by Rose Beecham
He’d identified the body to spare Tonya. The first time she saw her dead son was at the viewing where he looked like a sleeping cherub, thanks to the embalmer’s art. Pratt hadn’t been happy about that decision, but he’d accepted that it was bad public relations to haul a weeping mother into the morgue to see firsthand how her child had died.
“You better get in there,” Jude said.
She was thankful Dan wasn’t going to be sharing a pew with Miller. He’d arranged to sit with Amberlee in the front row on the opposite side of the aisle, along with People and CNN.
Jude followed him into the small church to the strains of that infant-funeral standard, “Tears in Heaven.” She sat down in the back pew next to Pete Koertig and the sheriff.
Koertig leaned over and said, “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
“It means a lot.”
“You earned it.” Jude said.
Koertig wasn’t done. He got poetic. “You bust your chops and someone else always gets the glory. I don’t resent it. But when it’s a big-deal situation like this, you gotta know there’s some pride involved.”
“Damn straight,” Jude agreed.
“Guess what I’m saying is it was big of you.” He got choked up. “My wife and I want to invite you to our home for dinner.”
Jude kept the wince off her face. “That’s really thoughtful.”
“How’s next Sunday? She’s got a half-marathon on Saturday.”
“Sunday is good for me.” Jude wondered what she was going to talk about over a meal with two of the squarest people she’d ever met.
“Your fiancé is also welcome,” Koertig said awkwardly.
“We’re not engaged,” Jude said. “But I’ll certainly see if he can make it. Thanks, Pete.”
He nodded. “Fiancé—that was out of politeness. I know you haven’t said yes. Hell, the whole town knows.”
Because he obviously thought he’d been cute, Jude produced a small chuckle and tried for a coy shrug. “It’s a big decision,” she confided, knowing every word would be reported verbatim to the entire MCSO staff. She could tell from Pratt’s body language that he was listening in, too. She gave them something to think about. “Strictly between the two of us, I have a fertility issue. As you can imagine, that’s a concern.”
To her shock, Koertig shuffled his burly body around in the cramped space of the pew to face her earnestly, then seized hold of her hand. “I hope you don’t think I’m being forward.” His head went scarlet through the sparse blond of his buzz cut, and he lowered his voice to a fraught whisper. “But you can’t let that stand in the way of your happiness. My wife and I…” The whisper got even lower. “We’re similarly afflicted.”
Nothing if not resourceful in a crisis of deep-cover credibility, Jude said, “Then you understand my position. Bobby Lee wants children.”
“You haven’t told him?” Koertig let go of her hand so he could bite his nails, a habit he tried to temper with Control-It! Jude had noticed bottles of the nasty-tasting formula on his desk and in his truck.
“No,” she confessed. “Somehow, there never seems to be a good time.”
“Well, that’s getting off on the wrong foot.” Sheriff Pratt pushed Koertig back so that he could render his opinion. “Give the guy a chance. You don’t know how he’s going to react.”
“You’re right, sir.” Jude offered him the words he seldom got to hear from her. “I guess I’ve been putting it off.”
“If you want to talk to an understanding woman about this, my wife is a school counselor. Just part-time. She makes sure to be home for the girls.”
“That’s a very nice offer. I appreciate it.”
“Funny…” He shook his head in wonderment. “You can get it all wrong about people. I had you picked for one of those women who’d never have kids by choice.”
“It’s my height.” Jude said seriously.
“And the physique,” Pratt observed. “You’re not built like a…motherly type.”
This man was in politics.
Even Koertig looked embarrassed. “My wife is not voluptuous either, but she loves kids. She’s heartbroken thanks to our problem.”
Pratt gnawed on his mustache. “And then you see bozos like that, breeding by accident. Makes you sick. Is it my imagination or do those two women have different hair every time we see them?”
“It’s for the cameras.” Jude tried to shine a less judgmental light on the young women. They were two twenty-somethings swept up in a maelstrom they had lost control over. She couldn’t blame them for trying to look more sophisticated than they were. “I’m sure they must feel exposed having so much attention on them during this difficult time.”
Pratt snorted. “They’re sucking it up.”
“She won’t be posing like that after I drag her boyfriend away in handcuffs,” Koertig noted darkly. “While I think about it, are we all set for the cemetery?”
“I think it’s the best option,” Jude said. “If he makes a run for it, then we won’t have these crowds to deal with.
“If you want, we could work the arrest together,” Koertig said, clearly feeling the burden of his arresting-officer role. “I could restrain him while you cuff him.”
However it went down, it was Jude’s call. She was entitled to the glory-hog role if she wanted it. But the fact that she’d taken a pass in favor of her subordinate made Koertig walk tall. It sent the signal that he’d played a major role in putting the case together and was now getting the respect he’d earned.
Sure, Jude would have liked to shove Miller against a car and make the arrest painfully memorable for him, but they had national media rolling footage, so it had to be tidy. She didn’t feel bad. This wasn’t the only case she would ever see, but small town law enforcement officers didn’t get a big slice of the fame pie, and she wanted the whole team to bask in the moment.
“I’ll stay on the outer perimeter,” she said. “If he runs, I’ll take him.”
Someone in the pew in front of them craned around and said, “Shush.”
It was standing room only in the church, and the music got loud as the minister approached the pulpit.
“Don’t forget about dinner,” Koertig said.
Jude shook her head. “I can see we’ll have a lot to talk about.” That’s if she didn’t shoot herself first.
*
After the funeral service, close family departed in a fleet of black limousines the funeral director had brought in from Grand Junction and Durango. Jude and Koertig bypassed the funeral procession so they could get out to the Cortez Cemetery before they took retirement.
Corban’s final resting place was a premium plot surrounded by neatly manicured grass and softly waving trees. Media without the exclusive deals had the place staked out well ahead of time, forming a caravan of trucks with satellite dishes and cameras mounted on their roofs. Jude and Koertig picked their way across a snarl of cables past a set of makeshift platforms and squeezed between various crews. Spotting Tulley, Jude waved and he jogged over.
“Detective Koertig is going to make the arrest,” she said. “I want you close by to provide backup with several of the other deputies. Go talk to Belle Simmons. She was at the briefing you missed.”
Jude had assigned Tulley to take Chastity and Adeline sledding in the hills while the funeral service was underway. They were now back at her place, where Adeline was taking care of Yiska. The cat had assumed immediate ownership of Jude’s house from the moment they walked in the door three days earlier, and insisted on sleeping right on top of Jude every night.
Her presence brought with it another unexpected bonus. Chastity and Adeline had been so touched by her brush with death, they offered to extend their visit so they could care for her while Jude completed the vital stages of the homicide investigation. She had enough on her hands, Chastity said; this was one small thing they could do to help her bring Corban’s killer to justice.
Having them in her home was surpr
isingly comfortable. Jude had always had trouble sharing her living space with another person. In many ways she was happy in her solitary state, and she had the living habits to show for it. An empty refrigerator. Mismatched sets of cooking utensils. An oven that was never used and had a spider living in it.
Chastity had said very little about any of this. But when Jude arrived home after midnight, the day of Corban’s autopsy, there was hot homemade soup waiting for her. Afterwards, Chastity poured her a glass of scotch and sat with her in companionable silence, reading a book while Jude unwound. They didn’t sleep together that night, but had cuddled for a while in Jude’s bed until her frenetic exhaustion gave way to drowsiness.
The next day, Jude pulled an all-nighter with most of the team, collating and evaluating all the evidence and making the decision to arrest Wade Miller. Chastity and Adeline had happily occupied themselves exploring the Mesa Verde and spending time with Tulley, who showed them everything they would ever need to know about cadaver dog training.
Jude called Chastity periodically to make sure they were doing fine. She felt bad about neglecting her guests, and she also wanted to spend more time alone with Chastity, but it was impossible while they were putting the case against Wade Miller together. She’d napped for a few hours at the MDSO that night, not going home at all until the next morning.
When she got in, Chastity ran a hot bath for her and gave her a massage. This was a skill she’d acquired in her overseas travels, she told Jude, and she’d attended a couple of classes in Salt Lake City. She had good hands, firm and unhesitant.
“You could make money at this,” Jude said.
“Then I’d have to massage people I don’t care for.”
That made sense, and Jude had to admit, she wasn’t wild about the idea of Chastity touching the naked flesh of strangers. This jealous thought immediately triggered alarms. They weren’t even lovers and she was already getting possessive. The Neanderthal gene wasn’t going anywhere.
Later that morning, before Jude returned to work, they’d discussed Chastity and Adeline’s departure. They were planning to leave the day after the funeral. Yiska was doing well, Chastity needed to get back to her business, and Adeline thought it was time she made an appearance at school.
“Will you come visit?” Chastity asked.
“Would you like me to?”
“Yes.” As if she had to rush the words out before she changed her mind, Chastity said, “Jude…I’m going to see someone. I have a therapist, but we’ve never talked about my…problem.”
Jude marveled that she was paying a shrink to listen to her avoid her main issue. They probably had clients who did that all the time. Would she, herself, tell a guy in a white coat about her sexual-performance problems if she had any? Forget it. She frowned as it crossed her mind that Chastity might be doing this for some screwed-up reason like wanting to please her.
Apparently able to read her like a book, Chastity said, “I’m doing this for me. It’s time.”
“I hope it works out.” Jude felt she should say something more touchy-feely, but there was only so far down that track you could go without sounding like you belonged in California.
“I haven’t had a relationship since my divorce.” Chastity gave an ironic little smile. “Things can only get better.”
Jude watched the corners of her mouth quirk into tiny dimpled hollows. She had a feeling Chastity knew she was finding the conversation awkward. Struggling with squeamishness, she lurched into the deep and meaningful. “I’m happy you’re doing this. You matter to me, and I’d hate to see you cheated of a part of life that has so much joy to offer.”
“You’re saying I might like sex once I get beyond this?” Chastity interpreted.
Jude certainly hoped so. “You’re a sensual woman.”
“I was turned on when we were kissing.”
“That’s a start.”
“I think we should try again,” Chastity said.
“You mean, now?” Jude had been known to amend her priorities on carnal grounds, but it was out of the question today.
Chastity laughed softly. “No. A quickie on your sofa wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“Care to explain.”
“Let’s sleep together tonight and you can show me second base.”
“That won’t be onerous.”
Chastity grew serious. “I don’t know if I’m homosexual.”
“We can work on finding out.” Having had her ability to concen-trate obliterated, Jude said, “I have to go.”
Chastity walked her to the garage door and kissed her cheek. “Good luck.”
Feeling like a husband sent off to work by the little woman, Jude replied, “Call me if you need anything.”
There were worse things than coming home to someone, she re-flected. Today, after they had Wade Miller locked in a cell, she would head up a long, winding mountain road to a house that had the lights on because people were in it. She would eat a nice meal, tell Adeline a colorful version of the arrest, then take Chastity to bed and second base.
Which was not something she could afford to dwell on at this time. She focused on her surroundings as a steady line of black limos with tinted windows glided along the inner road to the parking area. The media had roused themselves from their coffee-drinking, casting disposable cups in all directions and talking into their headsets. Tulley and his team maintained a somber vigil about twenty feet from the grave, as if entirely as a gesture of respect. Around the wider perimeter, officers from the MCSO and Cortez PD kept order among over-eager reporters and defused incidents between competing television crews.
The minister proceeded slowly to the head of the grave, escorting Tonya. The coffin bearers followed, just two: Dan Foley and an older man Jude took to be his father. Everyone else gathered around in a semicircle. There were probably fifteen people, all dressed in black. As the minister read verses from the scriptures, Tonya stood with her head bent and her shoulders shaking. A few feet away, Amberlee constantly scanned the media crews to see if she was on camera.
They sang a hymn as the small coffin was lowered. It was, Dan had told Jude, the best children’s casket money could buy. He had expected to pay for it, but People picked up the tab. This was the moment. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Jude signaled Koertig, who moved around the back of the mourners to a spot just a couple of feet behind Wade Miller.
A terrible sob tore from Tonya as the minister uttered his final blessing. She began to sway, crying, “Oh, my God. What did I do?”
Someone yelled, “She’s fainting.”
The media swarmed, but before she could hit the deck, Amberlee released a shrill cry and took a dramatic dive after the coffin. In hog heaven, media anchors swept the mourners aside and nabbed key positions around the grave, yelling for their crews to capture the money shots of the day.
Behind the fray, the minister and several shocked family members dragged Tonya under a tree and set about reviving her. No one was filming her. On what was surely the worst day of her life, and the pinnacle of her fifteen minutes of fame, she had been upstaged by her sister.
Chapter Seventeen
Predictably, Wade Miller did not respond well to being arrested at the funeral. With the media already in a state of bliss over the coffin dive, he made sure they took home the added bonus of a grief-stricken, falsely accused man struggling with brutal police thugs.
Pete Koertig had done everything exactly to plan. He took Miller’s arm and told him he was under arrest and to behave like a man and avoid making a scene. At that time, the cameras were still trained on Amberlee, as she writhed on a casket too small to prop up 250 pounds of woman. This unhappy situation meant that her arms and legs were covered in earth by the time she was extracted from the grave.
Chagrined, she yelled at Tonya, “I hope you’re happy now.”
Tonya, equally distraught, responded, “You’ve spoiled everything. This was meant to be beautiful.”
Handcuffed, Miller broke
away from Koertig and rushed to console her, hollering at Koertig, “You’ve arrested the wrong guy, you fucknut faggot.”
Koertig took Miller’s arm once more and said, “Please come with me, Mr. Miller. Your fiancée will be taken care of.”
“I didn’t do it,” Miller wailed, falling to his knees instead of walking.
Koertig tried to drag him upright without using undue force, but Miller let fly a volley of profanities and hunched into a fetal position. Koertig waved to Tulley and the other deputies, and they hurried over. The recent snowmelt had rendered the winter-brown grass wet and slippery, and by the time Jude reached them, the struggle looked like a hog-wrestling event.
Slathered in mud, Miller was yanked to his feet and dragged toward a police car, screaming about his innocence, protesting damage to his suit, and claiming police brutality. Jude didn’t even try to intervene. She figured Sheriff Pratt would seize the moment.
Tulley told her later that Miller cussed them out using words he’d never heard of all the way to the detention cells. He was now talking to his lawyer, who had been present at the funeral but had allowed events to take their course, doing nothing to advise his client. Jude had seen the guy, standing a few feet away in his shiny Italian suit and dark glasses, watching the unfolding events with reptilian anticipation. She figured he was hoping the police would rough Miller up.
The district attorney was planning a sit-down with Griffin Mahanes later in the day. He had assembled the primary investigators in a meeting room at the MCSO for a general debriefing in anticipation. They’d just watched the goat’s head gang, as they were now described by the media, proclaiming their innocence in the TV interview they gave in the preceding week.
The DA, Carl Schrott, said, “What you’re seeing here is a classic setup. Mahanes was hired to clear Matthew Roache’s name. He did so by having Hank “Gums” Thompson implicate himself. We can be certain this tape will be produced at trial.”
“It’s going to be obvious to the jury that Thompson is an unreliable witness,” Jude said. “Both the tape and his statements to police will be called into question, so I don’t see how this is a problem.”