. Heads turned.
Avery frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” She was looking at her boyfriend with hostile eyes. Nope, David didn’t like her. Not at all. He leaned in, speaking into the mics. “Detective Avery is done fielding questions.”
“I think you’re trying to cover something up,” Lucille said. “But you didn’t take into account the power of social media.”
“Back off.” Those surprising words came from Avery. “This conference is over. You have our contact information. Keep an eye on our website.” He pushed mics aside with an abrupt and frustrated movement. David didn’t know if Avery was mad at his girlfriend or outraged for Elise.
Lucille—God, what tenacity the woman had—stepped closer to the podium and began jabbing her finger around, pointing at Avery, then Elise, then at the phone still resting on top of her clipboard. “I’m talking about YouTube.”
She planted her feet on the floor and fixed her gaze on poor Avery, who had a look of bafflement on his sweating face. “I’m talking about the video that was posted an hour ago, featuring none other than the acclaimed Detective Sandburg.”
David wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else.
“Who, I happen to know, you have a crush on,” Lucille told Avery. “Which is why I’m guessing she’s still here rather than being committed.”
Smartphones were whipped out. Heads dipped. Fingers poked at screens as every reporter in the room searched YouTube to find out what the hell Lucille was talking about.
“Better look fast,” she told them. “It’ll be pulled due to nudity.”
David touched Elise’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.” He steered her toward the door. She took a few stumbling
steps, then slammed on the brakes.
Avery was checking his phone along with everyone else. David knew the detective hit pay dirt when his mouth dropped open.
Elise twisted away from David, strode to Avery, and put out her hand for his phone, all the while cameras snapping. “Let me see.”
Avery pivoted away, his back to her. She reached around and managed to grab the phone, tilting the device to landscape mode in order to view it in all its glory while David watched from over her shoulder.
The video was reminiscent of the day the mayor had flattened her with a finely aimed punch. That had gone viral too. But this was worse. Much worse.
In silence she watched the whole thing. All two minutes of it. When she was done, she shoved the phone back at Avery, turned, and launched herself at David. Now she was the one doing the pushing. Moments later they stood in the hallway, alone except for a camera high on the wall.
Her face had been pale earlier, but now her cheeks were bright red. “So this is why you were asking if I remembered anything. Why didn’t you tell me? How did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“I like your shirt. It’s . . . uh, homey.”
“Oh Jesus.”
“Okay, okay.” His voice held a pleading tone he wasn’t at all proud of. “You weren’t supposed to know. Nobody was supposed to know. I had no idea there was a video.”
“I can’t believe you kept it from me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“That’s not protecting me! That’s withholding information. That’s a lie of omission.”
“If it makes you feel any better, the video is dark. You can hardly make anything out and can’t really even tell it’s you. I thought it would be better if you didn’t know. Do we always have to fight?”
“Yes, we do!”
Behind them, reporters filed from the room, everyone discussing the video. One guy advised a colleague to grab it using a special app “before it’s removed.”
That thing was never going away.
David’s phone rang. Relieved to have an escape, any escape, he answered, listened, ended the call, and scrolled through recent text messages to stop on the one referenced in the phone call. “I think you’ll find this interesting,” he told Elise. “Preliminary results of your blood test.” He turned the screen so she could read it. “Tetrodotoxin and something else they haven’t yet identified. Good news, right?”