The Remains of the Dead

by Wendy Roberts

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he take the brooch and give it back to you?”

  “Maybe he just meant to get the emerald necklace and the brooch was wrapped with it. It was probably a mistake. Maybe he knew that I would turn it over to the authorities, or maybe he wanted to distract me from my suspicions that he had something to do with what happened to Grant and Trudy.”

  At her look of disbelief Sadie weakly offered, “I know it sounds crazy. I wish I had all the answers, but, truthfully, I don’t.”

  Sadie had gone this far and she knew there was no saving face with this woman anyhow, so she went for broke and spilled the rest.

  “I was in your son’s house last night. I went there in the middle of the night to try and contact his spirit.”

  “So it was you who destroyed the house!” she gasped.

  “No! Remember when I said I saw only Trudy’s spirit and not Grant’s? Well, I was trying to contact him, and I believe that what happened in the house was his way of sending me a message. I know I’m asking you to swallow a lot here, but last night Grant’s spirit showed up. He touched me when I asked if he loved his wife, and his touch was warm and tender, as if he was agreeing with that statement. Then he used a black candle to draw a heart with Trudy written inside of it.”

  “I saw that heart.”

  “Well, when I asked Grant if he’d also killed Trudy, his spirit went nuts. He flew into a rage and flung things around the room. He even lifted that heavy coffee table like it was a toy, and he threw books everywhere. I can’t help but take that reaction as an adamant no.”

  Mrs. Toth’s eyes glistened with tears.

  “I wish I could believe in this—this craziness. I want to believe Grant wasn’t a murderer, but you’re also asking me to think that Kent murdered them instead, and that’s almost as unlikely. I can’t see Kent ever hurting Grant or Trudy. He was the best man at their wedding. He and Grant were buddies since college.”

  “Sylvia, would you rather believe that Grant killed his wife and then himself?”

  She wiped away a tear. “My sister told me if there was any evidence that pointed to someone else, the police would’ve found it.”

  Sadie had no answer for that.

  Mrs. Toth got to her feet. “I need to think about this for a while.”

  Sadie walked her to the door. She doubted she would ever see the woman again, and it was probably just as well.

  “Thanks for hearing me out,” Sadie said. “I don’t want to intrude on your pain. You won’t hear from me again, and I won’t be going near Grant’s house. You have my word.” Sadie bent to her purse, withdrew the final key for the Toth house, and handed it to Sylvia.

  “Can I just ask you a question?”

  Sadie nodded.

  “Did you see your brother’s spirit and talk to him when he died?”

  Sadie swallowed. “No. I wish I had.”

  Mrs. Toth nodded and opened the door. The minute she stepped outside, a sharp crack rang out and a bullet dug a deep gash in the door frame an inch from where they were standing.

  Mrs. Toth screamed but stood frozen to the spot. Sadie watched as a dark green, older-model Toyota gunned the accelerator past the house, only to slam on the brakes, skid to a stop, then rocket suddenly in reverse. A hand holding a gun extended from the driver’s window.

  “He’s coming back!” Sadie screamed.

  She yanked Sylvia Toth by the arm, but not before a second shot split the air.

  Mrs. Toth crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, and Sadie pulled her inside the house and slammed the door shut. She dragged the hysterical woman to the hall, and only there did she look seriously at the wound. Her shoulder was soaked in blood, which was quickly pooling on the floor.

  “Don’t leave me,” she cried, her good arm locking on Sadie and her eyes pleading.

  “I’ll grab the phone to call for help and I’ll stay with you until they get here,” Sadie assured her.

  Mrs. Toth’s eyes were wide with fear as she released Sadie’s arm.

  Sadie crawled on her belly toward the other end of the room to get to the phone. She reached the cordless receiver just as a third shot exploded her picture window and she was showered with glass.

  13

  After the ambulance attendants sped Mrs. Toth away, Detective Petrovich walked Sadie through an icy drizzle and into the back of his unmarked car. The drive to the station was quiet. It wasn’t until she’d given her statement three times and written it out fully that she heard any news of Mrs. Toth’s condition.

  “She’s in surgery. The bullet caught her in the shoulder, but although she lost a lot of blood, she’ll be fine,” Petrovich said.

  “Thank God,” Sadie murmured.

  “I need you to go through these books and see if you can identify the make and model of the car.” He tossed two binders in her direction. They landed with a bang on the metal table, causing Sadie to jump.

  “I told you it was an older-model green Toyota and the driver’s-side door had some rust.”

  “See if you can narrow down the year,” he said with a bite.

  “You think I had something to do with this, don’t you?” Sadie whispered, her fingers trembling as they turned to the first page in the binder. “You think I tried to kill Mrs. Toth.”

  “Of course not,” he said, scratching the top of his head. “Besides, we tested your hands for gunshot residue, and it’s obvious from the trajectory of the bullet that the shooter was in the street. Just like you said.”

  She nodded.

  “But why the hell did this happen at your place? Sylvia Toth said that she told nobody she planned on going to see you.”

  “Maybe someone followed her.”

  “Or they were told to be there.”

  “You don’t think I asked someone to come by and shoot her?” Sadie asked in disbelief. She narrowed her eyes angrily at him. “Dean, if you’re suggesting for one minute I did this—”

  He cut her off.

  “The neighbors saw you two fighting in your driveway just minutes before.”

  “She was pissed at me about that diamond pin and her son’s house being busted up. Still, she came inside and we had tea together and tried to work things out.”

  “You hate tea.”

  “Which proves how desperate I was to end things on good terms! I was trying to take the bad attention away from Scene-2-Clean. I don’t want to attract more!” Her eyes grew dark and somber. “Did you even bother to try and track down Kent Lasko, like I told Officer Mason to do? I bet Lasko never went to Tahoe. That’s just a lie he told to cover his ass while he slashed my tires.”

  “As a matter of fact, we found Kent Lasko,” Detective Petrovich said evenly.

  Sadie looked up hopefully.

  “You found him? That’s great! Was he holed up at a friend’s house somewhere? Did you test his hands for gunshot residue? That guy’s as guilty as sin. I’ll bet he’ll even confess if you lean on him. Hell, I certainly won’t complain if you want to bring him in and rough him up—”

  “We didn’t talk to him because he was up the mountain at the time.” Detective Petrovich shouted above her ramblings. “His friend was in the condo, and he verified that Kent is with him and they’re skiing! I’m sure once we dig, there’ll be a dozen people who’ll vouch for seeing him there. We both know that there’s no way he could get from Tahoe in time to shoot Sylvia Toth.”

  “Damn! Double damn!” Sadie muttered. “You’re sure?”

  “We’ll check, like I said, but we have no reason to believe his friend would lie. The guy seemed genuinely surprised to hear why we were calling, and he was ready to vouch for his friend in a heartbeat. Kent Lasko has never had so much as a parking ticket.”

  Petrovich drummed his fingers on the table and watched her intently.

  “You know, there’s another possibility you should think about.” He paused and Sadie looked at him expectantly. “It’s possible the shooter wasn’t gunning for Mrs.
Toth. You already had your tires slashed and were given a warning.”

  Sadie’s eyes grew big for a moment before her body just sank into itself. She felt deflated and suddenly very tired. Her instinct was to shake her head in adamant denial, but she needed to face the truth.

  “Somebody thinks I should mind my own business in the Toth case,” Sadie said. “And I guess there’s a chance that somebody isn’t Kent Lasko.”

  “The graveyards are full of people who were murdered for sticking their noses where they shouldn’t have, Sadie. Please tell me you’re walking away from this thing and you’ll leave me to find the shooter.”

  “I’m done.” She blinked back tears. “And on that positive note, I think I’ll go,” she said and got to her feet. “I got a window to fix. You know how to reach me, if you find out anything.”

  “And you know that you’re expected to stay in town until this matter is cleared up.”

  With a harrumph and as much dignity as she could muster, Sadie stormed out and took off for home. When she got there the glass company was replacing the window. Still, the broken bits of glass and the blood had to be cleaned. Sadie eyes blurred with tears as she swept up the remnants of her window and wiped up Sylvia Toth’s blood. Then she buried herself in the rest of her housework and paperwork for the remainder of the day and well into the evening, not wanting to pause for even a moment to think.

  It was dark when she finally sat down. Icy rain pinged off her windows, and she started up the gas fireplace in the living room. Every time the wind gusted or the house creaked, her stomach clenched in fear.

  Hairy was no help whatsoever in offering comfort to his stressed owner. Instead, the bunny hunkered down with a faded stuffed toy bunny (Mini-Hairy) in his basket and couldn’t be bribed or coaxed into her lap—not even with the promise of the yogurt rabbit treats that were his favorites.

  “You should know that I’m seriously considering trading you in for a Doberman pinscher,” Sadie grumbled, but Hairy only twitched his nose without fear.

  Sadie was tempted to go out somewhere, anywhere, just so she wouldn’t have to stay in her home feeling like a sitting duck. But she was afraid to open her damn front door. Her butt felt frozen to her couch. She was so spooked that even Pam’s intrusive nature would’ve been welcome, but her friend wasn’t around to offer her usual platitudes. This was the first time Sadie had felt inclined to agree with her mother—maybe she needed to find a man.

  Even TV couldn’t distract her. Her gaze kept drifting occasionally over to the door frame, where a substantial hole announced where they’d dug out the bullet. Every time she glanced in that direction she felt sick.

  Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer and she called Zack.

  “I hate to bother you,” she began, “but I didn’t get a chance to check on the ionizer at the Yenkow house today.”

  “Been there, done that.”

  “Oh.” Of course he had. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  When she was quiet he sounded worried.

  “Sadie?” he asked. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah.” The wind howled, her old house creaked, and the bullet hole seemed to mock her like a bad horror flick. “Don’t suppose, if you’re not busy, you’d be willing to come over?”

  “Now? Tonight?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  It was closer to twenty before he showed up. When there was a pounding at the door, Sadie cursed and hated that she felt skittish about answering. She would’ve checked the peephole, but she didn’t have one. She desperately wanted to turn the fear in her belly into anger, which was too bad for Zack.

  “So what’s up? What the hell happened?” he asked before he even slipped his arms out of his jacket.

  “For once, Zack, could you not be such a man?” she snapped.

  His eyebrows rose in amusement.

  “You’d rather I be a woman? Because I don’t think I’m that much in touch with my inner drag queen.”

  “How about you come in and make small talk and polite conversation?” Sadie realized she was shouting, so she took a calming breath, then added in a small voice, “Can I get you a beer?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  She brought them each a can and they took a seat, she on the sofa and he on a chair. His look was deceptively casual. Only the tightening of his jaw and the deepening lines around his eyes hinted that he was either worried or pissed.

  They chatted amiably about the weather that was howling outside her door and about various jobs in the past. Finally there was a pause, and Zack slammed his empty beer can down on the coffee table and faced Sadie.

  “Dammit, Sadie. When are you going to tell me why there’s a bullet hole in your doorjamb?”

  “I was getting to that,” Sadie sighed. She downed the rest of her beer, then spilled out everything, from her meeting with Maeva last night to her statement at the station a few hours earlier.

  When she’d finished, Zack’s legs were eating up her floor like a caged animal. He muttered a lot to himself, and his hands were balled into fists. So far he wasn’t exactly being the picture of comfort that Sadie had hoped.

  “I’ve let this slide long enough,” he stated flatly when he finally stopped pacing. “Hand me your phone. I’m calling in some favors.”

  She shook her head vehemently.

  “No. Absolutely not.” She was on her feet just inches away from him. “I can’t let you get involved in this, Zack. This is my problem.”

  “Now I need you to stop acting like a woman,” he snarled. “You can’t dump this crap on me and expect that I won’t do a damn thing to try and fix it.”

  “I only told you because we work together and this involves a client.” At his skeptical look she continued, “And because you’re a friend.”

  “A friend. Right,” he said, tight-lipped. “That’s just great.”

  He dragged his fingers and mussed his hair further, then moved closer and put his hands on her shoulders. The warmth of his touch gave Sadie a feeling of uneasiness.

  “I remember when you first told me about your…”—he searched for the words and dropped his hands to his sides—“your conversations with people who aren’t there.”

  “You caught me chatting with that young mom in Renton.” She chuckled at the memory. “You thought I was crazy. You probably still do.”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what to think about all that.” He was pacing again, his hands flying in the air with emotion. “The only thing I do know for sure, Sadie Novak, is that you aren’t a liar. Not by a long shot. I’ve seen you go above and beyond the call of duty to help hurting families. When we were cleaning that old house in Bellevue, you knew the family was hard up for cash and you slipped a couple hundred bucks of your own into a drawer where you knew they’d find it.”

  “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

  “You also took a chance on an ex-cop when nobody else would. So if you say that you get feelings and see things that I don’t, then I’m willing to step up and say that’s just fucking A-okay with me.” He shook his head slowly from side to side. “But this isn’t about you telling dead people to walk toward the light because they got lost along the way, and this isn’t about some deaf woman who got her throat slit. This is about you being a target.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to. You’ll have to fire me to stop me from making an effort to look into this, and even then I couldn’t make any guarantees.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Okay.”

  She knew then that if she was honest she would admit that this was exactly why she’d asked him to come over in the first place. Deep down she knew Zack wouldn’t be able to just stand aside if someone took a shot at her. She got him the phone and listened while he made small talk with some guys in the police department whom he used to work with. He mingled greetings with inquiries
as smooth and casual as could be.

  While she listened, she forced Hairy onto her lap and stroked the length of his silky fur, bribing him with a fistful of yogurt yummies to hold him still.

  “I’ll take another beer now,” Zack said when he was done.

  Placing the phone on the coffee table, he settled back into the chair, deep in thought.

  She nudged Hairy to the floor and got them each another can.

  “So?” she asked as she popped the tab.

  “Not a whole lot,” he said. “Nothing sets off any alarms in this case. Grant went jogging, probably to cool off after arguing with his wife. When he came home he was still pissed, so he went upstairs and slit his wife’s throat. Afterward he panicked at first, stuffed his bloody clothes in the hamper, and had a shower. He either realized he’d never get away with it or else he was filled with remorse, because he went down to the living room and ate his gun.”

  “Just like that? A guy goes for a jog and then nearly decapitates his wife but takes off his bloody clothes and has a shower before blowing his brains out? Does that sound right to you?”

  “Sure.” He took a long pull on his beer. “Many times if a guy kills his wife in a spur-of-the-moment crime of passion, afterward he’ll take a while to compose himself. Sometimes he’ll even start to clean up the scene.”

  “You saw Trudy’s scene. Nobody tried to clean that up before we got there.”

  “Right, but let’s say he’s freaked out after killing her. He takes a shower to figure out what to do and the clothes go in the hamper out of habit. Then he realizes there’s just no way to cover it up, so he doesn’t try to clean up. He’s overcome with guilt and can’t take it. He goes downstairs and puts the gun to his head.”

  “And the weapons were found in the house?”

  Zack nodded. “They found the knife back in a butcher block on the kitchen counter. He’d washed it, but not good enough.”

  “And prints?”

  “If there were any, he washed them off the knife, but, yup, prints on the gun were his.”

  She shook her head slowly from side to side. “I don’t know…it still feels wrong to me. If this was a murder-suicide and I’m to buy what you’re saying, why would Trudy insist it wasn’t Grant and why would Grant put in so much effort to deny it?”