No Safe Secret

by Fern Michaels

  He didn’t know, but he planned to find out. He’d spent the remainder of his shift reading the accident report on Elaine McCann, and he didn’t like that either.

  The officer who took the report had retired, but the medical examiner, Vikki Kearns, hadn’t. He planned to visit her as soon as he’d collected all the evidence from that old case from storage. He’d called for it to be picked up an hour ago. Misty, the officer in charge, promised him she’d have it ready for pickup by eight o’clock. It was quarter till, and if he knew Misty, she would’ve trudged downstairs to the basement, where old evidence was stored, and brought it up right away. It didn’t hurt that she had a thing for him, but he wasn’t interested. She was way too young, and from what some of the guys said, she loved to party. At forty-three, he was way over his partying days. He’d never been much for parties in his youth. He didn’t see this changing anytime in the near future.

  He entered the evidence room and signed in.

  “Hey, handsome,” Misty said. “I’ve got your box of goodies. What gives? This case was ruled an accident,” she said as she signed her name next to his.

  “It was, and I’m probably wasting time, but it’s just one of those gut-feeling things I need to check out. I appreciate your being so prompt, kiddo.” He added the last word in the hope, probably vain, that she would catch his drift.

  “You’re welcome, old man.” She grinned, revealing a mouthful of silver braces. Definitely too young. His own daughter, Marty, was ready for braces. He could see him introducing Misty to his daughter. He shook his head. “Old man, my ass,” he said, hoisting the banker’s box onto his shoulder.

  “See you, Bryan,” she called as he made his way upstairs. He waved in return.

  What he wanted to do was take this stuff home, but with Mrs. McCann still unaccounted for, he’d work at the station.

  He wasn’t tired anyway. The night shift had been fairly quiet. The Goldenhills Police Department consisted of fourteen blue suits and six detectives, plus the crime-scene gang, as he referred to the group of four. Add the medical examiner and her two assistants—well, it wasn’t Boston—but they had a good team, and Bryan respected the entire force, no matter what their position. It was a good group, and he’d never regretted joining the force. There wasn’t much crime in the area, just enough to keep them on their toes.

  He dropped the box on top of his desk and called Vikki, the medical examiner. “What?” she asked. “Don’t you realize I’m busy?”

  Bryan laughed into the phone. Vikki was a top-notch medical examiner, and a good friend. In her late fifties, she looked ten years younger, and if they weren’t such good friends, at one time he might’ve considered asking her for a date. “You know why I’m calling. I just wanted to make sure you had time to chat. I’ve got an old case I want you to look at. It’s simple, and before you ask, yes, I have the autopsy report. I’ll be over in five,” he said.

  The medical examiner’s office was in a typical redbrick building with no parking, located directly across the street from the police department. He froze every time he entered the place. He walked down the hallway, then made a left and a right. He tapped on Vikki’s door.

  “Get your ass in here,” she said. She was seated at her desk, a grin as bright as the sun on her face. With her short blond hair and light blue eyes, and with the sensuous set of her lips, she was a very attractive woman. She motioned for him to sit down in the chair across from her.

  “You’re a shitload of grace, you know that?” He tossed the autopsy report on her desk. “You remember this?”

  Vikki picked up the sheaf of papers and took her time flipping through them. She went back and forth between several pages before passing them back to him. “I remember this case. I hadn’t been the medical examiner very long when it happened.”

  “Tell me what you remember, and not what’s in your report.”

  She took a deep breath, clasping her hands together. “Her head injury was intense. I remember there were several lacerations on the back of her head, just as the report stated. Guys on the scene thought there was more blood than there should’ve been. Her body was found in a position that I felt was inconsistent with the fall she took. I remember the husband saying he’d moved her, tried to give her CPR, and there was blood evidence to prove it, but I’ve always suspected there was more to this. Why, you working a cold case or just nosing around?”

  “No to the cold cases. I turned the position down. I like being out in the field too much. Maybe someday, but not now. Actually, the husband is remarried, and his new wife is currently missing. He’s my dentist, do you believe that?” Bryan gave a wry laugh and shook his head.

  “He called me last night, sort of as a favor. Said he and his wife had had a fight the night before, and he hadn’t seen her since she spent the night in their daughter’s bedroom. The daughter is on a high-school graduation trip in France, which checks out, and the boys, twins from his first marriage—well, let’s just say he doesn’t want me talking to them.”

  “Were they at home when the argument took place?” Vikki asked.

  “Yes, and according to the doctor, the argument was over the boys. I think they’re around twenty-one or twenty-two now.”

  “Go on,” Vikki prompted.

  “The guy was all over the place. He even asked me if I’d be interested in investing in his dental clinics. I hate to say it, but he’s a great dentist. I’ve seen him a few times. Not much patience with the hired help, but he might be one of those doctors who has a God complex. Talked about his first wife as though she were an idol he worshipped. His story was iffy, to say the least. I had Tom Riser at the airport look at the security tapes going in and out of the airport. Just like the doc said, she drove her daughter to the airport in her Mercedes, and he says no one has seen her since.”

  “What did he tell you about the argument, the boys? I don’t get it,” Vikki said.

  “Apparently, and this is according to him, Molly—that’s the wife—accused one of the boys of using drugs. Then he went on to say she hated the two of them. He said that she was drunk, and fell and slammed her face against the bed frame. He even had the audacity to tell me he knew proper police procedure. A real wacko.

  “And he’d been drinking. When I asked again if I could talk to the sons, he got angry. Though he swore he’d talked to one of them earlier that night, when I asked to see his phone and the incoming call, again, he was a total jerk. Like I said, all over the place. So, given this”—he nodded at the sheaf of papers on her desk—“and now the other wife is nowhere to be found, I think it’s suspicious.”

  “Yes, it sounds that way. So, what can I do?”

  He took a deep breath and raked his hand across his face. “I just wanted to hear your take on his first wife’s death, that’s all. Plus I wanted to see your beautiful face,” he said, laughing.

  She rolled her eyes. “You and a dozen others. Seriously, though, I do remember the case and having misgivings at the time myself. You think it’s worth reopening, taking a second look?”

  “Maybe on the sly. I doubt the district attorney is going to open a case that was ruled an accident.”

  “What about the missing wife? What if she turns up dead? Think the DA would reopen the case then?”

  “Too little, too late, as the saying goes. I’m concerned.”

  “So did the husband file a missing person report?”

  “He tried, but I haven’t officially decided if she’s a missing person or not. You know me and my gut. It’s telling me there’s more going on with the good dentist and his wife than he told me. He was angry, and I would bet my last nickel he’s violent. Maybe he hits her, who knows? To answer your question, I haven’t formally filed the report, but I’m going to as soon as I go back to the office and make it official, so I can get a search warrant to check out that mansion he lives in on Riverbend Road.”

  Vikki whistled. “Those houses carry a pretty high price tag. Maybe I should’ve gone to dental
school instead.”

  “Nah, your patients like you too much,” he teased.

  “Actually that’s why I decided to go into the field. The dead tell stories, as we all know. Sometimes, there’s a story to tell before they die, and that’s your job, to arrest the perps.”

  Bryan noticed the change in Vikki’s tone. “Something happen to you, Vik?” he asked, using the pet name he’d given her years ago.

  “Not to me. To a kid in the neighborhood where I grew up. Four-year-old boy. He was the cutest kid ever. Silver-blond hair, and the bluest eyes.” Tears filled her eyes, and she wiped at them with the sleeve of her white jacket.

  “And?”

  “His stepmom found him dead in the living room. He’d sucked in some plastic from a dry-cleaning bag. Mom took him to the hospital, but it was too late.”

  “Okay, I get the four-year-old kid was innocent, but why did his death affect you?”

  “His sister was my best friend. Her mom had died when she was little, and her father remarried. She hated her stepmom and always swore that she’d killed Billy. That was his name.”

  “And this is why you wanted to be a medical examiner?”

  She nodded. “Twenty years later, I ruled Billy’s death a homicide. The stepmom is serving a life sentence with no parole.”

  “Whew! That is some story, but how did you become involved twenty years after the fact?”

  “The stepmom murdered my friend’s father, her husband, and a damned good investigator did his job. Twenty years later, Billy’s body was exhumed, and I was the acting medical examiner. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Son of a bitch,” was all Bryan could say.

  Chapter Twenty

  Molly drove all day and through the night, stopping only for gas, two bathroom breaks, and to let Ace take care of business. He knew what his litter pan was, but she decided he preferred doing his business outdoors.

  It was just half past six when she took the exit off I-75 to Blossom City. It seemed like only yesterday, she thought, as she headed down Carroll Road, the highway on which she had run over those bastards who had raped her. She rolled down the window, and the blast of hot, moist air took her breath away. Hotbed of hell, she thought as she cruised toward her destination. Pulling off to the side of the road, she got out of the Mustang, taking Ace along. It was too hot for him to stay in the car. There was no traffic at this hour, nothing to set any alarm bells ringing. She crossed the median and looked at the strip of road facing north. She walked about fifty yards ahead and stopped.

  This was it. The scene of the accident. She knew it was because this was where the road curved, and just beyond this point, her rapists had been drunk and standing in the middle of the road. She looked to the west and saw miles and miles of orange groves. This is where Rickey Rourke had parked his bright-yellow Camaro that night. She took in her surroundings, waiting for a reaction. A panic attack, maybe her heart racing a bit, but she felt nothing. This was simply an old road flanked by orange groves. If you inhaled, you could still smell the tomato-canning factory. Molly was surprised it was still operational, but she knew that back in the day, it had employed a third of the town. Probably still did, she thought, as she crossed the median and returned to her car. She took a bottle of water from the cooler she’d placed in the backseat and filled Ace’s water dish. He lapped thirstily, then settled back in his bed. She ran her hand along his spine and then tugged his tail. “I should’ve named you Lucky.”

  She had just pulled back onto Carroll Road when her cell phone rang with Kristen’s familiar cymbal sound. “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

  “Tu me manques.”

  “I didn’t study French,” she said, a smile on her face. “What’s it mean?”

  “It means ‘I miss you,’ and I do. Are you okay?” Kristen asked.

  “I miss you, too, sweetie, and I’m fine. I have a surprise for you when you come home.”

  “Mom! You know how I hate it when you do that. What is it? You know I’ll go nuts thinking about it.”

  “Don’t go nuts, but it’s something you’ve always wanted.”

  “Are you with Dad?”

  “No,” Molly said, hearing the anger in her voice. “Why do you ask?”

  “You sound happy, so I knew you weren’t with him; I just had to check. Okay, Mom, we are about to head out. I’ll call tomorrow. Love you,” Kristen said, then hung up.

  Molly placed the phone on the passenger seat and headed to her next destination. She knew the route by heart, and she felt a sudden sense of loss. She turned off Carroll Road and made the turn onto Orange Park Way. She slowed down as she drove past her old high school. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but school was out, so she knew there would be no students around. On a whim, she made a U-turn and pulled into the parking lot. The teachers’ parking lot. Everything looked the same. Old and tired, with secrets that she knew weren’t safe anymore.

  She got out of the car, again taking Ace as the heat was horrendous. She needed to see for herself, needed to look at the exact location where her life had changed. Without giving it a second thought, she hurried toward the football field.

  She stopped when she reached the bleachers. Taking a deep breath, and holding Ace so tight he meowed loudly, she walked around to the back of the bleachers. The ground was covered in dirt; the grass had long since dried up. Soda cans, empty cigarette packages, and other unidentifiable debris littered the shadowed area under the bleachers. She tried to find the exact location where she’d been brutally raped all those years ago, but time had softened her memory, and she’d been unconscious for some of it. She remembered waking up under the bleachers, but she had no way to pinpoint the spot. She walked the length of the old wooden bleachers twice, but she still couldn’t pick out any definite place. All she recalled was that she’d been dragged under the bleachers. The lights from the football field had shone between the bleachers; she remembered that. She looked at the lights on the field, their positions, and had no memory of it since the lights looked new and most likely had been placed a few feet, give or take, from their original spots. She saw nothing that triggered a memory. Just as the place on Carroll Road was just a local roadway, this was just a high-school football field.

  Heading back to her car, she felt disappointed, not knowing what, if anything, she had expected to find. However, she knew what she was really doing.

  Avoiding the most obvious thing.

  It would be outright insane, but she knew she had to do this. She’d traveled many miles, and now she realized there was really no purpose in her returning to her hometown. What had she expected to find? Her rapists lined up in a neat little row with handwritten apologies? Of course not, she thought, as she put Ace on his bed. She sat on the seat and remembered this was Florida, the Sunshine State. Where the sun bore into the seat of your car seats and you burned your legs if you weren’t careful.

  She hated this place. She’d never liked living here, even though, at the time, she’d had nothing to compare it to. Still, she had hated it. The heat. The bugs, the sickening smell of the canning factory. This was her past, her history, but not her future. She would never bring Kristen to this place. Never.

  Angry at herself, she left her old high school and headed for the place she’d called home. That hot tin can. It was probably scrap metal by now, she thought as she drove to the edge of town.

  The old trailer park on Seahorse Road was still there! Shocked, she drove through the entrance, counting the tin boxes. One. Two. Three. Four.

  And there was number five.

  She pulled off the dirt road and put the car in PARK. Molly got out of the car and walked to the only home she’d ever known for her first seventeen years. The goddamn place hadn’t changed one bit. The aqua siding had faded, and where once it had been white, it was now rusted and broken. The wooden porch was new. Their old porch was gray with age and rickety on the third step. She remembered how she’d hated hearing that sound when Marcus and
his buddies were running in and out. This porch had a handicapped ramp. She supposed the tenants—that’s what they called them then—were wheelchair-bound. The park was quiet, unlike it had been in her day. No teenagers roaring in and out of the lots, spinning dust in their wake. No women watching small kids run around in nothing but diapers. No clotheslines draped with the dark-green uniforms from the canning factory. There had never been a breeze.

  The place looked like the end of the world. Dead. Dried up. She had a thought, and it sickened her, but she realized now that it was the truth.

  Had I not been raped, I might still be living here in this death camp.

  She was about to get back in the car when the door to her old place swung open. Molly couldn’t help herself. She turned and stared as a man in an old wheelchair pushed himself onto the porch. He sat there for a few seconds, then reached in his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. His hands were atrophied, almost clawlike, as he arranged the cigarette between his lips. With the same deformed hands, he removed a lighter from the same pocket. He used his thumb, and she could see that it was difficult for him to light his cigarette. She thought she should offer to help him, but she hated the smell of cigarette smoke, so she remained rooted to her spot by the Mustang, with Ace fast asleep in her arms, as she watched the man take a long drag after he finally managed to light the cigarette. He blew the smoke out in circles. She remembered kids in school doing this but couldn’t recall what it was called. He took another long puff, and again, he slowly blew the smoke out from his lungs in perfect white circles.