“Shit,” Officer Hammond said.
“It’s okay, I got this,” Tuck said. “Dr. Krischer. I understand you want to speak to me.”
“You were just about to duck out, weren’t you?” Krischer said. “You can’t hide from me forever. My lawyer’s going to slap you with wrongful arrest.”
“I’m not ducking out of anything, Doc,” Tuck said mildly. “I just arrived, as a matter of fact.”
“Who’s she?” Krischer shot Gin a glare. “Departmental lawyer? ‘Cause you’re going to need one.”
“I’d watch your tone. This is Dr. Virginia Sullivan, a forensic anthropologist who consults for the Allegheny County Medical Examiner’s office. If your son is telling the truth, she may hold the key to exonerating him, so you might not want to piss her off.”
Krischer appeared visibly taken aback. “So—you found it, then. A body.”
“You know I can’t comment on that. But I can’t help noticing that you seem surprised. Which makes me wonder—maybe you didn’t believe your son’s story?”
“I—of course I do,” Krischer said. “Jonah’s a model student. He earns excellent marks. He doesn’t deserve to be impugned by this department and if you don’t remove the cloud of suspicion over his head immediately I’ll—”
“Calm down, Doc,” Tuck said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Tell you what, let’s get a cup of coffee and talk this out. You can invite your lawyer buddy along if you want. We’ll make it a party.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to—”
“It was nice meeting you,” Gin said pleasantly.
“Wait a minute,” Krischer said, snapping his fingers. “Sullivan? You’re the one—your boyfriend attacked my son and took him to your house against his will. You can tell him he’ll be hearing from us, too.”
“Dr. Sullivan is under no obligation to talk to you, or to convey any messages to Jake Crosby,” Tuck said. He seemed to be enjoying this interaction. “But since the county police is getting involved, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to complain about her to the detectives.”
He guided Dr. Krischer into the building, ignoring his protests. Officer Hammond followed with an awkward wave at Gin.
She didn’t envy Tuck the conversation he was about to have. She’d been the target of angry family members in the past; in the grip of high emotion, they sometimes lashed out at her because there was no one else onto whom they could vent their grief. She did her best not to react, to simply let their harsh words roll off.
Tuck seemed to have a gift for not engaging. He was almost preternaturally “chill,” as Olive liked to say, an excellent quality for a man in his position.
As Gin headed toward the organic market, enjoying the sunshine, she tried to put her troubling thoughts aside.
Tuck had been very keen not to discuss the gun collection effort. He either didn’t want to participate, which seemed unlikely, as such programs had virtually no downside, or there was more to the investigation into the missing weapons—and Tuck’s involvement—than he was admitting.
But either way, there was nothing more that Gin was going to learn from him, at least for now.
10
Gin picked Cherie up after school and had just arrived back at her parents’ house when she got a call from Stephen Harper letting her know that his boss, Chief Medical Examiner Harvey Chozick, had secured approval from Captain Wheeler for Gin to consult on the new case. She went out onto the screen porch so that she could speak freely, after making sure Cherie was settled with an after-school snack at the kitchen table.
“I’m happy to help out, Stephen. Has the body been brought in yet?”
“Just arrived half an hour ago. It’s being processed now. And before you ask, your buddy Bruce has already weighed in with his opinion that you’re not needed on this one.”
Gin sighed. “Always nice to know one has the support of one’s colleagues.”
“Well, I’m your colleague,” Stephen laughed, “and I very much support the idea of you being there. These decomp cases are out of my wheelhouse.”
“You’re developing a real expertise with cytogenetics,” Gin pointed out. “That article you wrote on molecular mutation analysis is getting a lot of praise. I even heard from my old boss, Reginald Osnos—he wanted to know if I’d met the author and if he might be willing to consult from time to time for Cook County.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding.” Gin smiled to hear the note of pride in Stephen’s voice. “Has the autopsy been scheduled yet?”
“I wanted to check with you on availability.” Stephen paused. “I, um, apologize in advance if this is out of line, but I understood that there are some … changes in your personal life. I wasn’t sure if your schedule was impacted.”
Gin was dismayed that the news had spread so quickly. “I appreciate your concern, Stephen, but everything’s fine. I’m staying with my folks for a bit, that’s all. Do you mind me asking—how did you find out that Jake and I are, um, taking a break?”
Stephen sounded even more embarrassed. “Katie said something. Look, I know she didn’t mean to be spreading rumors. She was just—well, I think she admires you, and she was telling me that things had gotten tense out at the scene today—what else is new—and then she said that she was glad you were with Chief Baxter, and then I think she realized that she’d implied something and was trying to back up from it. Really, she was just tripping over herself trying to make it right, so I hope you’ll forgive her.”
“Of course,” Gin said, inwardly cringing. When would she ever learn that ME offices were like small towns—there were no secrets. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you could keep it to yourself, as much as possible. I mean, I am hoping that this is a temporary thing and—well, and it’s just happened so I’m still trying to adjust. I’m just putting one foot in front of the other for now.”
More cringing—she sounded like a self-help book.
“Good to keep busy,” Stephen agreed. “And no worries—I’ll guard your privacy with my life.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Or at least with a skull chisel.”
“Thanks, Stephen,” Gin said. “I really appreciate that.”
“And for what it’s worth—I really hope you guys work it out. I think—Jane and I think—you’re really great together.”
Gin felt tears unexpectedly prick her eyes. Stephen was a kind man, a good friend—and she’d very much enjoyed meeting his wife Jane at their holiday open house. Their young children were adorable, “helping” out by serving the refreshments and making paper chains to send home with the guests.
They were the sort of family that Gin, deep in her hidden heart, longed to have someday.
“I—I need to go, Stephen,” she blurted, afraid that if she didn’t get off the phone—and think about something else—the floodgates were going to open. “Schedule the autopsy for the soonest you can fit it in and I’ll be there.”
“Of course. It’ll probably be Thursday, but I’ll text you a confirmation. Take care, okay?”
After Gin hung up she took a moment to compose herself before going back into the kitchen, where she’d left Cherie with her snack of cut-up peaches and a dish of pretzels.
But Cherie wasn’t alone. Sitting across the table from her was Richard Sullivan.
“Dad!” Gin said. “When did you get back? I didn’t hear you come in.”
“About ten minutes ago. And imagine how delighted I was to discover that we have such a charming visitor.”
“Doctor Sullivan says I’m a good eater,” Cherie beamed, picking up her plate to show Gin that she’d finished her peaches. “I’m going to be a healthy grownup!”
“That’s right,” Richard said, winking. “I told her that as a reward for good behavior, I’d let her watch golf on television with me.”
“Ick!” Cherie said, then dissolved into a gale of giggles.
“Cherie here tells me that she wants to be a professional golfer when she grows up,” Richard
continued.
“I do not! I hate golf! Golf is stupid!” Cherie yelled, as Richard pretended to be shocked, then pantomimed crying.
Gin was reminded of the way her father used to tease her and Lily in this very kitchen, so many years ago. Lily, like Cherie, loved nothing more than this game of reducing Richard to pretend tears, while it had made Gin anxious. She’d never had the gift of theater and whimsy that her father and Lily shared; she’d been more like her mother, pragmatic and practical.
But seeing Cherie enjoying their game made her suddenly miss Lily with an acuteness she hadn’t felt in months, not since the days after her sister was finally put to rest next to her grandparents’ graves.
And that somehow worsened the ache of Jake’s absence. He’d been so kind to her during those difficult days, eager to offer comfort, whether it was a meal he’d prepared, a drive in the country, or simply holding her at night.
It was unthinkable that she might never have that again.
“Dad,” she said, more sharply than she’d meant to. Her emotions were being stretched to breaking today. “I wonder if you could hang out with Cherie just a little bit longer while I make one more call for work? And then when I’m done, we’ll start dinner.”
“Great,” her father said with an exaggerated grin, rubbing his hands together in pretend glee. “We’ll work on our form so that Cherie can be a golf champion.”
“No! Let’s play Barbies!”
Gin went back out on the screen porch and forced herself to focus on the case. She checked her phone and saw that a text had arrived from Stephen:
Autopsy Thursday 9:00am. Hang in there
She texted back assuring him that she’d be present, and then called Katie Kennedy, who answered on the first ring.
“Gin! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, you have every right to be furious with me—”
“It’s fine, Katie,” Gin reassured her. “Truly. I just hope I didn’t let my personal issues interfere with the investigation today. I should have kept that to myself.”
“Oh, no, not at all. I really meant it when I said I was glad to have you there. I’ve been trying to take on a little extra to give Paula some relief. She’s really had a tough time with this one.”
“Pregnancy isn’t for the faint of heart,” Gin agreed. “Too bad certain men can’t seem to understand that.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Sometimes I wonder if Bruce thinks he arrived on earth by divine intervention or something. Can you even imagine him as a toddler? I bet he was a handful!”
Gin smiled. “Pity his poor mother. Listen, I was just calling to see if you turned up anything interesting after I left. The autopsy’s going to be on Thursday, and I’ll be consulting.”
“Yeah, I heard. I’ll try to be there, but just in case I can’t, I’ll be sure to send you my notes. We’ve got soil samples out for analysis, and obviously that won’t be back yet. We did find a few fibers and I can probably get you some information on that before Thursday. I don’t expect much from them, though—looks like we’ve got some cotton and wool blends, all contemporary. I also bagged some fly larvae and casings. That’s about it for now.”
“Okay, if I don’t see you on Thursday, let’s get together for coffee soon, all right?”
“I’d love that,” the girl said shyly. “And thanks for, you know, being so cool about this morning.”
Gin took a deep breath and tried to clear her head before going back into the house. She found her sixty-year-old father sitting cross-legged on the floor, a blond-haired doll in his hand. Cherie was holding a brunette doll, moving her arms while she “talked” to the other doll.
“Dr. Barbie is a doctor just like Dr. Sullivan,” she said gravely. “Vice-President Barbie has a broken arm, and Dr. Barbie is going to make it all better.”
“Luckily, she has these excellent bandages to work with.” Richard held up a small band-aid imprinted with a popular cartoon character.
“Where on earth did you get that, Dad?” Gin laughed.
“Cherie’s dad packed them in her backpack,” Richard said, “along with about half a dozen pairs of tiny plastic shoes and a whole Tupperware full of Barbie outfits. Got to say, that man has a whole side to him that I’d never have guessed.”
“My dad’s very brave,” Cherie said stoutly. “But he’s also a super good dad.”
“That,” Gin said, feeling something in her heart give way, “may be the understatement of the year. Now, I guess I’ll have to go make the cookie dough all by myself since the two of you are having an office visit.”
“Vice President Barbie’s all better!” Cherie said, jumping up and dropping her doll on the floor. “I want to help!”
“Sounds like a plan, but let’s help clean up first.” She gave her father a smile. “Even doctors have to clean up after themselves, you know.”
* * *
After a simple meal of roast chicken, rice pilaf, and salad, Gin let Cherie take her cookie into the family room to watch an episode of her favorite program. The excitement of the visit had tired her, and Gin suspected that she would fall asleep in front of the television.
“I wonder what’s keeping Tuck,” Madeleine fretted.
“He texted half an hour ago saying he’d be here soon,” Gin said. “I bet he just got stuck finishing up paperwork.”
There was a knock at the door. “See? There he is.” Gin opened the door and her smile faltered: it wasn’t Tuck, but Jake Crosby standing on the front porch.
“Hi, Gin,” he said uncomfortably. “I was wondering … could we talk? Just for a minute.”
Gin looked behind her. “I—yes, of course,” she said. “But I don’t have much time. Cherie Baxter’s here, and her dad’s going to be here any minute to pick her up.”
“That makes this even more important. Look, I only need a few minutes.” He touched her arm. “I know I owe you an apology. More than an apology. I … you were right. I’m not taking my mother’s death well. It turns out that, well, I underestimated how much it would affect me to know that I’ll never…”
His voice went hoarse, and he cleared his throat. Gin battled an urge to put her arms around him and offer him comfort. “All right. Let’s take a walk. I’m sorry I only have a few minutes now, but we can meet to talk again.”
They set off down the street. Hyacinth Lane dated back to the heyday of the steel industry, its five large mansions built for the managers of Trumbull’s steel and coke plants. The Sullivans’ house was the grandest of all, designed by Gin’s grandfather, who had presided over one of the largest operations on the Monongahela River.
No streetlights had ever been erected on the street, the better to enjoy the glittering lights of the town below. Gin and Jake had walked along the ridge a hundred times before, holding hands, under a million stars and a gentle moon.
Tonight, however, they did not hold hands. Jake’s posture was rigid and he walked like the damned, headed for an execution.
“So you were saying—”
“I wanted to let you know—”
They spoke unison and then each awkwardly paused. “No, go ahead,” Gin said.
“It’s just that … I, well, I’ve contacted a psychotherapist. I’m going to give counseling a try.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Probably something I should have done a long time ago.”
“Jake … I think that’s a really good idea.” I’m proud of you, Gin wanted to add, but she feared that it would sound patronizing to his ears.
“Thank you. But that’s not all. I’ve decided to stay up in Tionesta full-time for a while. At least until this job’s done. Things are a little chaotic there right now anyway—the engineering report required us to go back to square one on the drainage plan for the north side of the site. And if I don’t pull something out of a hat, we’re going to miss the completion deadline, and Asher’s offered a huge bonus if we hit that target.”
Gin stopped walking, trying to absorb Jake’s words. They had reached the end of the guardrail t
hat divided the end of the street from the sheer drop-off to the spectacular view. She stared out at the town, the river snaking along its edge, a band of black in the night. Far in the distance she could see the clusters of lights that were the towns of Clairton and Lincoln.
“You’re moving away,” she said woodenly.
“Not forever. Probably. I’m going to have one of my guys move into my house here and keep an eye on it. Asher’s agreed to let me use his corporate apartment up there for now. Look, Gin … I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. But I ran this by my therapist at my first session and he said it didn’t sound like a bad idea. Given … the past, and the way I’ve dealt with it.”
“But what about Jonah Krischer? And—the rest of it?” She’d been about to say what about your mother’s remains?—but she realized that Jake was handling her death, and everything associated with it, the best way he knew how.
“I talked to Baxter on the way down here, actually. I’m sorry I didn’t say that before. I called to see if there was anything new in the investigation into Marnie’s death, and he told me he’d give me time to talk to you before he came to get Cherie.” He stared down at the ground. “I’m going back up there tonight. I only came back to tell you.”
Somehow, that was the worst thing of all—that Jake would drive so many hours just to give her this message. It made it seem more real.
It made it seem final.
“Baxter told me that they cut a deal with Krischer. He told me about the body.” Jake jammed his hands in his pockets and finally turned toward her. He looked exhausted in the moonlight. “Whatever they decide to do with the kid, it doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’m just the guy who accidentally set it in motion.”
“What if you have to come back to testify?” Gin asked. She felt like she was grasping at straws—searching for something, anything, that would be a reason for him not to go, to realize that he belonged here. She was terrified that this was the end of their relationship—a loss she wasn’t prepared for, one that threatened to tear her heart in two.
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