by Rachel Lucas
She left the rest unsaid. I didn’t know if she spoke those words for my benefit or because they were true for her. Maybe both.
“I feel the same way,” I agreed.
“Give me a suspect to interview. Give me a case file to study. Give me research to do on a psychological condition. Anything, just don’t leave me sitting here all night.”
I looked over at her and smiled, some of the tension relieved by the fact that she was able to share this small weakness with me. It made her seem more human to me, and I could definitely relate.
We were spared further conversation as Logan exited the residence and started walking across the parking lot in our direction. We were both out of the vehicle and meeting him halfway before we realized it.
His eyes looked weary and I could see where the last few days were taking its toll on him.
“County forensics should be showing up at any time,” Logan explained as we approached. Maddie was right, that was what we were waiting for.
I had numerous questions but the first one came out before I realized it.
“How bad is it?” I had to know. Whatever it was like inside of that townhome, it was my friend who had done it. I felt partially responsible for it.
Logan must have heard the tension in my voice.
“It’s not that bad,” he assured me. I must have had a doubtful look on my face because he went on to explain. “It doesn’t look as though the crime was committed here. It was probably done there at the racetrack close to where we discovered the body. There was blood on the front door but almost none inside. Elizabeth came back to this place for a reason, we just don’t know why yet. That’s why we want CSI to do a thorough sweep then we’ll have you go in and take a look around.”
Some of the stress that had been building within me seemed to deflate at his words. It was a relief to know I wasn’t going to have to confront another bloody murder scene.
Just then, a white van with green lettering for King County pulled into the parking lot.
“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Logan directed me then turned to leave. Before he walked away he paused, turned back then leaned close to her.
“Keep an eye on her for me Dr. Reynolds?” He asked quietly.
She subtly pulled open the front of the navy blazer she was wearing, just enough to show the black leather holster she was carrying underneath. She patted the small firearm, nodded and smiled at Logan.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
News vans were arriving with reporters and cameramen, kept at a distance by yellow police tape. Curious tenants and onlookers gathered to watch and mug for the cameras, many with their own cell phone cameras out, already sending information out to the internet where it was probably becoming viral as I watched.
The storm front that had threatened earlier had already come and gone, leaving a damp mist that seemed to cover every surface. It was still the edge of winter and what little sun we had that day had gone down behind the tall pine trees surrounding the rental complex. The temperatures were dropping and a cool breeze was picking up.
Madeline and I could have stayed closed up in the SUV, staying out of the wind and trying to keep warm. Instead, we were out in the parking lot, practically pacing the pavement, waiting for word that we could enter the dwelling. I lost count of the different kind of federal, state, city and county uniforms going in and out of the residence or keeping a perimeter for the law enforcement officials.
As I paced back and forth the same questions kept going through my mind: Why were we here? Why had Lisbeth chosen this person, in this area, in a city and state I was almost certain she had never been to? What had drawn her here? What was her purpose? She had a specific reason for coming here. She had planned this. But why?
I looked over at Madeline leaning against the side of the SUV. She had stopped her own restless pacing and something had caught her attention. I followed the direction she was looking and noticed a vehicle being allowed past the yellow police tape. It was a normal dark sedan, nothing out of the ordinary, but as it pulled up a few parking spaces away from us, I saw two men exit the vehicle.
They were both dressed in military uniforms. The man closest to me was exiting the passenger side. He was tall, nearly bald under the military cap, with a uniform so perfectly pressed it looked as though it had just come from the dry cleaners. He walked with a straight spine and squared shoulders as though ready to stop and salute at any moment. I recognized that kind of stature. He didn’t look our way but seemed to be searching for the person in charge. He spotted Director Phillips just coming out of the residence and began walking towards him.
As he passed me, I noticed his collar. I had been a military wife long enough to recognize the symbolism of the gold cross on his collar. He was a chaplain.
A sadness seemed to come over me and fill me. There was only one reason a chaplain had been called here. That’s right, I thought, Fort Lewis wasn’t far away. The victim must have been military.
The chaplain and the other officer met the director halfway up the sidewalk to the townhome. They stood there and conversed quietly for a moment. They were too far away for me to hear what they were saying. I wanted to approach and listen in on the conversation but knew it would seem rude if I did. After several moments the chaplain nodded briefly, both officers shook hands with Director Phillips, and they walked back towards their vehicle.
Having the chaplain here brought it closer to home for me. It made me see this man that had been murdered as a real person, with a life and a family, a military career and a future, not just a victim. Not just a body in a black body bag, placed on a gurney and being carried away.
The chaplain paused before getting back into his vehicle. He had a leather binder which he opened then looked down at a piece of paper within. He took a long look at his surroundings, the law enforcement vehicles, the crime scene tape, the flashing lights. His military-straight shoulders seemed to sag just a bit in loss. He then took a cell phone out of his pocket.
“Caitlyn,” Madeline was tugging at my sleeve. I had been so focused on the men in uniform that I had almost forgotten she was even here with me. I turned to give her a questioning look. “Your purse. You left it in the SUV.”
“Thanks,” I replied absently as I took it from her. I must have left it in our vehicle. Why was she giving it to me now?
“I thought I heard a noise. Is that your cell phone ringing?”
I recognized the ring tone as she spoke and frantically started diving through my baggy purse looking for my cell. I needed a GPS locator for the stupid thing. How many times did I have to go digging through this purse for my phone? Finally finding it, I pulled it out and quickly looked at the caller ID brightly lit up in the dark.
“I don’t recognize the area code,” I whispered in near panic. “What if it’s Lisbeth?”
“You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, but I’m here. I’ll listen with you,” she nodded eagerly, “maybe you can get some information out of her that will help us find her.”
This had to be the second or third ring. I didn’t have much time to decide before it went to voicemail. I had to make a split-second decision.
“You’re right,” I agreed, fighting down the rising wave of fear. I needed to be more proactive. Maybe I could get her to talk to me for a while, find out enough to help us track her down, or at least find out what she was planning.
With shaking hands, I hit the “answer” button.
“Hello, is this Caitlyn Anderson?” A deep male voice asked from the other end. This certainly wasn’t what I had been expecting. It took a minute for his words to register.
“This is Caitlyn Stewart. Anderson was my married name but I went back to my maiden name after my divorce.” The name instantly brought back unpleasant memories. I fought to keep them at bay. “May I help you?”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Anderson…I mean Ms. Stewart.” Something in the way he stumbled over the name drew my attention. Maybe it was bec
ause his voice had a slight echo to it. Was it a bad connection? I looked around me, wondering if I should find a place with a better connection. I looked over at the men in uniform, at the chaplain. “Again, I’m very sorry, but this number was on the emergency contact list for a Specialist Lewis Anderson…”
Was it my imagination? Why did it seem…..? I could have sworn that the chaplain’s mouth, speaking into his cell phone, was saying the very same words that were coming out of my tiny phone.
“….we regret to inform you…..” Then it hit me.
Chapter Forty
I had to get inside. I had to get inside that residence. There was only one thought in my mind and that was it. I had to get past Logan, Director Phillips, anyone else in my way. I had to get inside.
Blindly, I marched towards the door to the townhome, my feet feeling leaden. My surroundings dimmed, as though looking at the area around me through a long tunnel. I had only one focus, the light gray door with the dark red smear across it.
“Caitlyn?” I vaguely registered Logan’s voice as I walked past him without answering. “Caitlyn, are you all right?”
“Logan,” I think if I had been in my right mind I would have noticed Madeline calling Logan by his given name for the first time. “I think something’s wrong. She just had a phone call.”
“Was it Elizabeth?” The alarm in Logan’s voice was immediate. I was nearly to the sidewalk before he caught my arm.
“I don’t think it was,” Madeline was answering him because I couldn’t. “But she dropped her phone and it hit the pavement. The SIM card fell out. The call disconnected.”
“Caitlyn, what is it?” Logan tried pulling me around to look at him. I seemed to look right through him. I couldn’t speak. I tugged at my arm until Logan let me go. He must have been surprised by my resistance. He followed me up the sidewalk and through the door. I hardly noticed.
I shoved through several federal agents and forensic specialists and right past Director Phillips without a glance. My eyes darted everywhere, past the small entrance area, the coat hooks by the door, into the small living room area. I didn’t care that my hands weren’t gloved, that my feet weren’t covered. I didn’t care about evidence, fingerprints or DNA. There had to something here. There had to be something that I would recognize….
There it was, right in front of me. One glance and I fell to my knees. My world instantly shattered. It was nothing really, just a stupid, scarred coffee table. It was old and worn and obviously second-hand. I traced a jagged diagonal scratch across the pine grain, remembering how it got there.
Young and newly married, we were poor, barely scraping by and living on such a tight budget. We were out going to yard sales one Saturday near Ft. Polk, Louisiana, and looking for bargains. We found this nice little coffee table for the affordable price of five dollars. We had both liked it immediately and paid out the cash. It wasn’t until we were carrying the solid piece of furniture back to our car that we realized we weren’t sure how we were going to fit it into the small hatchback of our compact car.
There we stood on the street that day, trying ten different ways to fit that table into our car. Finally, we decided to lay down the passenger seat, slide the table in, and I would squeeze myself into what little space there was left for the ride home. We laughed the whole way home at the awkwardness of it all.
Once at home, we saw the large scratch on the surface caused when we were trying to lift it in and out of the car. Instead of detracting from the beauty of the table, it became a private joke between us, a funny reminder of our desperate attempt to save a little money.
Now I sat on the floor next to the table, arms wrapped around myself, staring at one stupid, scarred coffee table. It can’t be. It can’t be true. Yet it had to be. Here was the evidence right before my eyes.
“Cait,” Logan’s soft, concerned voice was right next to be. “What is it?”
“Sawyer.” I heard the director bark out Logan’s name. I had never heard him use quite that tone before, and never with Logan or myself. On some other level I must have registered that something was wrong, but my mind was rapidly going numb.
“Yes?” Logan answered but still didn’t leave my side.
“We have a full ID and background check on the victim,” the director had lowered his voice and had walked over to speak quietly to Logan. He seemed to be on the distant peripheral from me. I couldn’t focus on him. I couldn’t focus on anything except for the table before me. I certainly didn’t want to hear his next words.
“And?” Logan sounded impatient. “What did you find out?”
“His name was Lewis Anderson,” the director’s voice was quiet, almost hushed. “He was Caitlyn’s ex-husband.”
Chapter Forty-One
I don’t know how long I sat there in the near catatonic state. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours or days. Slowly, I started glancing around me. At first, everything was a blur. Then one or two things seemed to some into sharp focus. There was a large flat screen TV that had been a wedding gift from my parents. Lewis had refused to give it up and I was too anxious to get out of the marriage to put up a fight over it.
A dark brown couch and loveseat framed the small living room. I didn’t recognize them, he must have purchased them after we separated. The furnishings were simple, basic, a typical bachelor’s pad.
There was an ironing board and iron against one wall with a freshly pressed uniform hanging from a metal hanger nearby. A pair of boots sat on the floor next to the uniform, newly polished and shiny. He always made sure his uniform and appearance were perfect.
There were only a few pictures on the wall and all were of Lewis. In each he posed in one uniform or another with different fellow soldiers or standing at attention before a commanding officer at a promotion ceremony. One was of him standing before a sign that read “Welcome to Fort Lewis”. I’d had no idea he had been transferred here.
I didn’t want to see anymore. I didn’t want to see any more memories or reminders. I wanted to get up and leave, flee this unwanted trip down memory lane, but I was too exhausted. I dropped my hands to the floor and tried to get enough leverage to push myself to my feet. With only a slight annoyance, I felt a sharp pain in my left hand. I looked down at my hand, slightly confused as to why it was hurting. A sharp piece of glass was embedded in my palm. Blood was slowly trickling down my wrist.
Only mildly curious, I looked down at the floor to see where the glass had come from. There, underneath the table, was more glass and the corner of something made of metal. I tugged it out from beneath the table and recognized it immediately. It was a wedding picture, perfectly posed, Lewis and I kissing, my red rose bouquet between us, the frame shaped into a gold heart. The glass was shattered, the photograph scratched and scarred. I didn’t know Lewis had kept it. I didn’t think he would care about something so small and what I thought to him was meaningless.
Suddenly, I felt myself gagging. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate, which must have been much earlier in the day. I felt like throwing up, I needed to throw up, but nothing was there.
I vaguely remembered staggering to my feet, my hand covering my mouth, the warm feel of my blood as it dripped down my arm. Blindly, I searched for a way out of this nightmare. I felt as though I was tripping over my own feet in my mad dash to get outside. I needed air, fresh air. I had to get out of here before I lost what little I had left of my mind.
“Hey, she’s contaminating the crime scene,” someone called after me but I didn’t care. Out, I needed out. I was suffocating. My lungs were closing up on me at the same time my stomach was heaving. Must. Get. Out.
“Caitlyn,” Logan called after me as I fled. His voice didn’t stop me, couldn’t stop me. I had to leave.
“I’ll go with her,” Madeline rushed to follow me.
Right now I was glad it was her. I couldn’t face Logan right now, not here, not in my newly-dead ex-husband’s home. Not when I was partly responsible for his
death. I had helped unleash the dragon after all.
I was suffocating. I had to get out. Past the CSI team, out the blood-stained door, around to the side of the building, finally stopping and doubling over next to a nearby bush. I wanted to throw up, to purge myself of all I had just seen and witnessed, but nothing came out.
I felt a small, cool hand against my forehead.
“Just breathe Caitlyn,” it was Madeline’s firm yet caring voice, “deep steady breaths. I’m here. We’ll get you through this.”
I just nodded. I couldn’t do much more.
“I could give you all kinds of words and platitudes right now,” she spoke quietly to me in the dark, “but you don’t need to hear them at this moment. I’ll just be here with you. You just need someone here right now. Keep breathing, keep…” Her voice trailed off for a moment and then a sharp edge came into it. “For goodness sake, Caitlyn, I didn’t know you were bleeding. We need to have your hand looked at. There must be at least a first aid kit around here with all the CSI people running loose. Stay right here. I’ll find something for your hand and I’ll be right back.”
I felt her absence as soon as she was gone. I wasn’t usually one to feel needy, but right now, my entire world had just been yanked right out from beneath me. The tiny woman was a welcome comfort to me.
I started shaking, from the cold, the stress or from the shock, I wasn’t sure which. My hands had turned to ice, the warm blood more of a stark contrast against my skin. I felt it trickle down my elbow and start to pool within my jacket sleeve. It wasn’t bleeding heavily but had a steady flow. I couldn’t feel the pain in my hand. I think my entire body was starting to turn numb.
I felt a warm presence at my side. Madeline must have returned.