by Chris Stout
She pulled a hand through her long brunette and glanced at him with grey-green eyes. “Tracy hounding you again?”
“Is the sky blue?”
“I’ll screen your calls, then. If she’s on the line, want me to go over and set her straight?”
Sam chuckled. “No, just dump her into my voice mail.”
“So you can listen to her blast you on your own time?”
“Nah, I just like being able to erase her. I think its cathartic.”
“Or disturbed. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of her for you.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
“Sounds like harassment, Sam. I ought to sue you and retire.”
“Go ahead, but you won’t get much. Psycho spent it all while we were dating.”
“That’s not very nice,” Miranda called while Sam retreated back into his office. She was about to finish off with another jibe, but the ringing phone cut her short.
#
Sam sat down at his desk and surveyed the hopeless pile of paperwork before him. He almost regretted passing Tracy off to Miranda. At least when he was tied up dealing with his ex, he didn’t have to mess with paperwork.
Two minutes later, Miranda came into his office and slumped in the chair facing his desk. Sam was about to ask what Tracy wanted this time, but he stopped short when he saw Miranda’s face. The natural color in her cheeks had drained away, leaving a pallid white shade behind. Her hands shook, and he could almost see the lump forming in her throat.
“Miranda? What happened?”
She swallowed hard. The shaking moved up her arms and into her shoulders. “It’s my brother. He was just found dead.”
#
Miranda wanted to go to the morgue right away, so now Sam stood in a corner of the coroner’s office, listening to Sheriff Josiah Horn describe the circumstances under which Miranda’s brother Justin had been found. Sam tried to focus on the description, but concern for Miranda distracted him. She held herself tightly, staring at the floor. Sam hadn’t realized that she was Justin’s only living relative, and therefore the one called to identify his remains. She had never discussed her family with him, so Sam never knew her parents were dead. It occurred to the detective that his young colleague was a complete mystery to him, at least as far as her life out of the station was concerned. He wanted to go over and comfort her, say something to bring the light back into her eyes. Miranda was normally a bright spot around the station, possessing the uncanny ability to turn heads without making anyone shuffle nervously. Sam couldn’t bear to see that light extinguished, and he was just about ready to interrupt the county sheriff when the door to the outside opened. The sheriff paused in his description and looked with Sam as Chief of Police Harlan Wainwright eased his bulky body through the frame.
Wainwright nodded at the two men, but went directly over to Miranda. Sam breathed a mental sigh of relief. Wainwright was something of a father figure to the members of the force. He would do a much better job of providing aid and comfort than Sam ever could. Confident that Miranda was in good hands, Sam turned back to the sheriff.
#
“I came over as soon as I heard,” Wainwright said, easing into a chair and draping an arm across Miranda’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear about your loss. Is there anything I can do?”
Miranda shrugged. “I’m probably going to need some time off from work and school to deal with this. Maybe you could pull some strings with my Profs.”
“Consider it done,” the Chief replied. “So, do they know what happened to your brother?”
“They say he shot himself. But… I don’t know. Justin had a lot of problems, but being suicidal wasn’t one of them.”
“It’s always a shock when a loved one dies so -” he cut himself off, as if searching for the right word. He let it go. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you. Take whatever time you need. We’ll hold a spot for you.” Wainwright gave her shoulders a fatherly squeeze and looked up as Sam and Sheriff Horn approached.
A third man strode just behind them. He must have been the coroner, judging from the lab coat and grim face he wore. Miranda didn’t know how long he had been in the room, but apparently whatever words he had already spoken to the other two men had not been good. The three whispered together briefly. Designated as the one to speak with her, Sam strode over and sat down on her left. Wainwright took the cue to shift down a few seats, but he still watched them intently.
“Um,” Sam paused, fumbling for words. “There isn’t any easy way to say this, so I’ll just lay it out for you. From what they’ve told me, it’s pretty bad back there. Your brother, he’s been dead for some time and, ah, exposed to the elements. They’ve taken their toll.”
“I want to see him.”
“I’m sure you do, but Miranda, he died pretty violently, and with the passage of time before he was found… he won’t be the same. I know they called you down to identify him, but they can do that with blood tests and the like. You don’t have to actually, you know, go back there.”
“I still want to see him.” Her voice was soft but insistent.
“Okay.” Sam looked up at the coroner and shrugged. The other man frowned, but did not protest her decision. “Dr. Mitchell will take you back. We’ll come too, but we’ll give you whatever space you need.”
Sam stood and held his hand out to Miranda. She didn’t notice it, however, and left the gesture dangling in midair. Wainwright rose beside her and with the sheriff they all followed Dr. Mitchell into the morgue.
#
Many people insist on viewing the remains of their loved ones, thinking that perhaps the act will bring them a sense of closure. In cases of violent death and decomposition, however, most try to deny that the deceased is truly their loved one. Miranda held no such illusions, but the sight of the badly rotted corpse still tore her insides apart. She covered her eyes, stifled a sob, then turned and left the room without uttering a word.
The others hurried to keep up with her.
“Uh, Miss Leider,” Sheriff Horn said, “I’ll need to ask you some questions. I know it doesn’t seem like a good time, but it is important -”
“I know the drill, Sheriff. If Sam would be kind enough to chauffeur me, I’ll come out to your station.”
Sam gently squeezed her shoulder in assent. Horn seemed to have more he wanted to say, but he couldn’t come up with anything, so he retrieved his hat and headed out to his cruiser.
Before she left, Miranda turned to the coroner. “Dr. Mitchell? I was wondering, could I have my brother’s keys? I’ll probably need to clean his apartment out now.”
Mitchell pulled a strange look. “Well, um, I actually don’t have any of his personal effects. I would guess that the Sheriff’s people took them in as evidence.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’ll check with him then. Thank you.”
She and Sam left Wainwright behind at the morgue. “Sheriff Horn didn’t find any keys, did he?” Miranda said as they walked to Sam’s unmarked sedan.
“He didn’t mention them. But then again, I didn’t ask. Don’t worry; I’m sure they’ve got them at the station.”
#
Miranda was silent in the car, but her mind worked furiously. She doubted that Justin committed suicide. The last time she had seen him, he had been in trouble and afraid. Not of what he had done, but of being caught for it. People who don’t want to be caught are usually afraid of punishment, and if he wanted to get away, then why would he kill himself? As far as Miranda could tell, capture hadn’t exactly been imminent, at least not capture by the authorities. Justin never let Miranda know much about the people with whom he associated, but she guessed that they weren’t all upstanding citizens. Even when he was clearly running from something terrible, her brother wouldn’t tell her exactly what was going on.
“I need your help sis. You’ve got to hide me for a few days.” That had been his only plea almost a month earlier.
Miranda did
n’t know what had happened, but she knew there was no way she could harbor a fugitive. She had tried her best to keep him out of trouble, but once he got in it, she didn’t think there was much she could do to help him. Not if she wanted to remain a law enforcement officer.
So she gave him what cash she had on hand, a sandwich to take with him, and strongly suggested that whatever had happened, his best course of action was to turn himself in.
“So I can leave myself a sitting duck in prison? Yeah, right,” he said.
“Well I think a good lawyer should be able to get you out of this mess better than I can,” she shot back.
Justin shook his head. “You’re killing me, Miranda.”
And then he’d left.
Never in her wildest imagination did Miranda think those angry words should have been taken at face value. When Justin didn’t turn up, either on her doorstep again or on the news, she figured he’d squirreled himself away with his one of his less reputable buddies. If that was the path he chose, well, there wasn’t much she could do for him. He was an adult too. But then had come that awful, nightmarish phone call, and now the weight of Miranda’s inaction came crashing down upon her.
Of course, she told none of this to Sheriff Horn during her interview. Or Sam.
When she finished answering the Sheriff’s questions, Miranda asked when she might be able to collect Justin’s personal effects.
Horn looked puzzled. “You mean the clothes he was wearing? I don’t think you want those, Miss Leider.”
“No, I mean like his keys, watch, that sort of thing.”
“Oh,” Horn said. “Well, the thing is, we didn’t find any keys on his body.”
“What do you mean?”
I mean there weren’t any when we found him. An animal might have dragged them off.”
“Really?”
Horn spread his hands. “Look, I admit it seems strange, but honestly, he may have left them back at his place, especially if he knew he wasn’t going back there.”
“What about his car? You didn’t say it was found nearby. He had to get there somehow.”
“If he ditched it on the side of the road, Highway Patrol probably had it towed. I’ll check with the local troop and see where they sent it. Maybe the keys will be in there.”
Miranda nodded. “Okay. Is there anything else you need from me?”
“Not right now, no. I’m really sorry you’re going through all of this, Miss. I mean it. One of my deputies ate his piece a few years back and…” he rubbed his head. “Well, it never feels possible that it could happen. We’ll do our best by him. I promise you that.”
“Thank you Sheriff. I appreciate it.” She gave him a sad smile as she rose and then went into the lobby.
#
Sam put aside the magazine he’d been reading while he waited for her. He waited to speak until after they left the Sheriff’s office.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re a million miles away.”
Miranda glanced at Sam for an instant, and then returned her gaze to her hands. “Yeah, I guess so. Just trying to process all this.”
“Sorry, that was a stupid question. I was just wondering if, you know, if there’s anything I can do.”
“I’m hanging in there. Really. I think I just need to go home and be alone for a bit.”
“Well, if you need help with anything, funeral arrangements, anything at all, I’ll be happy to help. I know it’s hard, without any family around.”
“Thank you,” she said.
They drove the rest of the way back to the police station in silence, but when Sam put the car in park, neither of them made any move to exit.
“Listen,” Sam said, “I was pretty young when my parents passed away. Hell, I was overseas when my Mom died of her heart attack. So I know how lonely it gets.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. I’m an only child. I’ve got an aunt who’s still alive, but Alzheimer’s is taking her fast.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Miranda fumbled with her seatbelt, but still didn’t reach for the door handle. “Justin and I, when we were kids, were pretty close. We kind of went our separate ways after high school. I really feel like I let him down. I always tried to look out for him when we were little.” She swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump that re-emerged in her throat.
Sam knew better than to say anything, so he squeezed her shoulder and left it at that.
Chapter 3
Miranda pulled a bottle of vodka out of her freezer and poured herself a healthy dose. She savored the first sip of the fiery liquid, hoping it would help cleanse her mind and burn away the memories of her brother’s tragic past. She sat in an old recliner and flipped through the stations of her television. Nothing satisfied her, so she paced into her bedroom. She tried to convince herself to go to bed. Exhaustion should have been sweeping over her in waves, but instead all of her nerves tingled and screamed for her to do something, to take action. So she went back into the kitchen to refill her drink, but instead stared at the small key that hung from a magnet on the side of her fridge.
Justin had left it with her, just in case his ever was lost. Miranda had likewise given him a spare key to her place. The keys bothered her. She tried to imagine her brother simply leaving his set in the car while he walked off to shoot himself. Perhaps that was what really happened. But it didn’t fit, not with what she knew and hadn’t revealed to the Sheriff.
She set her glass in the sink without refilling it and grabbed the key, then walked back out the door.
#
Sam Connor tried once more to wade through the papers on his desk. A couple of the city patrolmen were working with the Sparta Campus PD in an attempt to break up a small drug ring that had appeared on campus. The reports Sam read indicated that progress was substantial, and there was the possibility of an arrest being made in the near future. Good news, but not enough to wash out the bitter taste the day left in Sam’s mouth.
He glanced over a request forwarded to him by Wainwright. The school district wanted someone to come in and speak to the high school about police work. Attached was a note from Wainwright that read “Good recruitment opportunity.”
“Sounds like being back in the Army,” Sam muttered. After a tour as an MP in Iraq, Sam served out the rest of his enlistment working at the recruitment center. High school assemblies were always referred to as “good recruitment opportunities.” Sam, remembering what it was like to be a senior, wasn’t sure how comfortable he felt encouraging the young men and women to go into a profession that gave them the chance to carry automatic weapons.
He caught himself drifting, and gave up on work for the night. The paperwork would be there for him in the morning. He drove his unmarked car home and entered his house to the sound of the telephone ringing. The likelihood of his favorite ex calling tempted him to let it go to voice mail, but on the off-chance it was something important, he picked up.
“Sam? It’s me, Barry.”
“What’s up?”
“You come over and help me out real quick? Loretta’s in a bad way again. I’m locked in the bathroom, and I thought maybe you’d talk her down again.”
Sam rubbed his eyes with a sigh. Barry and Loretta Hamm lived just a few doors away, and their domestic disputes were constant. Since Sam had moved into the neighborhood he’d been able to referee the fights and keep them from killing each other, a task made more difficult whenever one or both of them was drunk.
“Sure Barry, I’ll be right over. Just hang in there, okay?”
Thanks man. I sure do ‘preciate this.”
Sam made sure he had a pair of plastic restraints and checked that his baton and pistol were in easy reach. He hoped he wouldn’t need them, but Loretta could a tough one to handle.
#
Justin’s apartment, part of a house that had been turned into a duplex, was located in a run-down neighborhood close to downtown Sparta. Miranda pulled in f
ront of it and got out of her car. She scanned the gravel driveway, and saw Justin’s motorcycle resting under a tarp beneath the small carport. The bike made her smile. He’d bought it for the look, but actually riding the thing terrified him. Miranda had taken easily to it, and offered to buy it from him.
“Guess that’s not a problem now,” she thought aloud, and the bitterness returned. She scanned up and down the street, confirming that Justin’s car was not there, and went up to his apartment.
Not surprisingly, his place was dark. She shuddered as a light breeze swept across his doorstep. Before she put the key in the lock, Miranda reached for the Glock tucked into the small of her back. She stood to one side as she pushed the door open, then snaked her free hand around to flip the light switch that rested on the wall by the door. No one greeted her in the small living room.
She stepped across the threshold and made a quick inspection of the apartment. Satisfied that no one lurked in the kitchenette, bedroom or bathroom, she closed the front door and stood still to get a feel for the apartment.
Miranda couldn’t place it, but something was definitely wrong.
She paced around the rooms, looking for something that didn’t belong. She reentered the bedroom and scrutinized everything. Justin’s computer, stereo, television and other equipment all seemed to be in order. A cell phone charger sat next to his monitor, but no phone was plugged in. She didn’t recall the Sheriff saying he had recovered a cell phone. Maybe that disappeared with the car as well.
Miranda turned on the computer. It was a few years old and took several minutes to boot up, so while she waited she opened his closet. Clothes hung on the rack, but the shelf above it was clear. That struck her as odd, because she knew that her brother had several firearms, and kept the pistol boxes and ammunition in his closet. And for that matter, there should have been a hunting rifle and shotgun tucked somewhere behind all those clothes. Maybe in the coat closet...