It was time to go. Time to join the others and take the plunge into Suicide Lake.
I LOOKED OUT across the water and over to the tree line. Gray, leafless and dead; a perfect summation of what my life had become. My final day in this wretched world and my last view was of dead trees, a used up comforter, and a plastic pill bottle.
Why would I have expected more?
Uncapping the lid, I shook out my salvation, counting them as I went. Twenty pills seemed enough to do the trick. I grabbed my water bottle in my lap to chase the first three down, putting the remainder back in the bottle. I wanted my body to become as tranquil as the water in front of me, ready for the constant ache in my back and heart, to cease.
The sun was almost gone. Three pills downed, I stopped. Before swallowing any more, I took in one last look of the beautiful lake. I understood, fully and completely, why others came to this spot to end their lives. The tranquility was a welcome reprieve from the chaotic world. A final memory burned into the brain of peace and beauty.
I glanced back down when something hard bumped against my foot. The last glint of the sun’s rays danced off the top of the water. Squinting, I noticed the dark, red glow was back.
Instead of basking in the lovely color on the gentle ripples, I screamed.
The red sheen wasn’t from the sun.
It was from blood, and it coated my feet, which rested right next to a stiff hand poking up from the depths below.
I jumped to my feet, scrambling to get away from the corpse. The comforter, water bottle, and pill bottle went flying. Instead of going after them, I let them disappear under the water.
Heart pounding and body shaking, I backed away from the edge of the boardwalk. My first instinct was to grab my cell and call for help. I felt around in my pocket, only to remember I didn’t bring it with me because it had been turned off three days earlier for nonpayment.
“Damnit!”
“Ma’am? Are you okay?”
Spinning around, I came face-to-face with a man. It took me several seconds to realize he was a cop.
And I knew him.
“Clifton! You scared the shit out of me! What are you…oh, never mind. I’m just glad you’re here. I, uh, didn’t bring my phone, so I was going to head to town and call for help.”
Clifton Simpson walked toward me. In the dimming light, dressed in his uniform with the vest underneath giving him extra padding, he seemed bigger than I remembered.
“Renee? Renee Runsford?”
“Thornton. I changed back after my divorce.”
Clifton moved closer, all of his six-foot plus frame only inches away. He smelled like stale coffee, sweat, and cheap cologne. I hadn’t seen him in years but recognized the thick head of jet black hair—now interspersed with flecks of white—and his deep, rhythmic voice. How I didn’t hear him walking down the boardwalk earlier escaped me. Guess I was too wrapped up inside thoughts of my horrible life.
“Oh, that’s right. Forgot. Sorry. So, we got a call from a concerned citizen. Said they saw a woman sitting out here on the edge of the dock, alone. Asked for a unit to stop by and check it out, so here I am. What are you doing out here, Renee? You been drinking? You look unsteady.”
“My mother was the drinker in my family, not me, so no. I look unsteady because I just touched a dead body.”
“Excuse me?” Clifton replied. His forehead knitted together in disbelief and confusion. “A body?”
Stepping away, I moved to the edge of the dock and pointed. “Yeah, a body. Didn’t you hear me scream?”
Clifton pulled out a flashlight and walked past me, peering over the edge. “I did, but thought…oh, shit. Doesn’t really matter at this point what I thought.”
Backing away, Clifton put his arm on my chest, forcing me to step back. He grabbed the microphone on his shoulder and radioed for assistance.
The warm breeze from earlier was gone, along with the annoying mosquitoes. Darkness settled like a death shroud over the lake. A chill of fear made me shiver. Clifton noticed and led me to his unit. He pulled out a jacket and handed it to me.
“You should’ve worn something warmer,” he said.
“Wasn’t planning on staying out here long,” I grumbled. My mood was deteriorating as the Xanax flowed through my veins. Sirens wailed in the distance. “May I go now? Sounds like your buddies are close.”
“Sorry, Renee, but you’ll need to stay here until one of the detectives speak with you.”
Aghast, worried they’d notice I was barred out, I opened my mouth to protest. I shut it just as fast when I remembered the pills—and the bottle with Eleanor’s name—had fallen into the lake.
The radio on Clifton’s shoulder crackled to life, saving me from having to respond. The sirens were closer, and I could see headlights bouncing through the winding road leading to the lake.
So much for a quiet, peaceful evening to end my life. There certainly would be noise and activity now.
Damn.
Of course, someone else’s tragedy trumped my own.
Figures.
THE BIG, MOUNTAIN of a man leaned against the hood of Clifton’s unit. His eyes were dark brown and full of accusations swimming around in the murkiness. He was busy staring at the others processing the scene, Eleanor's pill bottle in his hand. At only five-foot-three, I felt like a dwarf standing next to him. Detective Richard Greenwood had to be at least six-two. Since he’d acted like one from the moment he pounced on me, I mentally nicknamed him Detective Dick.
“Tell me again why you came out here?” he asked.
He was chewing on a straw like it was his lover’s ear. The disgusting sounds and wiggles from the piece of plastic reminded me of the times my mother tried to quit smoking. Perhaps he was, too, and maybe lack of nicotine soured his normally peppy demeanor.
I withheld a chuckle at the thought. There was no way, not even when a baby, Detective Dick had been peppy. Or happy. He wore edginess and anger like accessories to compliment the worn-out dress shirt, khaki pants, and days’ worth of stubble. He could step onto the set of any cop show and fit right in.
The noise level around the boardwalk was ridiculous. It looked like the entire group of emergency personnel of Whitten County came out to investigate. Blue lights from patrol cars filled the dark area, competing for attention from the flashing red ones off the ambulance. Shaking my head, I wondered why an ambulance had been dispatched. The body was dead, so why not just send the meat wagon from the coroner’s office?
“Mrs. Runsford, did you hear me?”
“Uh, as I mentioned twice, my name’s Ms. Thornton. Yes, I heard you. I’m cold and tired of yelling over all this noise. Oh, and freaked out. I’ve already gone over this twice. Can’t I just go home? I told you what little I know.”
“Deputy Simpson must have given me the wrong name. Sorry about that,” he replied, scribbling notes on a pad. “Would you prefer to go over your statement again at the station?”
I didn’t like the tone in his voice—or the bald-faced lie. He’d worked the homicide investigation when my ex killed his wife. We’d only met in person once after he came by to question me about my experiences with my batterer. He was ugly and rude back then, too. When I wouldn’t offer up anything to help him, he’d flown into a rage. The way I figured it, no one helped me when I filed reports of abuse. My words didn’t mean anything back then, so why would they hold more weight because the bastard finally did to someone else what he tried to do to me for years?
The accusatory eyes glared at me, and a hint of irritation seeped into Detective Dick’s voice. Anger bubbled inside my chest, which was sort of nice. It helped warm me up. “No. I’d prefer to go home and take a hot shower, and wash the blood off my feet. It’s just plain unsanitary.”
“Looks like the water washed it away.”
I glanced down, surprised to see Detective Dick was right. There was not even one dribble or speck of red on my feet. Did I imagine that part? Maybe, but I certainly didn't imagin
e the body. God, this night just keeps getting better and better.
“Sticking your feet in the water was the unsanitary part. You do realize this lake is contaminated, correct?”
I nodded.
Shifting positions, he smiled at me. The weird way his thin lips curved over yellow teeth was worse than the accusing glare from before.
“So why did you come out here? Besides getting wasted. Or worse. How many pills were in the bottle, and how many did you ingest?”
“Look, Detective Di…Greenwood. I don’t appreciate your attitude. I’m just the person who found a dead body. I informed law enforcement, so my job as an upstanding citizen of Whitten County is done. Why I was out here and what I was doing is none of your business. Shouldn’t you be figuring out the identity of the dead then notifying relatives?”
My little tirade seemed to strike a nerve. The detective’s jaw clenched, snapping the straw in half.
“You might want to change your tone, Ms. Thornton. I haven’t charged you with possession yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Last time: what were you doing out here?”
I let out a sigh, unwilling to continue the conversation at the station. “Look, the last few months have been really rough on me. I lost my job, had to move in with my ex-mother-in-law, which I promise you hasn’t been easy, and I don’t have insurance. All the stress makes me have panic attacks. I came out here to relax and enjoy the scenery, that’s all.”
“And you decided to take an entire bottle of Xanax—prescribed to someone else—with you?”
I bit my lip while contemplating the best response. The body was being raised from the water. Even from the distance, I could tell it was a female. My stomach lurched, so I turned away. “There weren’t many left inside. I thought, you know, I’d be in more trouble if I just pocketed a few and got caught with them on me. Having the bottle with a real prescription seemed like a good idea when I left the house.”
“Well, it wasn’t. It’s against the law to take medication not prescribed to you. Especially a schedule four narcotic. How many did you take?”
“Not enough to wipe away the memory of seeing a dead body.”
Detective Dick closed his notepad and stuck it inside his pocket. I could tell he was angry.
“Well, here are your choices, Ms. Thornton. We continue this conversation at the station after I take you by the hospital for a drug test, or you let one of the deputies take you home and sleep it off, then come to see me tomorrow for any follow-up questions I might have. Which one will it be?”
I should have kept my mouth shut. Should have let Detective Dick’s words bounce off my skin.
Of course, I didn’t. The Xanax gave me medicinal courage.
“Neither. You can’t force me to take a drug test! You have no reason to, and I won’t let some stranger poke me with a needle! Yeah, I took three pills to ease my frazzled mind. So what? Trying living in my shoes for a bit and see how you would handle it! I guarantee you, Detective, you wouldn’t last an hour before grabbing something to numb the pain. I’ll drive myself home, and since I gave you my address earlier, you know where to find me if you have any more fucking questions to ask.”
Detective Dick yanked a set of cuffs from his belt. Before I could move, he grabbed my arm and spun me around.
“Renee Thornton, you’re under arrest for—”
“Detective? A word please?”
Clifton Simpson’s voice boomed from behind me. I’d never been so grateful to hear anyone speak before.
“Not now, Deputy Simpson.”
“Now, sir.”
Detective Dick finished clicking the cuffs on me. From the rough pressure of his hands, my words had pissed him off. Though flying high, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
“I said not now. Take her to the station and book her on felony possession of narcotics.”
My mouth dropped open.
Clifton stepped forward and whispered into the detective’s ear, just loud enough for me to hear. “It’s Martha Cayhill.”
Detective Greenwood groaned. “How do you know for sure?”
“This,” Clifton responded, holding up a soaked wallet.
“Well Christ in a bucket,” Detective Greenwood muttered. “Christ in a bucket. Has anyone mentioned that little tidbit over the airwaves?”
Clifton shrugged then glanced at me. “I don’t know, sir. If someone did leak it, hordes of hungry reporters will fill up the place. You’ll be swarmed by lights and microphones.”
Detective Greenwood raked his beefy hand across his face. “Get her outta here.”
Clifton waited until the rattled detective stormed off before freeing me from the cuffs.
“Come on, I’ll follow you home. You’re staying with Eleanor, right?”
Rubbing my wrists, I grimaced. Small town life—God, how I hated it. Everyone knew everyone’s business. “You aren’t going to haul me in? Won’t Detective Dick be pissed at you?”
Clifton smiled, a hint of mischief gleaming on his face. “Detective Dick? That’s funny. I forgot you always had a dark sense of humor. I’m sure that isn’t the first time someone’s referred to him by that name. No matter. I’m following orders. He said to get you outta here, which is what I’m doing.”
“Uh, yeah, he put me under arrest, remember?”
“I didn’t hear him finish reading you your Miranda Rights. Did you?”
Cliff had a point. I replied with a weary smile.
“Just…don’t have an accident on the way home. It’d be my ass for sure. You good to drive?”
“I’m fine, Cliff. Really. Thanks for taking it easy on me. First good thing that’s happened to me in a long time. Here,” I said, handing him back the coat, “appreciate you letting me use it.”
Ushering me toward my car, Cliff shook his head. “Keep it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, when I come by to ask you some more questions. After a good night’s sleep, you might remember something. Wouldn’t you rather I stop by? You don’t seem too fond of Greenwood.”
Pausing at the door, I chuckled. “I believe the feeling is mutual. We, um, exchanged harsh words when he interrogated me before, you know, when the second Mrs. Runsford died?”
Cliff looked back toward the boardwalk. “Greenwood’s not known for being a soft touch.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered. Afraid Cliff might use the opportunity to delve further into my volatile, previous relationship, I switched topics. “So, was that really Martha Cayhill, the mayor’s wife?”
Cliff’s playfulness disappeared. A sad look crossed his face. “The ID said it was. She’s wearing the same outfit and ring from the missing person’s poster, too. I checked.”
“How long’s it been since she disappeared? I can’t remember. A year?”
“Sixteen months. Glad I’m not the one who’s gotta tell the Mayor, or answer questions from the press. It’s gonna be a nightmare. The only good thing coming out of this is you’ll probably get the reward money.”
“Come again?”
“The Mayor offered ten thousand dollars, and the city matched it, remember? That’s twenty grand for information leading to her whereabouts. In my book, that makes you the recipient. Of course, it’s not my call, but if it was, I’d certainly make sure you received it.”
Stunned, I really didn’t know what to say. Though the money would be a blessing out of the blue, it didn’t seem right to claim it. After all, it wasn’t like I’d been out actively searching for the woman. Besides, just because my plans to off myself were blown for the night, there would be other opportunities later to finish what I’d started. The dead didn’t need money on the other side. Lights to the right caught my attention and pulled focus back to the present. “Looks like the party’s about to start.”
Cliff followed my gaze and grimaced. “Damn, someone did notify the vultures. Come on, let’s get out of here before we’re on the nightly news.”
; Without a word, I slunk behind the wheel of the beat-up Chevy. After the third try, it cranked to life. Cliff’s unit pulled up behind me, and we edged our way through the throng of oncoming reporters.
While driving through the dark, twisty road leading to the main highway, I felt sick to my stomach. The Xanax wasn’t the only reason, or the fact I’d touched a dead body. The rumbling was from the morbid connection I had with Bradford Lake. If what my mother said to me so many years ago was true—and I had no reason to doubt her after spending years trying to track down my father with no luck—the tranquil waters were his final resting place.
And Cyndi’s.
Would have been mine, too, had I not discovered a body that may or may not be the Mayor of Ridgeport’s missing wife.
Pulling out onto the main highway, I mentally kicked myself for picking the dirty lake to take my life. Now, instead of being able to slip away into obscurity, I was part of an investigation into the death of another person.
Life sucks, and then you die.
Or, maybe not.
At least not yet.
SITTING IN THE orange plastic chair normally would have made my back pound in agony but at this particular moment, my whole body was numb from shock. Funny thing, the news the doctor just brought me wasn’t an immediate death sentence. No cancer or tumor floating around inside me causing the tremendous pain in my back.
Dr. Crusher had smiled while delivering the news. “Buck up, Renee. You aren’t terminally ill!”
Goody.
Dr. Crusher had a strange sense of humor. Then again, a man with such a last name who decided to become a doctor, needed one. He should have gone in to Orthopedics rather than general practice. That would have been hysterical. Dr. Crusher—bone surgeon. Clients would have flocked to his practice. Bet the man was hilarious at parties. Probably made his wife laugh herself into an orgasm.
No, what ailed me wasn’t something that would kill me quickly. Dr. Crusher informed me I had Osteoporosis so advanced, the L4 and L5 discs in my lower back had literally disintegrated into a ticking time bomb. All the cartilage was nearly gone. The two discs had rubbed together for so long they were full of tiny cracks. If I didn’t watch myself, limit certain activities, my back could crumple at any moment.
Suicide Lake Page 2
