by Polly Iyer
“Knowing Jake, he’s paying them a pittance, certainly nothing worth their jobs. And he’ll rat them out as quick as you can say jail sentence.”
“You’ve just given me an idea, but I’ll wait until we get to the coroner’s office.”
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to a nondescript one-story concrete building on MLK Boulevard.
“This isn’t what I expected,” Diana said. “I thought the morgue would be in a hospital.”
“Used to be in the courthouse, but the building flooded during Katrina. Autopsies have been performed here since. We need a new facility, but there’s a thing called funds standing in the way.”
He helped Diana out of the car. “Before we go inside, I want to call the captain.” He dialed and was put through immediately. “I have an idea, Captain. Rather than pull in Griffin, what if we send a memo to every district commander, cop, dispatcher, secretary, etc. that we’re initiating an investigation into who’s leaking confidential police information to the media, and that anyone found guilty will be terminated immediately? Also, the identities of anyone with information on the leaks will be confidential.”
A long moment passed before Craven said, “Good idea. I’ll send the request through the chain of command. Considering the leaks have affected almost every district, I’m sure they’ll be on board.”
“Well, that was clever,” Diana said. “Much better than pulling in Griffin to hear his denials.”
“Not only denials, but I don’t want this to become a cause célèbre for First Amendment rights while we’re in the middle of this investigation.” He tapped a number into his cellphone. “Better stop Sam from picking up the little weasel.” He made the call and clicked off. “Caught him just in time.”
They went inside the building. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“Ernie, we’re here. If you had reservations, why didn’t you say something before now?”
“I’ll always have reservations when you’re doing this. I worry about you.”
“I’ll be fine. Keeping the gnawing feeling I had would be far more detrimental to my health than finding the closure one more reading might accomplish. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep tonight.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go. Cothran said he’d have Chenault ready. The captain doesn’t want him in the room in case you find out something we need to keep quiet.”
“Fine.”
* * * * *
Diana had been inside autopsy rooms before. The smells, no matter how heavily deodorized, hit her sensory memory like a gust of poison air. She’d heard cops during her childhood say death was an odor they’d never forget. Right now, she didn’t want to forget. She wanted to channel everything about Chenault’s body into her senses.
“Ms. Racine,” Cothran said.
“Good to see you again, Doctor.”
Cothran led the way to a room. He opened the door and stepped aside. “The deceased is a bit worse for wear. I hope you can handle seeing him.”
“I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”
“Then I’ll leave you two alone. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
“Thanks, Charlie,” Lucier said. When Cothran left, Lucier took her by the shoulders. “I never realized until now what horrors you must have seen as a kid. I figured you led the authorities to the body, and you’d be taken away.”
“No matter how hard my parents tried to protect me, I saw when a body lay unprotected, some after months. Some after being ravaged by animals. Yes, I’m sure I’ve seen worse than I’ll see now.”
Lucier squeezed her shoulder.
Chenault was covered with a sheet on a gurney in a cold, antiseptic room, unlike her first image of Keys Moran lying on the floor of his small, warm house. She stood quietly for a minute, then gave Lucier the nod to remove the sheet.
She’d never seen a body after an autopsy, but she’d seen pictures.
A dead body is a dead body, Diana.
If a spirit remained, which she wasn’t sure she believed, its essence was somewhere else now, in some other dimension.
She moved forward and placed her fingertips on Chenault’s chest, away from the sutured incisions, and closed her eyes, letting the moment take her to that place where she hovered between her two worlds. Darkness descended like a fog until an image emerged, incandescent and surreal.
“Chenault is with another guy I don’t recognize. He sees two figures in the shadows, but, but I can’t make out their faces. I feel Chenault’s anguish.” She strained to see the full picture. “He’s surprised, hesitates, and moves to get his weapon.” Diana backed away. Her hand pressed hard against her chest as pain stabbed her. A thousand shattered images burst before her eyes.
“’Why?’ Chenault calls out.”
She struggled to remain upright, but her legs weakened. Something around her middle kept her from falling, and the image of Chenault, the gun, and the dark, murky sensation disappeared from her consciousness.
“Diana, can you hear me? Diana. Damn, I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
Lucier’s voice came from a place far away, but she heard every word. Still, she couldn’t quite come back, though she knew where she was. A soft moan escaped her throat.
“Diana.”
“I’m here. Give me a minute.” The smell hit her first, but it wasn’t the smell of the room. Something powerful wafted under her nose. She pushed it away. “Aarrgh, that’s awful. No more.” She adjusted to the light. Lucier and Dr. Cothran stood over her. She was lying on a gurney in another room. She looked around. No dead bodies. “How long have I been out?”
“A few minutes,” Lucier said.
“Luckily, I found some smelling salts,” Cothran said. “Don’t need those for our patients, but sometimes a cop will hit the floor during an autopsy. You didn’t want to wake.”
She sat up. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she plopped down again. In a moment of forgetfulness, she almost told Lucier what happened in front of Cothran.
“Everyone knows what you do, Ms. Racine,” Doctor Cothran said, “what you’ve done since you were a kid. But the body and/or mind can take only so much stress before something breaks. I advise you to be careful. You’re playing with your health.”
Diana wanted to tell him that if she could have turned off the visions, she would have stopped twenty-five years ago. Then he’d tell her she didn’t have to come looking for trouble, which was true. So no argument for once.
“Thank you for your concern, Doctor. I promise, I’ll be careful.”
“That’s a doctor talking, Diana,” Lucier said.
“A doctor whose regular patients can’t argue with him. Just saying.”
“I know better than to argue with a woman,” Cothran said. “Ask my wife.”
Lucier helped her up. “We’d better go. Thanks for accommodating us, Charlie. I’ll make sure Diana takes your advice.”
Diana wobbled and leaned against Lucier until she stabilized. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“It might help if you stopped putting yourself into these situations.”
“I agree,” she said to placate him. She straightened, gathered herself, and walked to the door. Lucier had his hand around her forearm.
Once they got into the car, he turned to her. “Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
“Obviously you saw who killed Chenault.”
“No, but I saw the hand holding the gun. He wore an unusual wedding band. Titanium. Dark gray with a lighter band in the middle. I’d know the ring if I saw it.”
“Married, huh? That narrows the field; the ring even more,” Lucier said, pulling into the street. “I know for sure Hodge is married. What about Michel, Feldman, and Rickett? I’ll find out.”
“And about a thousand more,” Diana said. “You can’t be sure no one else is involved.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not helping.”
“Sorry. I’m being realistic. You have your mind focused on the car
d-playing group. It might be one or two, but all of them?”
“I’m betting on the one or two.”
“Keys played with them, and I know he wasn’t involved, which is why he’s dead. He didn’t have a vengeful bone in his body.”
“He was involved with Chenault.”
“Keys was gay. Chenault was leading a double life, and one of those lives was as a gay man. I bet his other friends didn’t know about his sexual orientation. And from what you told me, the married cops were probably more worried about him hitting on their wives. It still doesn’t make his card-playing buddies complicit in murder.”
“No, but I’m going with my gut on this one.” He glanced at her. “I have a pretty good gut.”
Diana looked him up and down, arched one brow. “You certainly do.”
He fake-punched her arm. “You’re a bad girl.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Usually. At night.”
Feeling better, she laughed.
“I’ve got work to do. I feel we’re closing in on this team.”
“Is that your gut talking or your brain?”
“Both.”
Ten minutes later, Lucier pulled into Diana’s driveway. “I’ll walk you inside. Get some rest, and call me later.” He hustled around to the passenger side and opened her door.
“Wow, such service.”
He took her hand and helped her out. “I aim to please, ma’am.”
“Actually, I am tired.” When they got near the steps to the door, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. “I’ll see you later?”
“As long as you promise to be a bad girl.”
Her laugh was loud and real and almost covered the pop-pop sound from behind a copse of trees. A divot of grass chunked out of the lawn.
“Get down,” Lucier yelled. He pushed her toward the ground and protected her with his body from the direction of the shots while he drew his gun.
Another pop echoed in the quiet street. Lucier jerked and fell on top of her.
A warm spatter sprayed her face.
Lucier groaned.
Diana lost her balance and fell hard onto the walkway, cracking her head against the corner of the brick step.
She called his name in a whimper. “Ernie.”
He didn’t make a sound. Didn’t move.
Then everything went dark.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Awakening
A jackhammer pounded in Diana’s head. Her first attempt at opening her eyes was met with a dizzying kaleidoscope of fractured light. She scrunched them shut again, only to see Lucier pushing her out of the way as the shots rang out. Protecting her. Saving her.
The blood.
Lucier’s blood.
She bolted upright, heart racing, gulping short breaths of terror. A hanging bag of liquid dripping into her hand tipped over on its stand, but Diana didn’t notice.
“Ernie,” she screamed once, then again. The room spun. She couldn’t focus. Where the hell was she?
A nurse rushed into the room and righted the bag of solution, then gently prodded her back into a reclining position.
“Now, now, Ms. Racine, take it easy. You’re going to pull that needle right out of your hand.”
The shock of being in a hospital bed only added to the panic at not seeing Lucier. “Where’s Lieutenant Lucier? Is he ―” She couldn’t say the word, wouldn’t think it. “Is he all right? Where’s the doctor?”
“Calm down now,” the nurse said. “You have a concussion and a badly sprained shoulder; along with some cuts and bruises. Don’t get excited. You’re in the hospital emergency room.”
“Lieutenant Lucier? You have to tell me.”
“I’ll let the doctor explain,” the nurse, whose nametag displayed Yolanda Cintero, said.
“Get him here, please. I have to know.”
“He’s with another patient now. He’ll be in here shortly. Now you have to be quiet. You have a nasty bump on your head.”
Tears flooded Diana’s eyes, blurring everything in the room. “So much blood.” The pain in her head intensified. “How long have I been here?”
“Since this morning,” Nurse Yolanda said. “You woke a few times, but slipped back into unconsciousness. We were very worried about you.”
She didn’t remember waking, didn’t remember anything except the blood and the slam of Lucier’s body coming down on her, his jolt when the bullet made contact.
“Tell me if he’s alive, please.” She shot the nurse a pleading look and was about to beg when a serious-looking doctor came into the room, glasses perched on top of his head.
“Glad to see you’re up and feisty,” he said. “I’m Doctor Kessler. Now why don’t you relax? I’m afraid the other patients on the floor will think we’re killing someone in here.”
“Lieutenant Lucier. How is he?”
“If I tell you, will you calm down? You’ve had a serious head injury, and you don’t need to get excited.”
“Promise. I’m calm. See? Calm as a morning lake.”
A slight smile curled the doctor’s lips. “The lieutenant is in serious but stable condition. Barring any unforeseen complications, I expect a full recovery.” He nailed her with a steady expression. “Now, let me take a look.”
The doctor lowered his glasses and checked the stats on her chart, then drew a penlight to shine in her eyes. “Good,” he muttered. “Breathe deeply.”
She did, and he listened to her chest and back. “Going to check your BP again.” He put the cuff on and watched as the dial bobbed. “Good. Very good. You’re a lucky lady.”
“Only because Lieutenant Lucier saved my life. Tell me, really, how is he?”
“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give out any information except to a family member, but I understand you’re as close as he’s got.”
“I am. His parents are dead, and ―” the words that his wife and three children were dead too stuck in her throat ―” I’m all he’s got.”
“One bullet pierced a lung and lodged close to his heart. Removing it was delicate surgery, but we have one of the best heart surgeons on staff at this hospital, fortunately for the lieutenant.”
“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.” But Ernie is alive, and he’s going to live. “Did they get the shooter?”
“No,” Sam Beecher said, entering the room. “How’re ya doing, Diana?”
“Better now that I know Ernie will live. He will, won’t he, Doctor? You mentioned complications.”
“He’ll be fine,” Beecher said. “Doctors always say that to cover their backsides, isn’t that right, Doc?”
Kessler raised his specs and gave Beecher the evil eye while maintaining his professional demeanor. His body language left no doubt he didn’t appreciate Beecher’s comment. “I never say never,” the doctor said, “but I don’t anticipate anything to cause that to happen.” To Beecher: “You shouldn’t be in here, Detective. How’d you get past the nurse?”
“She didn’t see me,” Beecher said.
“Can I see the lieutenant?” Diana asked.
“Later. He’s resting. I don’t want him excited, and something tells me if anyone could excite him, you’d be the one.” He winked. “Now, relax. I’ll be back in a while. Don’t go pulling that solution out of your hand again. We’ll keep a watch on you overnight. You can go home tomorrow.”
“What about Ernie?”
“He’ll be here for a few days, and like the detective said, we take care to cover our butts, so I won’t be a hundred percent optimistic.” He winked again, patted her hand, and headed to the door with a barely perceptible sneer at Beecher.
“Thanks, Doctor,” she called after him. “Don’t let anything happen to him. I’m not anywhere near finished making his life difficult.”
Beecher snickered. “You’re probably right about that, but Ernie’s not complaining.”
“Do you think the shot was meant for me, Sam?”
“My guess is the both
of you. Luckily, a neighbor heard the popping noise and came out yelling. The shooter disappeared out a back street. The neighbor said he was wearing a hoodie, but she couldn’t see his face or identify him. No one else saw anything.”
“Damn. No car racing out of the area?”
“Nope. You didn’t see anything? Hear? Smell? Sense? Anything?”
“No, the street was quiet, no one around. Most of my neighbors work. Thank goodness someone was home to stop whoever from killing us both.”
“You got that right. Now, tell me everything you remember. Where were you before you got to your house?”
Diana didn’t know if she should say anything. Lucier told her to keep the visit to the morgue quiet.
“Don’t worry. I know about the morgue visit. Craven gathered us all into his office and told us that finding who shot the lieutenant was priority. He said where you’d been.”
“I wanted to read Chenault to see if I could, you know, see anything to point to the killer.”
“With Ernie down, I’m in charge of the case. Tell me everything you saw or felt.”
“The hand holding the gun wore a titanium wedding band. Chenault went for his gun. He knew the shooter.”
“Listen to you, picking up the lingo. The shooter. Pretty soon you’ll be saying perp and scumbag.”
Diana smiled, then her smile faded. “Someone is killing off everyone who can blow the killer’s cover. He’s a cop, isn’t he? Maybe more than one cop.”
“Dunno. Maybe. The lieutenant thought so. A vigilante group to mete out justice where the courts didn’t do their job.”
“We’re getting close, aren’t we?”
Beecher twisted his mouth and the word “Yup” slipped out. “Think back. Tell me everything that happened after you left the morgue.”
“We got to the house.”
“Did Ernie mention anyone following you?”
“No, but he was concerned about me. He might not have been thinking about anything else.”
“Doesn’t matter. Whoever shot at you probably followed you to the morgue. Maybe he even called ahead to someone else when he knew where you were going.”