Secret Remains

by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush

She was still dressed in her pj bottoms, sweatshirt, no bra. Hair wound into a messy bun on the top of her head. She hadn’t even bothered to wash her face this morning. After this call, she would jump in the shower and then try to get through at least one more of her father’s file drawers before noon.

  “Now’s great.”

  “Wonderful. I can deliver them in person if you come let me in. I’m at the front door.”

  What? He’s here? Emily glanced out the large windows of her father’s office. Sure enough, there was Dr. Charles Payton waving at her from the driveway. She ducked out of sight.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he said apologetically. “Cute jams, by the way.”

  Had he just complimented her on her pajamas? Aaaagh!

  “Bonus of working from home,” she covered.

  “Sorry I caught you unprepared.”

  Yup. Exactly. He was the kind of person who asked forgiveness instead of permission.

  “Give me just a minute?”

  * * *

  A face wash, fresh jeans, and a hair brushing later, Emily and Dr. Payton sat on opposite couches in her father’s office. Between them on the coffee table Emily had cleared of books and manila folders, Dr. Payton opened a large trifolded paper. On it was a blown-up photographed image of the skeletal remains from Pinetree Slopes.

  “We prepare this with all our cases so we can clearly demonstrate our discoveries to victims’ families, detectives, attorney, juries, judges. It becomes very important once it goes to trial. And I’m guessing it will.”

  Emily found his swagger slightly attractive. She liked a man who was clever and down to earth … and prepared.

  “Were you able to identify the sex of the bones?” asked Emily.

  “I was. But with some difficultly. And it was impossible with the naked eye. That’s why I blew up the images for you. Let me explain what you’re looking at. One way we determine this is by the size of the pelvic girdle. Which can be tricky, because before pubescence, the male and female pelvis can be hard to differentiate. But I was able to identify the starting formation of a heart shape and a ventral arc.”

  “Ventral arc?” asked Emily.

  “The ventral arc is a slightly raised ridge of bone across the inferior and lateral central surface of the pubis and joins with the medial border of the ischiopubic ramus. And we only see this in females.” He traced the shape of the blown-up image on the x-ray with the tip of his pen cap.

  “The victim is a she?”

  “Yes. And based on the epiphysis in the long bones, which is not quite fused in this victim, I believe she is between twelve and fifteen years old.”

  “How do you know that for sure?”

  “Fusion is completed as we grow into adulthood. Usually after age eighteen.”

  Emily nodded. “You’re sure?”

  “I am. But if that’s not enough to convince you, you can use the victim’s DNA results and see if they match the sample Mrs. Parkman supplied.”

  “Do you know the status of that sample?”

  “It’s in the queue at our lab.”

  Emily nodded. More wait-and-see.

  “One more thing that I noted. I’m sure you already noted this, but there’s periosteal trauma to the vertebrae in the neck and the hyoid bone,” said Dr. Payton.

  “Confirming she was choked.”

  “Yes. Asphyxiated. A horrible way to die,” said Dr. Payton with a sigh. He pointed to the locations on the paper where the trauma had occurred. “I blew these up too so you would have them for trial.”

  Emily’s stomach sank as she looked at the remains. “Thank you for your thorough attention.”

  “Any thoughts about who might have killed her?”

  Emily wasn’t about to show her hand. “Sheriff Larson’s looking into it.”

  Dr. Payton handed her an envelope. “My invoice for services rendered.”

  “I’ll submit these to the county right away.” She remembered her father complaining about how slowly the wheels of the county clerk’s office moved when it came to reimbursing or paying invoices to him. What kind of delays would she run into with this one?

  If the county balked, Hank Wurthers and his buddies would have to fight the U of M on this one. And surely they would lose.

  Dr. Payton rose from the couch and scanned the room.

  “So this is how he did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “Run a thriving medical practice for the dead and the living.”

  Emily looked around the office. It was a typical office. Desk. Couches. Bookshelves. File cabinets. “I guess so. He didn’t actually house the dead here. Sorry if that’s disappointing to you.”

  Dr. Payton laughed. “There’s that gallows humor.”

  “Dad actually ran his practice from the garage. Had it turned into a three-room clinic. Would you like to see it?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Emily showed him into the clinic through the waiting room, which held a couple of chairs, an end table, and a kid’s table. “Dad didn’t keep his patients waiting long, so there was no reason to have much up here.”

  She led him through the three separate rooms. There was a lab area with a sink and supplies, where he and his attending nurse could prep charts and medications. Walking Dr. Payton through here, she realized how simple it was compared to bigger-city medical clinics. Who would she find to take over such a small operation? It would take a special buyer to move in here. Maybe an artist who wanted a big studio or a large family who homeschooled? Maybe a newly married doctor who wanted to plant his career and his family in a safe, quiet town, like her own parents had dreamed of?

  “It’s very cozy. Very, I don’t know … Little Hospital on the Prairie.” He was pleased with his own joke. Emily found it endearing.

  “Dad does—did—well here. His practice is—was—thriving. Sorry. It’s hard to …”

  “No, it’s okay. I understand.” He put his hand on her arm, and it immediately had a calming effect.

  “It’s a little unconventional having the clinic in a garage, but it was nice having him home so much when I was young and my mom …” Emily stopped short. She put her hand to mouth and turned away as her eyes filled with tears.

  “Dr. Hartford, it’s okay. I know your mom passed when you were fifteen.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder with a bewildered look. “Please, call me Emily.”

  “And likewise. Charles, please.” His smile disarmed her. “I don’t mean to sound like a stalker, but I admit, I was curious about you,” said Dr. Payton.

  “So you Googled me? Stalker,” Emily joked, but she wasn’t surprised. It was the layman’s background check. Besides, it wasn’t difficult to find the old newspaper articles online about her mom’s accident.

  He gave an apologetic shrug. “You fascinate me more in real life.”

  Emily deflected the flirtatious remark. “My mom managed his office. Bookkeeping. Appointments. Ordering supplies. She loved having Dad’s office here. She made lunch for him almost every day.”

  “Sounds like the perfect life and the perfect wife.”

  “She was. And mother, too,” Emily added as her thoughts drifted off to those days before the accident when she would come home after school to find her mother in the clinic, happily chatting it up with patients as they came and went. Mom and Dad were a team. She healed with hospitality. He healed with medicine.

  “Emily, would you join me for dinner later?” Dr. Payton broke into her memory. Emily’s gaze went to the clock on the wall. It was 9:35 AM.

  “Are you planning to stick around Freeport that long?”

  “Yes. I think I’ll stay to see some sites.”

  What sites? She just smiled and nodded. “That’s not going to take until dinner.”

  “I may while away a few hours at Brown’s Bakery. Delia is a great storyteller.”

  So that was it! She hated that Nick might be right about this one.

  “The ba
ked goods were a hit, then?”

  “Gone in sixty seconds,” he laughed. “My colleagues told me I couldn’t return without more.”

  “What’s your intention with this case?” Emily blurted out. “Do you want to use it in your research work?”

  “You sound upset about it,” said Dr. Payton, without missing a beat.

  “Not angry. Just curious.” Her face flushed in anger.

  “I’m always looking for interesting cases. It’s in my blood. It’s what I do. You understand that.”

  “Yes, I do, but—” Emily frowned. “It’s just … this is not your case per se.”

  “You hired me. I’m as much part of the case as you are.”

  “You’re a consultant. I’m acting ME. I hold the files and permissions.”

  “Whoa, I didn’t mean to ruffle feathers. I’m not going to steal anything here. I just find what’s going on here is a little more interesting than what usually comes across my desk day to day.” He raised an eyebrow her way. “You’re more than meets the eye, Dr. Emily Hartford. And I do find this case research-worthy. But that’s not the only reason I came here. I have a proposal for you.”

  “For what?” At least we’re being honest now.

  “I’ll tell you over dinner.”

  “Why not just tell me now?”

  “No. I want to leave you with something to be curious about all day. And I want to be sure you’ll show up tonight.”

  She was both annoyed and intrigued with his little game.

  “Drop your shoulders,” he instructed.

  “What?”

  “Your shoulders are raised.”

  Emily’s attention went to her shoulders. The muscles were tense. It was where she carried all her stress. Dr. Payton came over and raised his hands over them.

  “May I?”

  She nodded. He began to knead the taut muscles, and Emily cringed at the discomfort.

  “I feel a lot of resistance. Don’t try to fight it.”

  She tried to relax her shoulders, but each time he pinched her muscle between his forefingers and thumbs, a sharp pain pricked down her spine.

  “I’m not a professional massage therapist, but you are full of knots,” he said.

  “It’s been a rough couple weeks,” she said.

  “You’re holding it all up here. Close your eyes.”

  She did. His thumbs worked out a knot on either side and the pain lessened. As she began to relax under his healing touch, any remaining annoyance drained. And she found herself looking forward to dinner.

  15

  Later that afternoon, Emily made a trip to the sheriff’s office to talk with Nick about Dr. Payton’s findings. But Nick had some findings of his own to announce.

  “The lab called this morning with the Parkman DNA comparison study,” said Nick.

  “That was fast. And? What are we looking at?”

  “They’re a match. Sandi’s DNA contain the same twenty-one DNA loci points as her mother’s,” said Nick, running his hand over the edge of Dr. Parkman’s oversized poster of skeletal remains.

  “Oh Nick. You were right.” But she was devastated for the Parkman family. And a bit regretful that she had doubted Nick’s instincts.

  “With Dr. Payton’s and your assessment of how she died, we’re conclusively looking at a homicide case, and we can officially announce it.”

  “Have you contacted Mrs. Parkman?”

  “No, not yet. I’m not sure what to say. How do I tell her that the mystery of her daughter’s disappearance is unhappily over?” Nick stretched his hands across his forehead as if he were trying to press out all his stress to the edges of his face. People failed to acknowledge that the discovery of hard truth was actually the primary cause of wrinkles.

  “I don’t think it’s going to be big news to her. She can bury her daughter in peace now.”

  Nick didn’t respond, his eyes glazing over her shoulder. Emily knew guilt and regret were rearing their ugly heads.

  “I’ll go with you. We’ll tag-team this, like we did with the Dobsons,” Emily offered.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll set up a time to talk with her.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe her stepfather made the videos? I mean, since no one claimed they saw them or knew about the source?” It might be a stretch, but they had to consider every strange, offbeat theory.

  Nick shrugged. “She had a restraining order against him. He couldn’t go near her.”

  “Right. But people don’t always obey those orders. Did you ever see him with Sandi after he got out?”

  Nick thought about it for a moment. “I saw him waiting outside school a few times.”

  “Maybe it’s worth looking into?”

  It was sickening to think about, but there might be a way to connect the dots.

  “Maybe.” His voice and attention drifted.

  “Nick, do you think you ought to get yourself some protection?” said Emily.

  “I carry a badge and a gun.”

  “No, I mean legal protection.”

  “Why?”

  How could he not see it? “You were the last person to see Sandi before she died.”

  “That we know of. Other than the killer.”

  “Yes. And now that this is a murder case, you’re going to be questioned again.”

  “How is that going to look when I lawyer up at the same time we announce Sandi Parkman’s homicide?”

  “I’m just saying, get on the offensive.”

  “They have my statement on record.”

  “But you have no alibi.”

  “I have an alibi. I was home.”

  “Alone. No one saw you.” Emily didn’t mean to come off so accusatory. “I understand this is awkward and awful. But if you’re innocent—”

  “I. Am. Innocent.” He punctuated each word.

  “James claimed he was home all afternoon, too. But no one actually saw him at home. You see? It just doesn’t look good for your defense.” Emily hadn’t meant to talk in hypotheticals. It was a clinical habit. Instead, she kept putting her foot in her mouth. “A good defense attorney will make sure the world knows that.”

  “You already have me convicted.”

  “No, Nick, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m thinking proactively here. Once you release the manner of death, the media will bite. It’s a juicy news story. And just like the Dobson case, it will reach far beyond the rural borders of Freeport County and seep into the media feeds all across the state. And it won’t take but a blink of the eye for fingers to come pointing at you. ‘Freeport County Sheriff Larson a Teen Sex Offender and Killer?’ I can hear the thousands of mouse clicks all over the state of Michigan. Not something you want to get back to the state police post. They’ll send in their own investigators and you’ll be taken off the case and detained.”

  “Okay, settle down. I get your point,” said Nick.

  But she wasn’t sure Nick would do anything about it, and it troubled her. She had seen her father become the victim of a witch hunt during a seedy death investigation of a domestic violence homicide that had left scars on him and his reputation for years.

  “Think of it like hiring a publicist who’s going to extinguish all the fiery darts so you can concentrate on getting this case solved.”

  “They’ll take me off the case,” Nick admitted, taking a seat behind his desk. His brow crinkled. Emily drew in a breath and calmed her tone. That was it. He felt solely responsible for finding Sandi’s killer.

  “You have nothing to hide. And soon, this will pass. I promise.”

  “It will pass even quicker once we find the killer.”

  “We?”

  “You’re in it now, Em. I need you.”

  “You don’t need me for this. You’ll probably get a slam dunk with the stepdad. He’s got guilt written all over him. There’s really nothing more I can do as acting medical examiner on this case, but I would advise that the ME’s office hold on to Sandi’s remains for
a while.”

  “What reason can I give Mrs. Parkman as to why she still can’t have her daughter back?” Nick had that pinched tone to his voice that conveyed he was trying not to get upset.

  “We may get a request for another forensic examination. Either the prosecutor, defense, or both. We wouldn’t want the Parkmans deciding to cremate and then lose all our evidence.”

  “Always thinking ahead.”

  “Saving you grief you didn’t know you had coming,” Emily teased. The mood lightened.

  “I know this sounds weird, but I don’t want to be alone tonight,” said Nick. Her eyes flitted to his with a startled expression.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that since I have to break the news in the morning, I could use the company to help me process all this.”

  “I wish I could, Nick,” Emily said, truly feeling for him. “But I promised Dr. Payton I’d have dinner with him later.”

  “Hey, I thought you weren’t into dating right now.”

  “It’s not a date.”

  “He drove all the way up here. It’s a date.”

  “It’s not a date,” she insisted again.

  “Sounds like a date.”

  “It’s dinner at the country club. Nothing romantic about that.”

  “Did he make a reservation?” Nick questioned with a wide-eyed look.

  “I assume so.”

  “Then it’s totally a date.” There was triumph in his tone.

  Emily sighed. “Semantics aside, let’s catch up first thing in the morning to go over your statement before you release it?”

  “No, no. It’s okay. I know you’re super busy.”

  Emily shrugged. So this is how you’re going to play it? Fine. “And the attorney?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Nick’s face went a little gray. She had seen that sick look on her father’s face before, too, when he was talking to his attorney over the phone. It was sinking in with Nick how serious this could be. Emily hated that he was going to be thrown to the dogs tomorrow.

  Emily took the poster-board images of Sandi’s remains and sent Nick a little wave as she headed out of his office and through the sheriff’s department. A chilly breeze cut through her thin shirt again, reminding Emily that her winter wardrobe was still in Chicago at the brownstone Brandon had bought for them. On her way home, she would stop at Jo’s to borrow another dress for dinner tonight.