by H. P. Bayne
Pax at his heels, Dez led the way inside and nodded a greeting to the commissionaire on staff.
“Brought the dog again, I see,” Larry observed, leaning a little farther over the desk to study Pax.
Pax didn’t growl or bark, merely regarded the man with the same sort of scrutiny he was receiving.
“Yep,” Dez said. “Dog-sitting again.”
Larry turned his attention to Lachlan. “I’ve seen you around here before, haven’t I?”
“It’s been years, but yeah. Lachlan Fields. Used to be—”
“KRPD, yeah. I remember you.” The fading smile on Larry’s face suggested the memory wasn’t a fond one.
Dez wasn’t surprised.
“Is Dr. Abraham expecting you?” Larry asked.
“I am,” came a voice from the doorway leading to the main building. Her eyes, too, drifted to Lachlan. “Or one of you, anyway.”
She let Lachlan’s presence go for the moment, closing the short distance to Dez and folding him into an embrace he forced himself to return. “How are you, Desmond?”
Kindra was, Dez thought, the only close family member he had who almost always used his full first name. Kindra had always been like that, warm and yet formal, the sort of woman who made a perfect wife for a glad-hander like Lowell.
“I’m okay,” he said. “This is my boss, Lachlan Fields.”
Kindra extended a hand, smile shrinking a little, though still there. Polite rather than welcoming. “We’ve met. It’s been a few years, but we’ve chatted over our share of post-mortems.”
Dez decided it was time to put a piece of the plan into action. He stepped aside just a little, giving Kindra and Pax a view of each other. “And I think you remember—”
Pax cut in, low growl emanating from his throat as he regarded the doctor.
“Oh, my,” she chuckled. “I certainly do. Still not the friendliest guy, though, is he?”
Dez resisted exchanging a look with Lachlan, instead forcing a smile. “Must remember you having to jab him last time. Probably thinks you’re a V-E-T.”
“Maybe you should leave him in the SUV,” Lachlan suggested.
Dez agreed, albeit reluctantly; Pax hadn’t done anything wrong to be once again relegated to the confines of the vehicle. But he took him out anyway, giving himself one last soothing moment with the dog before returning to Lachlan and Kindra.
Kindra led them down the hall, past the morgue rooms and autopsy suites and into one of the offices on this floor. She had a more formal and comfortable office upstairs, but Dez knew she spent most of her time in this one, writing up her reports for the coroner and the police.
Having closed the door behind them, Kindra circled her desk, leaving a pair of chairs on the other side for her guests. She waited until they were all seated before speaking. “So I’m guessing this isn’t entirely a social call.”
Dez found he wasn’t sure what to say, which wasn’t a bad problem to have as long as Lachlan was around. Rarely was Dez’s boss lost for words.
“As you may be aware, your nephew here has been doing some work for me.”
Kindra smiled. “I’d heard.” By way of explanation to Dez, she added, “Your mom. I hadn’t seen you in a few months, and she and I talked on the phone a few weeks ago. She told me you’d found a job with a retired police officer working as a private investigator.”
Dez nodded but was prevented from replying by Lachlan. “That’s correct.”
“So I’m guessing you’re here because you have some questions for me pertaining to an investigation you’re working on.”
“Indeed,” Lachlan said. “It’s a rather delicate subject, I’m afraid. Some information’s come to light recently regarding Aiden Braddock. I was able to have a look at the coroner’s report, and I noticed you were the pathologist.”
The smile faded completely from Kindra’s face. Dez had never seen his aunt like this, face resembling a stone mask. She was always laughing or smiling or wearing a sympathetic expression. This Kindra was someone he didn’t know.
Given what they’d recently learned, he supposed he might not truly know Kindra at all.
“I was,” she said. She peered at Dez. “We were very short-staffed in those days. The only other pathologist employed with our office at the time was on his summer holidays, and it quickly turned into a very busy week. I remember speaking with the coroner after Aiden’s body was brought in. We discussed what I was to do, given the obvious conflict. I’d been dating your uncle by then, and while we hadn’t been together long, Lowell and I both recognized the likelihood of it turning into something more serious. The coroner and I talked about waiting until the following week, when my colleague was to return, but your family obviously wanted to have Aiden’s body back as soon as possible, to get on with final arrangements. In the end, I told the coroner I’d perform the post-mortem to prevent unnecessary delay for his family.”
Dez bit back a retort. Kindra painting herself as the family woman who’d sacrificed her own psychological well-being to aid those she cared about, it was too much given what Dez expected were her true motives.
“You ruled his death one of misadventure,” Lachlan said.
“Basically, an accidental drowning, yes.” Once again, her eyes drifted to Dez. “Are you sure you want to talk about this, Desmond? I know you’ve struggled with it.”
“Actually,” Dez said, “that’s exactly why I want to discuss it.”
He’d been unable to keep the heat out of his tone, unintentionally signalling to Lachlan a turn in the questioning.
Lachlan went with it. “I won’t beat around the bush. I’ve looked at the autopsy photos. I noted what appear to be a series of finger marks in the area of the boy’s chest and collarbone. They look like the sort of injuries you’d see in the intentional drowning of a child.”
A tiny breath escaped Kindra’s mouth, but it was the only sign of tension she revealed. “Mr. Fields, I’m sure you noticed Aiden was covered in contusions, abrasions and even a couple of lacerations, all from some form of blunt-force trauma. How you’d expect to find so-called finger marks in the midst of all that—”
“But I did. Thing is, Dr. Abraham, I was a cop a long time, long enough to have seen two prior cases of intentional drownings involving young children. I saw the marks because I knew what I was looking for.”
“I didn’t see those marks. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My recollection from your report is you supplied an approximate bruise count as part of your findings. That suggests to me you looked at the boy in some detail—as one might expect of a pathologist examining a body for the purposes of a coroner’s investigation. I’m not asking how you missed the injuries. I’m asking why you chose not to include them in your report. I mean, to be fair, you did break down many of the other injuries, providing possible causes. Why not those? They certainly appeared deep enough to me to count. Certainly deep enough to merit asking a question or two.”
Kindra’s lips formed a tight line. “You’re suggesting Aiden was the victim of foul play, and I missed it.”
Lachlan’s answering smile was cold. “I’m suggesting Aiden was the victim of foul play, and you ignored it.”
This time, Kindra’s exhale sounded like she’d been punched in the gut. Lachlan continued before the woman had a chance to recover.
“Desmond tells me your husband was watching his nephews that day. Seems to me if homicide was indeed the cause of the child’s death, Lowell Braddock would have been first on the list of suspects. You had reason to want to protect him from such an inquiry.”
“Lowell didn’t hurt that boy.”
“If not him, who?”
“As I said, it was an accident. A terrible accident. That’s all.”
“I’m afraid I’ve moved well past believing that, ma’am.”
Kindra’s eyes narrowed, and she fixed Lachlan in a glare fiery enough to barbecue a brisket. “There are three people sitting in this ro
om, and only one of them is a medical professional. That person isn’t you, Mr. Fields. You can see what you like in those pictures. My opinion remains the same.”
“You’re sure about that? You’re willing to stand by Lowell Braddock even if it will mean your own downfall?”
“What?”
Lachlan leaned forward, one side of his lips quirking up in his characteristic sneer. “Thing is, ma’am, we’ve got more on him than just this. Aiden’s simply a piece of a larger puzzle. Perhaps you’re aware, for instance, of the scandal that broke out not long ago, relating to Lockwood’s former chief psychiatrist? Files were located, as well as drugs. Drugs we believe will trace back to LOBRA. Your husband’s company is teetering on the edge of a knife. Once the investigation fully reveals the hand he played in the torture of helpless patients—including your own adopted nephew, Sullivan—Lowell and the company he started will be ruined.
“You have a chance to rewrite your own story. You’ve obviously worked very hard to get to where you are. You’re a highly intelligent, skilled and competent doctor. I would hate to see you lose everything you’ve earned. I would especially hate to see you go down for your role in covering up for you husband’s crimes.”
“You don’t know—”
Lachlan talked over her. “You have a decision to make, Doctor. You can go to the police with what you know and help them stop a very dangerous man, or you can go down with him.”
Kindra fired up from her chair, hands slapping hard against the surface of her desk. “How dare you? How dare you come into my office and accuse me and my husband of these things? You have no right. And you.” Her eyes fixed on Dez. “How can you allow this? How could you believe those things about me? I have always, always been there to support you and your family. So has Lowell.”
“Don’t,” Dez said, the word coming out a growl. “Just don’t.”
“Get out,” she said. “Both of you.”
Dez stood, but Lachlan remained sitting, still smiling coolly up at the woman. “One thing first, Doctor. Thackeray Schuster. His body was found this morning, buried in the basement of his former house, blood and skin cells under his fingernails. Whose blood do you suppose we’re going to find?”
Kindra paled so suddenly, Dez half-expected her to pass out. He waited, watching as she used shaking hands on the chair’s armrests to help lower her back to sitting.
Lachlan created a seesaw of the moment, standing as she sat so that she had to look up at him. “If I were you, ma’am, I’d reconsider your loyalties. You’ve covered for Lowell a long time. We know he killed Aiden. We also know he killed Betty Schuster and her son, Thackeray. We suspect he played a role in Harry Schuster’s death. We know he tried to kill Sullivan. We know he intentionally injected his brother with epinephrine. And we suspect he shot and killed Justice Prescott Montague. What’s more, I’m certain you know all of those things too.
“As I said, you have a decision to make. You can protect Lowell or you can protect yourself. You might lose a few things, including your medical licence, but if you play your cards right, you just might avoid prison. Your call. The investigator you’ll want to talk to is Sergeant Forbes Raynor, Major Crimes. Oh, and just in case anyone entertains any ideas about knocking off myself, Desmond, Raynor or anyone else connected to the investigation, you should know more people than ourselves are aware of the things we’ve just discussed.”
Lachlan finished with another smile. “Give it some thought.”
Then he led the way from the office.
9
Left alone with Aiden’s file, Sully looked through the contents Lachlan had tried to protect them from.
Nothing Sully saw would be pertinent to their investigation—at least nothing Lachlan hadn’t already told them about. All he came away with were more images burned into his brain.
The Aiden he’d grown up seeing wasn’t this Aiden, the one lying on an autopsy table, his skin an ugly colour and his body bloated from heat and water. Throughout his time with the Braddocks, Sully had seen Aiden how he must have been in the moments after his death. He realized how lucky he’d been, to have been spared this other image.
His parents, he knew, hadn’t been so lucky.
“I’m sorry you had to see your son like this,” Sully said. He didn’t have to look up to know his dad was nearby, watching over him. He closed the file and looked up anyway, needing to see Flynn. Needing to see Aiden.
They were both there, as he knew they would be, hand in hand, watching him with eyes filled with sorrow.
“We’re close,” Sully said. “Really close. Just a little while more and you guys can go.”
He hadn’t expected it, the rush of emotion choking the final word. He’d felt nothing but good all the times he’d successfully helped a spirit to cross. For some reason, it had never occurred to him this might prove the exception.
He was lucky, after all. Among those in his family, he was the only one who had irrefutable proof of life after death. He was the only one lucky enough to be able to still see Flynn and Aiden. As much as his gift had tortured him at times, there were moments it gave back.
He knew its limitations, but more than not being able to see the non-homicides was the devastating knowledge he couldn’t see the ones who had crossed into the light. When Flynn and Aiden were finally able to go, he wouldn’t see them again. Not until, one day, he joined them.
He wanted the best for them, and the best now meant peace. But the cost to him would be significant.
They were close to nailing Lowell, and that meant he was close to losing this connection to his dad.
A flash of purple in his peripheral vision told him something else—or rather, someone else—was close.
Lucky appeared, her usual dread-filled self, in the border between living room and entryway. Her large eyes shot from Sully to front door.
Just as the doorbell rang.
Sully jumped, instinct turning him toward the window. Lachlan had closed the drapes, allowing just a sliver of light to enter the dim room. Sully leaned toward that crack and peeked through.
A car was parked on the street, one containing several people. The faces of two were hidden from him due to their positioning on the passenger side, farthest from him. But the driver… he recognized him.
One of the men who’d attacked him this morning.
The doorbell rang again.
Sully dug out his phone to call Forbes, eyes roaming the rest of the street as he did so. He saw something else now, another car.
Ara’s car.
The back door of the men’s car opened and one of the larger men emerged, gun in hand, his eyes—and his aim—fixed on someone standing at Lachlan’s door.
“Shit,” Sully said. The man wouldn’t be taking aim at one of his own accomplices. “Shit.”
Sully dashed to the door and pulled it open, reaching out blindly and grabbing the closest part of Ara he could find.
He towed her in by her arm, then took a second to lock up before abandoning her in the front hall to check the rest of the floor. Convinced everything was secure, he returned.
Her face, wide-eyed and pale, contained a hundred questions. Sully didn’t have time for any of them.
He completed what he’d started, dialling Forbes’s number, waiting the second it took for him to pick up.
“The men who attacked me this morning,” Sully said. “They’re at Lachlan’s, outside on the street in a dark blue sedan. Ara’s here too. They either tailed her here or they’ve got a bead on her now that she’s turned up at your place. I’ve got her inside the house with me now, but I’ve got to get her out of here.”
“On my way,” Forbes said. “Stay on the line with me.”
“I can’t. I have to warn Dez and Lachlan. They’ll be coming back here any minute. I don’t want them walking into this unprepared. These guys have at least one gun between them, and they’re the type to use them.”
“Okay. Call and warn them, then call me back. Or be
tter yet, get us all on a conference call. Can you do that?”
“Haven’t got a clue how,” Sully confessed. He disconnected without waiting and dialled Dez.
Ara got in a question between calls. “Sully? How—What…. What is this?” Her voice shook, shock covering her features. Sully took a quick second to gently touch the side of her face.
His attention returned to his phone as Dez picked up.
“We just finished up,” Dez said. “Shit, man, you won’t believe—”
“Dez, listen to me. The men from Ravenwood are here, at Lachlan’s.”
“What?” Dez’s one-word question ended on a squeak. “Sull—”
“There’s more. Ara’s here. I think if they can’t get me, they might try to take her to use as bait for me.” He’d been moving toward the window as he spoke, and now he peered out, hoping to see what the men were up to. They were still there, still sitting in the car. Waiting. “They’re still there. Outside.”
“We’re on our way.” Shock had left Dez’s voice, only to be replaced by resolute anger. “They’d better hope to hell they’re gone by the time I get there.”
“I’m going to need to deal with them, Dez. I can’t let someone else get caught in the crossfire.”
“No, you’re fucking not. Wait for us to get there.”
“You’re a threat to them, Dez, and they’ve shown us what they do with threats. I didn’t call you to try to get you here faster. I’m calling to ask you to stay away. Just until they’re gone.”
“Yeah? And that’s a hard no. We’re coming. Hold on.”
“I can’t. I told Forbes I’d call him back.”
“He’s on his way too?”
“Yeah.”
“If he was at the office, he’s farther away than we are. Hang tight. We’ll be there in less than five.”
Sully disconnected. The stakes had changed. The car was still sitting there, one of the men waiting on the sidewalk, ready for action. His gun was out of view, likely to prevent a concerned neighbour calling police, but Sully knew it was there nonetheless, within easy reach.