TIL DEATH

by Annette Dashofy

“That,” Pete said, “came from the grocery store where Landis shopped. The lab lifted a print from it. Dustin Landis’ print. He claimed the real killer took it from his garbage to frame him.”

  Graley replaced it into evidence. “Possible. Not likely, but possible.”

  Pete checked his watch. As much as he wanted to hear what Special Agent Graley had to say about the serial killer, he needed to be with Zoe.

  “What other evidence do you have?” the agent asked.

  “The only fingerprints lifted from the car belonged to Elizabeth and Dustin. Nothing suggested another suspect. The bullet that killed Elizabeth came from this gun.”

  “I understand you have a witness who saw a tall, athletic male dressed in black running from the scene.”

  “Cheryl Vranjes. She still lives in the area if you want to interview her.”

  “I do. But not today.”

  Pete folded his arms. “You’ve seen our evidence. Your turn. One of the details I’ve not seen addressed is how your serial killer gets into the victims’ cars. In the Landis case, there was no sign of forced entry.”

  Graley mirrored Pete’s pose. “That’s something we haven’t released to the public. We don’t know how he gets in. There are tools available to open locked cars. Tow truck drivers have them, and they’re available at most auto parts stores.”

  “Doesn’t help me much. In Elizabeth Landis’ homicide, we believed the husband used his own keys to get in.”

  Graley shrugged.

  “Tell me something. How is it I never heard about this serial killer before?”

  “The FBI sent out a bulletin to law enforcement.”

  “When?”

  “Four years ago.”

  By which time, Dustin Landis had already been tried and convicted and was serving his sentence. Pete likely read the bulletin and failed to make the connection. After all, he had his killer behind bars. A jury of Landis’ peers agreed.

  What if they’d known? Would the DLK have provided reasonable doubt?

  Would he provide it now in a new trial?

  Had DLK killed Elizabeth?

  “Ethan told me you’ve been working this case along with him,” Pete said. “What’s your take?”

  Graley looked at the box and bags on the table before bringing her gaze back to him. “I don’t believe you have a DLK homicide here.”

  Relief lightened the load Pete had been carrying on his shoulders. But one FBI agent’s conclusion wasn’t enough. “Why not?”

  “For the same two reasons I’m sure you already discussed with Ethan. First, our guy targets women in otherwise vacant parking lots. The privacy of the location is as important to him as the type of victim. The only reason we have any idea what he looks like is because he made one mistake and missed a newly installed security camera. Second, he doesn’t toss his murder weapon after one use. I want to compare the ballistics from this weapon to the bullets we already have, but I’d be shocked if we find a match.”

  Pete rolled the news around in his head. “You said you haven’t found any of his murder weapons.”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “So you can’t definitively say he’s never tossed one in a dumpster.”

  She scowled at Pete. “You think we haven’t looked? We have. If he has thrown a gun in a dumpster, I can promise you, he didn’t do it in the same town in which one of his bodies has been found.” She pushed away from the table and reached for her coat.

  Pete mulled over her words. Graley had essentially supported his arrest and the subsequent conviction of Elizabeth’s “real” killer. At least to an extent. He should be satisfied.

  So why wasn’t he?

  That evening in her barn, Zoe lost track of time. She’d grained all five horses—her gelding, three boarders, and one chronically lame mare who belonged to a wheelchair-bound little girl—given them hay, topped off their water buckets, and was down to what she called “puttering.” Raking through their thick winter coats with the teeth of a metal curry comb, cleaning the mud and gunk from their hoofs, picking the occasional burr from their manes and tails. Enveloped in the horsey smells, she managed to block out the day. Returning to the farmhouse, where Pete was unpacking the boxes they’d hauled there after work, would mean a return to real life. And real life sucked.

  Her meeting with the Brunswick Hospital’s top administrator had been grueling. As predicted, he wanted to keep any autopsy in-house—and he didn’t mean the county morgue located in the building’s basement. He also wanted to honor the widow’s request that Franklin not be “violated” in such a manner. Zoe pointed out Loretta and Franklin had been divorced for years, making the validity of her claims questionable. She saved her strongest card for last, stressing the good relationship Franklin had always maintained with the hospital.

  “I know his death was natural, but let’s face it,” she told the oversized man in the overpriced suit. “Franklin was a well-loved public figure. He appeared to be improving and then wasn’t. I don’t doubt that everything humanly possible was done, but by keeping the investigation ‘in-house,’ as you put it, questions could arise. For the sake of the hospital, don’t you want to avoid even the appearance of impropriety?”

  After much thought, he’d agreed, making it sound like having the coroner’s office take over had been all his idea.

  The hinges on the barn door creaked. A cold gust of wind sent dust and stray bits of hay scurrying down the aisle and brought Zoe back to the present. Pete slipped in, closing the door behind him. “You about done out here?”

  She’d been “done” for at least a half hour. “Almost.” She fingered a tangled knot in Windstar’s mane.

  Pete appeared outside the stall and leaned against one of the support posts he’d put in shortly after Kimberly had gifted Zoe with the abandoned farm. “How long will you be?”

  Zoe didn’t answer.

  “Should I go ahead and order the pizza? They usually have it ready for pickup in twenty minutes.”

  She gave up on the knot. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I know.”

  The blissful illusion of isolation crumbled.

  Franklin was dead.

  Doc would do the autopsy in the morning. The last autopsy Franklin would be present for. Ever. But this time he wouldn’t be cracking jokes, making distasteful comments, all the things people surrounded by death on a daily basis did to keep from getting too drawn in. From risking the crushing sadness of a personal attachment.

  Pete was suddenly inside the stall with her, enveloping her in his arms. The tears had started flowing unbidden, without her being aware of them. Safe in his embrace, she wept, body-racking sobs that rose from the base of her soul.

  Franklin was dead.

  She had no idea how long she cried. Pete half carried her from the stall, lowered her onto a bale of hay in the aisle, and sat beside her, continuing to hold her.

  Memories steamrolled over her. Franklin’s offer to make her a deputy coroner. His insistence that she attend autopsies when all she wanted was to be like the crime scene investigators on TV. How he’d helped her investigate when “helping” meant turning a blind eye to her actions lest they both get in trouble. The joy he and Doc took in pushing her to do more than her stomach could tolerate. The pride she saw in his eyes when she overcame her aversion to the smells of the morgue.

  He’d grown from a boss and good-natured tormentor to a mentor and a friend. And now…

  Franklin was dead.

  The sobs diminished to silent weeping and finally to slow, ragged breaths as she fought to regain her composure.

  “So…” Pete said, dragging out the word. “Tell me what’s going on with Abby and Seth.”

  Zoe sniffed and drew back from Pete’s shoulder. “You suck at trying to get my mind off the situation.”

  He gave her his lopsid
ed grin. “I’m working on it.” The grin faded. “Seriously. What’s going on with my officers?”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it. And finally said, “Seth’s cheating on Abby.”

  “What?”

  “I’m probably overstating the situation. Abby told me Seth needed more space. Nancy’s the one who told me Abby’d caught him cozying up with another woman.”

  “Nancy,” Pete muttered. “She didn’t tell me any of this.”

  “She’s mad as hell at him, but she’s also a mother hen at heart. She didn’t want you kicking Seth’s ass.”

  “His ass needs a good kicking.”

  “Beating the crap out of Seth isn’t gonna help Abby.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Zoe let her head drop against the stall wall behind her and thought. “Talk to him. Man to man. I thought he and Abby had a good thing going. The real thing.” She glanced at Pete. “You know. Like us.” She shifted her gaze to the lame mare in the stall across from them. Lame but happy in her retirement, munching her hay. “They’re both young. Maybe Seth isn’t ready for a long-term relationship. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s better for Abby to find out now rather than after she’s paid for a wedding dress.”

  Pete grunted. “This is why couples shouldn’t work together.”

  Zoe turned her head toward him. “We work together.”

  “It’s not the same, and you know it.”

  He was right. They didn’t spend entire shifts together and then try to eke out a romantic relationship on their off time. “They might be spending too much time together,” she said. “Maybe separate shifts will help their personal situation.”

  “Either way, I have to split them up. Even if they make amends, I won’t have them working the same shift again.”

  “And you’ll talk to Seth?”

  “I’ll catch him tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Zoe echoed, immediately transported back to the grim reality of what was on her plate. She looked into Pete’s icy blues. “I’ll trade you.”

  He pulled her closer again. “Not a chance.” After a long silence, he added, “Franklin needs you to be there. He trusted you above anyone else to take over his office.” Another pause. “He trusts you to make sure his death is handled professionally and with dignity.” Trusts. Present tense. “And if anything was mishandled in his treatment at the hospital, he trusts you to find the truth.”

  Another hard dose of reality. She’d lied to the oversized man in the oversized suit about believing the hospital bore no responsibility for Franklin’s death. His second heart attack raised a flock of red flags in her mind. Especially since it happened when he was supposed to be receiving top-notch medical care.

  Pete arrived at the station well before dawn. As expected, he found Seth in the bullpen, writing up his reports.

  “Sorry I stole your partner from your shift last night.” Pete wanted to see Seth’s reaction.

  There wasn’t one. “No problem. I worked graveyard alone for a long time before she came to work here.”

  Pete dragged a chair from Kevin Piacenza’s desk and straddled it, resting his arms on its back. Seth’s use of the pronoun “she” rather than saying Abby’s name spoke volumes. “What’s going on with you two?”

  Seth kept his focus on his computer. “Nothing.”

  Pete hated this. He was a cop. The chief of police. He was not a couples’ therapist. “Look. The last thing I want to do is get involved in my officers’ personal lives. Except when it interferes with their duties.”

  Seth turned away from his computer and faced Pete, his jaw clenched. “Do you have a problem with my work?”

  “No. Nor do I have a problem with Abby’s. Yet. I don’t want it to get to that point.”

  “You’ve never worked with someone you didn’t get along with?”

  “I’ve been in law enforcement a long time. Of course, I’ve worked with a few jackasses.”

  Seth remained stone-faced. “There you have it.”

  “I also never slept with my partner.”

  “My mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  “Dammit, Seth. Right now, you’re being the jackass.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Seth’s use of “sir” was every bit as telling as his refusal to say Abby’s name. “Off the record. What’s going on?”

  The stone face softened. Seth arched back in his chair, stretching his spine, before swiveling to face Pete. “Abby’s cute. And smart. And a damned good cop.”

  “But?”

  “But I’m only twenty-eight. I’m not ready to get married.”

  “Is that what she wants?”

  Seth squirmed. “I don’t know. Maybe. You and Zoe and all your wedding plans…Women get swept up in that romantic shit.”

  Pete wiped a hand across his mouth to keep from chuckling. “I understand it’s more than that. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been seeing someone else.”

  Seth’s face reddened. “Abby talked to you about this?”

  “No. Not me.”

  “Zoe.”

  “So it’s true?”

  Seth looked away, his jaw working as if he was chewing on glass.

  Pete held up both hands in surrender. “It’s none of my business. Except, as I said, where it impacts your work.” He lowered his arms to the chair back again. “I’m going to move Abby to daylight. Having a second officer on the streets eight to four will free me up to get more of my administrative duties done. I shouldn’t have too much trouble getting it past the board of supervisors.”

  “Good.”

  Pete gave a nod and pushed up from the chair. “Good.” He rolled the seat back to Kevin’s cubicle.

  “Chief?”

  He turned to Seth.

  “I’m not seeing anyone else.”

  “None of my business.”

  “I know. But…well…you’ve been more than a boss to me over the years, and I want you to know. I’m not that kind of guy. Yes, Abby caught me hanging out with another woman. Yes, I’d like to date this other woman. But I haven’t. I’m not…” He searched for the word and settled on the one Pete had used. “I’m not a jackass. I’m just not ready for a committed relationship. Not yet.”

  Pete thought about it. “Fair enough.” He started toward the door but stopped to look at his young officer. “If you really mean the ‘not yet’ part and think Abby could be the one at some point, there’s something you should keep in mind. By the time you decide you’re done playing the field, she might very well have found someone else.”

  Thirteen

  Zoe and Doc sat in silence in the small office at the edge of the autopsy suite. The procedure hadn’t revealed anything unexpected except that Franklin had been much sicker than anyone had realized. His kidneys were a mess. His arteries showed evidence of the plaque buildup associated with early-stage vascular disease. Cause of death was definitely acute myocardial infarction. Heart attack. Doc didn’t feel the state of Franklin’s arteries was enough to have triggered it, but as a complication of diabetes? Definitely.

  Doc, seated on one of the wheeled stools in the office, broke the silence. “What are you going to list as manner of death?”

  Zoe leaned a hip on the edge of the desk, unable to bring herself to sit in the battered vinyl-covered chair Franklin always used. She stared down at the autopsy notes and repeated Doc’s question in her mind.

  When she didn’t answer, he said, “Cause of death was the heart attack brought on as a complication of diabetes.”

  “I know.”

  “Natural?” His tone held a challenge.

  “Probably,” she replied. “But no. Undetermined pending toxicology.”

  Doc nodded in approval. “That’s what he’d have said too.”

  The tears
she’d been holding back while watching Franklin being cut open, while participating in his dissection, suddenly threatened to drown her. She choked out a sob. Swallowed hard to stem the flood. And slid down to sit on the floor, hugging her knees.

  Doc didn’t move, didn’t speak for several minutes, giving her the time and space to battle her grief. Zoe remembered Doc’s prophetic words after Franklin survived his first heart attack. “I hate when I have to autopsy a friend.” She didn’t ever want to have to do this again. And yet, if she kept the job, it was inevitable.

  If. This was the first time since she’d accepted Franklin’s job offer that she’d seriously contemplated her future in the coroner’s office. She missed being a paramedic but accepted she’d moved on. Now? She wasn’t so sure.

  Doc checked his watch. “Eleven o’clock. Aw, hell. It’s five o’clock somewhere. How about I buy you a drink. I think we could both use one.”

  Zoe inhaled deeply, allowing the oxygen to clear her brain fog. “I appreciate the offer. But as appealing as getting drunk out of my skull is right now, I have work to do.” She pushed up from the floor and dusted off the seat of her pants. “I’m going to personally deliver the blood and tissue samples to the lab and see what I can do to light a fire under them.”

  Doc stood, his knees popping, and rested a hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “Good luck with that. In my experience, they handle cases in their own sweet time.”

  It’s not what you know. It’s who you know.

  Zoe grew up on those pearls of wisdom. Where the county crime lab was concerned, the words held true. She entered with her evidence in hand, hoping to see one particular face at the counter. And she was in luck.

  “Hi, Gloria,” she said.

  The gray-haired woman looked up from her computer terminal and smiled. “Zoe. It’s good to see you.”

  “Not as good as it is to see you. I need a favor.”

  Gloria made a show of rolling her eyes. “The only time I see old friends from the EMS is when they need something.”

  “I’m with the coroner’s office now.”

  “I know. Sorry to hear about your boss.”