The Burying Place

by Brian Freeman

  Outside Denise's house, Serena and Valerie wandered to the end of the block and on to the middle of the bridge that crossed over the river. Flurries landed in their hair, and the cold raised a flush on their faces. Valerie leaned on the railing and stared at the dark water. She knit her fingers together.

  'I owe you an apology,' she said.

  'Why is that?'

  'The first time I saw you, I told you that you couldn't understand how I felt because you didn't have children. It was a stupid thing to say.'

  'Don't worry about it.'

  'Well, I felt like an idiot after you left. I'm sorry. I'm the last person who should make another woman feel bad about not having kids. I tried for three years before I got pregnant, and it was the worst kind of hell for me.'

  'I'm sure it was.'

  'I'd like to tell you that Marcus was a comfort in all of it, but I'm afraid that's not his specialty. It's funny, isn't it? Marcus is in a healing profession, and Tom sells insurance, and which one is a better listener?'

  'Denise and Tom look like they're having problems,' Serena said.

  Valerie nodded. 'They've been sweethearts since high school, but somewhere along the line, Denise forgot that they were supposed to be in love.'

  'What about you and Marcus?' Serena asked.

  A sad smile drifted across Valerie's face. 'We've never been the best of couples. I thought having a baby would bring us closer together. Or maybe I wanted a baby to give me the kind of love that my husband couldn't. Not that I blame him - that's just the man he is. But three years of trying and failing? The longer it went on, the more desperate I became.' She gave Serena a sideways glance. 'I don't come across as a desperate woman, do I? Honestly, if Callie hadn't come along, I don't know what I would have done. She saved me.'

  'I have an unpleasant question for you,' Serena said.

  Valerie turned around and leaned against the railing. She stared at the cold blue sky. 'Those seem to be the only kind of questions you have.'

  'I know. I'm sorry.'

  'That's all right, go ahead.'

  'Do you know a nurse at St Mary's named Regan Conrad?'

  Valerie looked down at the water. 'Is that her? Is she the one that Marcus…?'

  'Yes.'

  'I'm sorry, no, I don't know her. She must not be in orthopedics. I know all of the staff where Marcus works.'

  'She works in maternity,' Serena said.

  Valerie turned her head sharply. 'Maternity?'

  'That's right.'

  Valerie cupped her hands over her nose and mouth. She shook her head. 'I knew it. I knew she was there.'

  'What do you mean?'

  Valerie brought her hands down to her chin, so it looked as if she was praying. 'I went into the hospital on New Year's Eve,' she told Serena. 'There were only a few other women in the ward that night, and one of the babies was in distress, so most of the nursing staff weren't really focused on me. We were waiting for my doctor to get there from a party, and they had me on an epidural. I was drifting in and out a lot of the time. I remember, it must have been right after midnight. There was a lot of noise, people blowing those little horns, shouting about the New Year. I woke up, and I was alone, but I knew she'd been there. I smelled her perfume. It was the same perfume I'd smelled in my bed all those times. Ever since then, I thought it was my imagination, but she must have come to see me.' Valerie shivered.

  'Was Marcus with you at the hospital that night?' Serena asked.

  'Off and on,' she replied, with a hint of defensiveness. 'I told you, I slept a lot because of the drugs.'

  'Of course.'

  Valerie shook her head. 'She was there in my room. On that night of all nights. My God, tell me he didn't…'

  'What?'

  'Nothing. It's nothing. Why did you want to know about Regan? Do you think it's possible she could have taken Callie?'

  'I honestly don't know. I'm trying to find out everything I can about her. It looks like she was in the hospital on Thursday night when

  Callie was abducted, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she wasn't involved. She had a key to your house, too. She also knows - well, she also knows Migdalia.'

  'She knows Micki? Oh, Jesus. I knew it. I never trusted her.'

  'It doesn’t mean that Micki was involved in what happened to Callie,' Serena said. 'But we're looking at both of them.' She added, 'Did you know that Micki lost a baby last year?'

  'Micki? I had no idea.'

  'Your husband helped her. Regan was the nurse.'

  Valerie spun away. She bent so far over the railing that Serena was afraid she would throw herself into the river. 'Marcus did that?'

  'Yes.'

  'Was it his baby?' she asked, her voice bitter.

  'Micki says no.'

  Valerie opened her mouth and closed it again. She hugged herself, shivering. 'I'm sorry, what does any of this mean?'

  'We're not sure. It may be nothing at all. But I have to tell you, I'm concerned that Marcus has been keeping things from us. He never mentioned his relationship with Regan, and he concealed the fact that Micki was with him on the night Callie disappeared.'

  'You think he was involved, don't you?' Valerie asked. 'You think he did something to our daughter.'

  'I'm not saying that,' Serena told her. 'But we're going to ask him some hard questions, and we want him to take a polygraph.'

  'I can't believe this.'

  'Valerie, people hide things for all sorts of reasons. Don't leap to conclusions. If we can use a polygraph to prove that Marcus wasn't involved, we can shift our focus elsewhere. We can take a closer look at Regan and Micki, too.'

  Valerie pushed past Serena on the bridge. 'I have to go.'

  'Please, wait.'

  'I'm sorry. I can't deal with this right now.'

  Serena called after her, but Valerie kept walking, not looking back. She walked with her head down and her hands in her pockets. At the end of the bridge, she began to run, with her long blonde hair flowing messily behind her. She ran until she disappeared behind the pine trees lining the street, where Serena couldn't see her anymore.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  At midnight on Sunday, Stride turned off the lights in the war room. Standing in the dark office, he glanced at the streets of Grand Rapids, which were empty under the glow of neon signs and stop lights. The flurries had lasted most of the day and left behind a dusting of snow on the grass. He shrugged on his leather jacket and locked the office door as he left. As he waited for the elevator, he ran both hands through his wavy hair, massaging his scalp. He had a fierce headache and wanted nothing more than a few hours of sleep.

  The elevator doors opened, but before he could go inside, he collided with a short, skinny woman barreling through the doors.

  'Oh!' Blair Rowe chirped. 'Lieutenant Stride! They told me you were still here.'

  He shook his head. 'I'm not here, Blair. This is a recording. Leave a message, and check back with me in the morning.'

  She giggled. 'That's funny. You're cute. No, I've got something for you. You have to see this.'

  'How'd you get up here, Blair?' Stride asked. 'I left shoot-on-sight orders downstairs.'

  'Funny again! But don't forget, I went to high school with half the cops in the building.' She held up a circular cookie tin. 'Plus, my mom made peanut butter blossoms. No man can say no to these babies. You want one?' 'No.'

  'Oh, lighten up, Lieutenant!' Blair scolded him. 'I'm doing my part. I'm keeping you clued in. This is going to be on Headline News in the morning, but I thought you would want to see it first. See? I'm a team player.' She dug into the pocket of her navy blue trench coat and waved a DVD at him.

  'What is it?'

  'It's hot. You know how they say everything that happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas? Not this time. One of our reporters found a stripper who says she sleeps with Marcus Glenn on his trips to Sin City. She's got some juicy quotes.'

  Stride didn't want to be surprised in the morni
ng. 'Yeah, all right. Come with me. Let's put it on.'

  They returned to the office halfway down the hall, where Stride turned on the lights and dropped his coat on the back of a chair. Blair tottered on her heels, and her eyes drifted to the stacks of paper littered around the room.

  'No spying on anything in here,' he told her. 'Got it?'

  'Yeah, OK. Did you see me on the air last night?'

  'I did. You better be careful, Blair. You pretty much accused Marcus Glenn of murdering his daughter. You're going to get sued if you keep it up.'

  Blair shrugged. 'Oh, I say "alleged" and all those other weasel words. All I do is point out the facts.' She peeled the lid off the cookie tin and pulled out a round peanut butter cookie with a chocolate kiss pressed in the center. She popped the whole thing in her mouth and chewed. 'You sure you don't want one?'

  'I'm sure.'

  She.licked her fingers and studied him through her thick glasses. 'How do I look, by the way? The network paid for my hair and makeup. Pretty smokin', huh?'

  Stride realized that Blair did look more polished now. Her hair, which had been dirty and stringy when he first met her, was now cut, swirled, and sprayed into place. Her once-blotchy skin was smooth and pink. 'You're looking good, Blair.'

  'Good? That's the best you can do?'

  He pointed at the DVD in her hand and then at the television stand in the corner. 'What's on the disk?'

  Blair popped the disk into the DVD player on the shelf below the television. 'This is an interview that a Las Vegas reporter did with a black bombshell down there this afternoon. She strips at a club north of downtown. Her name's Lavender-something.'

  'Lavender?'

  'Yeah.'

  Stride chuckled. 'How did this reporter find her?'

  'She came to him. She saw the story about Callie on the news.'

  As the video rolled, Lavender filled the screen. She had straightened black hair and full, pale pink lips, with white teeth that looked capped. She tapped a long fingernail against her cheek impatiently as the camera man took his time to get focused, scrolling up her long legs and lingering on the surgically enhanced breasts filling her T-shirt.

  'How did you meet Marcus Glenn?' the reporter asked.

  'He's a regular at the strip club where I work. He's in Vegas three, four times a year.'

  'What's he like?'

  Lavender's broad lips curled into a smile. 'He's a doctor, baby. Doctors have the whole God thing going on. When they screw you, it's like they're delivering the seed of the Savior, know what I mean?'

  Blair laughed. 'I love that part.'

  'So this was a sexual relationship you had with Marcus Glenn?'

  'Oh, yeah:

  'Did you know he was married?'

  'Sure. I like it that way. No strings. They don't come around on one knee with a ring. It's expensive dinners, a few sweaty rides, and then they go home.'

  'Was this a… paid relationship?'

  Lavender's eyes flashed with anger. 'Nobody buys me.'

  'Yeah, except for the lobster dinners and the bling,' Blair commented.

  'Did Marcus Glenn tell you much about his personal life?'

  'Not a lot. Men in Vegas are looking to forget what they've got back home, you understand? But I saw a photo he had of his wife. She was a looker. One time I asked him if his wife wasn't enough for him, if that's why he was with me.'

  'What did he say?'

  'He said you only use the good china on special occasions.' Lavender's laugh was deep and throaty.

  Stride winced, imagining this video on the news, knowing it would drive a knife through Valerie Glenn's heart. He didn't have any sympathy for Marcus Glenn. Stride just hated the collateral damage that always seemed to strike families when they became crime victims. It wasn't enough to lose a daughter. Now Valerie Glenn had to face the hollow reality of her marriage.

  'This is the good part,' Blair told him. 'Listen.'

  'You know about Marcus Glenn's daughter? That she's missing?'

  'Missing. Yeah, that's what he says. I don't believe it.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I saw Marcus in the spring. April, I think. He let slip over dinner that his wife had had a baby a few months earlier. So what am I going to say? I told him congratulations.'

  'What did he say?'

  'He said it was his wife's idea. He said he would have been a hell of a lot happier if the baby had never been born at all.'

  'Never been born? He used those words?'

  'Yeah, he did. Honestly, for me, that was the end. Next time he was in town, I ducked him. As far as cheating goes, boys will be boys, OK? But any man says that about his own kid, I don't want him in my bed.'

  Blair hit the stop button on the machine and ejected the disk. 'That's it. Does that freeze your blood or what? I told you Glenn was a cold character.'

  'Are you going to run that?' Stride asked.

  'You bet. Tomorrow morning. I tried to get one or both of the Glenns on camera too, but they won't talk.'

  'I'd like a copy of the disk,' Stride told her.

  'Sure. How about a quote for my story? Or better yet, a live interview?'

  'Not yet.'

  Blair's face wrinkled in frustration. 'Seems like this source stuff is all one-way, Lieutenant. I'm giving you dirt, you're giving me squat.'

  'When I have something, you're first in line,' Stride said.

  'Yeah, promises, promises. So what do you think, anyway? Does this change your mind about Marcus Glenn?'

  'Off the record?'

  'If it has to be.'

  Stride stuck a hand in the cookie tin and pulled out a peanut butter blossom, which he ate in two bites, saving the chocolate kiss for last. 'You're right, these are good cookies,' he said. Then he added, 'Off the record, Marcus Glenn has been lying since day one. I'd like to know why. I'd like to know what he's hiding.'

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stride removed his clothes silently in the bedroom of the cabin. He saw the moonlit glow of Serena's bare shoulder above the blanket, but he wasn't sure if she was asleep. When he was naked, he slid under the blanket and lay on his back with his hands laced behind his head. On the night-time drive along Highway 2, he'd struggled to keep his eyes open, but now he was wide awake. He stared at the rounded log beams lining the ceiling. Outside, snow hissed and pricked at the window, and he could hear the wind, which had been calm during the daylight hours, roar back to life.

  Beside him, Serena turned over on to her back. The blanket drew down, exposing most of the cream-colored slopes of her breasts. Her black hair fell in loose strands across her face. He could see that her eyes were open. They lay next to each other for long minutes, not speaking. He wanted to talk, but it felt like a momentous effort to say anything at all. Talking about his panic attacks, his depression, his hopelessness, his fear, was impossible. So he said nothing.

  Under the blanket, Serena's hand slid closer until their fingers touched. He didn't move his hand away, but he didn't reach over to lace their fingers together, as he usually would. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but after a while, he gave up and opened them again. On Serena's cheek, he thought he saw a wet trail of silver. Tears. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, get inside her head, let her back inside his life. All he could do, though, was lie motionless on the bed. Paralyzed.

  Serena turned on her side. She stared at him in the darkness, but they still didn't say a word. She lifted his arm and stretched it out behind her, and then she folded herself into the crook of his neck. Her bare skin bonded with his own body; she was soft and smooth against his muscles. He was conscious of the touch of her nipples, hardened by the cool air. Her left leg draped over his, and the warmth of her mound pressed against his hip. Her face was damp on his shoulder. She laid her arm across his chest and made circles on his breastbone with her thumb, but her warmth and pressure against him felt sterile. His nerve ends were dead. His mind and body drifted apart, as if they were sepa
rate and unconnected things.

  She kissed his cheek, which was rough with stubble. Her lips traveled along his face in a soft line of kisses, until she reached his ear lobe, which she sucked between her teeth and bit tenderly. Her tongue flicked at his neck. She pressed her body firmly against him; he felt her need, and she was moist between her legs. Her fingernails scraped along his stomach. She flattened her hand there, undulating her fingers like waves. At his ear, her mouth whispered, 'I want you.'

  Serena pushed her hand across his middle to the inside of his thigh and alternated between a penetrating massage and feathery caresses. From there, he felt her fingertips glide on to his shaft. Rubbing. Touching. Trying to arouse him. He wanted more than anything to feel his body react, but despite her attentions, he remained unresponsive. She didn't give up, but instead redoubled her energy, her hands alive and busy. She straddled him, her full breasts dangling over his chest. Her hips sank lower over his waist, and she caressed him with her body. She cupped his face, bent down, and kissed him full on, exploring his mouth with her tongue.

  He stroked along the curve of her spine, and his touch felt clumsy. His mouth closed over each of her breasts in turn, and he felt her respond, but he knew it was artificial for both of them. The easy grace of their lovemaking had vanished and left them like strangers, unfamiliar with the other's body. He knew every inch of her skin and the touch she liked and how her t—s curled as she came to the edge and spilled over it. It wasn't that he had forgotten. He simply had nothing to give her.

  'Serena,' he murmured.

  She refused to give up, but her intensity felt forced. Her face grew flushed with frustration and humiliation, as if it were somehow her failure, not his. Eventually, she rolled off him. She faced the other way, toward the window. Her shoulders shook as she cried. He put a hand on her back, but when she didn't react, he pulled it away. He stared at the ceiling for a while longer, and then he turned to face the wall. When he put his head on his arm, he smelled her perfume on his fingers. He closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep.

  Maggie arrived early at City Hall on Monday morning. It was dark, and the roads were slick with an inch of snow. The old stone building took forever to heat up after the weekend, and the Detective Bureau felt frosty. She took off her ankle-length burgundy leather coat and replaced it with a wool pullover that Stride had left behind. The baggy sweater reached to the middle of her thighs, and she had to roll up six inches on the sleeves.