“Is that him?” she asked in a whisper.
“That’s what the paperwork that came with him said,” Toni told her. “They did an autopsy on him, but there were some things that were left unaddressed. I want to conduct my own autopsy on the man, but I thought you’d want to see him first.”
Krys said nothing as she approached the body of the man who had caused so much grief and pain.
“Doesn’t look like the kind of man who could sweet talk women out of their life savings and their common sense, does he?” Krys asked in a hushed voice.
“Most con artists don’t,” Sean told her.
“What about the woman?” Krys asked suddenly. Looking up, she turned toward Sean. “The report said that he had a woman with him. Do we have any details at all about her? Do you think she was his next victim?”
“We don’t know that yet,” Sean told them honestly. “Nothing’s been determined. Speculation is that he had kidnapped her and was fleeing with her when the police caught up to him. Most likely, he was planning on using her as a shield or perhaps as leverage to get the police to let him go.”
That sounded likely, Morgan thought. “So where is she?” he asked.
“Well, that’s the other thing,” Sean told them. “When the police came to get her statement at the hospital, they couldn’t find her. Apparently, she was gone. Nobody saw her leave and so far, nobody has been able to find her.”
“But they are looking, right?” Krys asked.
“They’re looking,” Sean confirmed. “But the problem is that everyone was so focused on bringing Bluebeard here in, nobody really got a good look at his hostage. Consequently, they don’t have a viable description of her and aren’t really sure just who they’re looking for.”
“So this still isn’t over,” Krys said as she turned toward Morgan. “But at least he didn’t get a chance to kill her. That is something.” She saw that as a victory. Krys said the words more to herself than to anyone else in the room.
Chapter 17
Myriad questions raced through her brain, jockeying for position. She hardly knew what to ask first.
“Do we have an exact cause of death yet?” she finally asked the medical examiner.
“That much we have,” Toni told them, glancing at the autopsy report. “Apparently Bluebeard broke his neck when his car went over the hill. What I’m really surprised about, I have to admit, is that the woman wasn’t killed along with him.”
Krys shook her head. “That we know of,” she pointed out. “For all we know, the woman might have died later, after she took off from the hospital,” she commented. “As for Bluebeard’s fate, if you ask me, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.”
Pausing, she looked at Toni. “So you’re not satisfied with the autopsy report that was done on Bluebeard?” she questioned. She was glad that Toni was performing a second autopsy, but she was curious about the medical examiner’s reasons.
“Well, I hate pointing fingers,” Toni said. “But to be honest, the autopsy that was done appears to have been rather slapdash, and since two of the man’s victims were Aurora citizens, I think it might be a good idea for the department to perform an autopsy of their own. What do you think?” she asked Sean, turning toward the CSI unit leader.
“Seeing how many women were killed by this man, if there are any unanswered questions about this killer, I vote ‘go ahead,’” Sean told the medical examiner.
Toni nodded. “That’s what I’d hoped you’d say.” Her eyes shifted toward the other two people in the room. “I’ll let you know if I come up with anything new,” she promised.
“All right then,” Morgan told the medical examiner, “we’ll leave you to your work.”
“I’ve got a question,” Krys said as they walked out of the morgue.
“Only one?” Morgan asked wryly.
“Oh, I’ve got more,” Krys assured him. “But I’ll just ask this one for now.”
He stopped at the elevator, pressing the Up button. “Go ahead.”
“Who’s looking for the woman that scum had with him in the car and supposedly abducted?” she asked.
Morgan had wondered when she’d get around to that. “It’s what we’re looking into,” he told her. “But right now, your guess is as good as mine.” He could tell by the expression on her face that this was really bothering Krys. It bothered him as well because of all the questions it raised, but for the moment, there was nothing he could do about that.
The elevator arrived and they got on. Wanting to distract Krys, Morgan asked, “Don’t you have those interviews you wanted to conduct?”
He was right. She couldn’t allow herself to lose sight of her objective. Bluebeard’s story was all but over. She had an obligation to focus on Weatherly Pharmaceutical’s “miracle” drug.
One foot in front of the other, Krys told herself. Nodding her head in response to Morgan’s question, she said, “I guess I should put this in the ‘win’ column.”
Morgan was in complete agreement with her conclusion. “Considering how many unresolved cases there are each year, this is more than just a win. It’s a really big deal.”
Arriving on the first floor, she got out of the elevator ahead of him. “I know, I know. But I just can’t help wondering about that woman who was with him. What’s her story? I can’t make sense out of her running off.” She turned toward Morgan. “What would make her run away from the hospital like that? For all intents and purposes, she was finally safe.”
He had no pat answer for her. “Who knows? Maybe she was totally spooked. Being abducted and then in a car accident, maybe it affected her thinking and she didn’t know who to trust.” He thought of his Aunt Rose, Uncle Andrew’s wife. “Maybe she even got amnesia and everything around her just contributed to her being spooked.”
He could see by the look on Krys’s face that she was skeptical about his explanation. “Something like that happened to my Uncle Andrew’s wife,” he told her as they left the building. He headed toward the rear parking lot and his car. “Years ago, she accidentally drove her car over an embankment and plunged right into the lake.”
Krys looked at him in horror. “My lord, what happened to her?”
“Well, from what was eventually pieced together, someone saw the accident and managed to save her. But the accident took place far from where she lived and she had no ID on her. Upshot is Aunt Rose was missing for years. But Uncle Andrew never gave up looking for her, never gave up hope of finding her.” Every time he heard the story, it just seemed so incredibly remarkable to him. “He followed up every lead he could. Eventually,” he concluded, opening his vehicle and getting in, “he managed to stumble across Aunt Rose—totally by accident.”
Krys got in on her side. Listening to Morgan tell the story, she came to what she thought was a logical conclusion. “And she recognized him?”
“No,” Morgan said. “It took Uncle Andrew a while longer before he could convince Rose that he wasn’t trying to take advantage of her, that he really was her husband and moreover, that they had five children. In the end, it was getting sprayed in the face by a malfunctioning showerhead that triggered her memory.”
That must have really been one hell of a surprise for the woman, Krys thought. “Wow.”
Morgan couldn’t help smiling. “That was what everyone else in the family said once they heard the story. But fortunately it all ended well.”
It was the kind of story that made people believe in happy endings, Krys couldn’t help thinking. “You do have a pretty remarkable family.”
“It’s your family, too, now,” Morgan reminded her.
But Krys lifted her shoulders in what amounted to a noncommittal shrug. “That’s going to take some getting use to.”
“Well, that’s what Uncle Andrew’s party is for,” Morgan told her. And then he changed the subject. “What
do you say we get those interviews over with while you’re in an upbeat frame of mind,” he encouraged.
He wasn’t about to get any argument from her, Krys thought.
* * *
“Not exactly what you hoped for, was it?” Morgan asked Krys as they left the last interview site. They had spent what amounted to a totally fruitless day talking to the remaining three out of four test subjects she had managed to unearth.
Krys sighed, shaking her head. “No, but to be honest, it was kind of what I expected.”
They walked back to his vehicle. Morgan wasn’t quite sure he was following her. “How so?” he asked.
Her smile was weary. “It was as if they were all reading words that were written by the same person from the same script. Oh, they were all slightly different—” she pointed out “—just different enough to make it seem as if they had slightly different things to say,” she said. “But all three test subjects who agreed to talk with me made it sound as if they really believed—or were made to believe—that they were part of some groundbreaking process.”
Her face clouded over. “If you ask me, they were afraid to say anything different because none of them wanted to wind up like Claire. Dead.”
Morgan couldn’t argue with her conclusion. “You’re right. The department did its best to keep what happened to Claire Williams out of the news, but we failed. One of your journalist buddies broke the story the second that someone leaked it and he was able to get his hands on it.”
She frowned, thinking how hearing about Claire’s murder must have influenced the people she had talked to today. Fear had obviously been their motivating force. “He wasn’t my buddy,” she corrected him sharply.
“Just a figure of speech,” he told her. He didn’t mean to insinuate that the person who had broken the story had been someone associated with her inner circle. “At least the people you talked to today seemed like regular people. Frightened,” he emphasized, “but real. That Jacobs guy,” he said, thinking of the CEO who had been her last interview today, “was like some character who was sent here straight out of Central Casting.”
There hadn’t been a single genuine thing about the man, Morgan couldn’t help thinking. How could someone come across that phony, that caricature-like, and still be breathing?
Krys laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “You got that feeling, too?” she asked him. “It was as if Jacobs had been programmed to sound like an earnest, hardworking CEO who had nothing but the best of intentions motivating him when it came to the drug his company is working on.”
“Not working on,” Morgan reminded her. “They’re just about ready to launch that thing on the open market. If there’s even a hint of impropriety with that drug’s production, not to mention with Jacobs himself, the company could stand to lose a fortune. That’s the only reason Jacobs gave you that fifteen-minute interview instead of telling you to go take a hike. He wants to make it look as if he’s cooperating with you, answering your questions and being totally affable so that you walk away from the interview completely satisfied and thinking that cancer drug they’re putting out is the just the best thing short of the Second Coming.”
“I know,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “I totally agree with you. The only problem is that we don’t have a shred of evidence to back us up.”
He thought of one thing they did have. “You have Claire’s original interview.”
“Yes, which supposedly she was in the process of rescinding,” she reminded him. At least, that was what the woman had initially said to her—just before Claire had called her again and hinted that she had been forced to say that. Krys had the impression that the woman was about to go back on that, but she was never going to know for sure.
Morgan remained where he was, in the Weatherly Pharmaceutical parking lot, thinking about what had just transpired. “Well, we’re not going to change anything tonight,” he told her. “Right now, what you need is to relax a little, blow off some steam. What do you usually do?”
Her answer was automatic. “I work.”
He shook his head, refusing to accept that. “You can’t work all the time.”
“Yes I can,” she told him. Then, when he continued looking at her as if he knew better, Krys threw up her hands. “All right, you win. I don’t work all the time. Sometimes, when I really need a break, I curl up on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and watch Casablanca.”
He waited for her to tell him what she really did. When she didn’t change her statement, he said, “You’re kidding, right?”
Krys frowned. “You asked,” she said, slightly insulted by his attitude.
Maybe, as illogical as it seemed to him, that was her go-to move.
“No, you’re right,” he conceded. “I asked. Tell you what, you deserve a break no matter how strange that break seems to me. We’ll pick up some popcorn at the grocery store, go home, and I’ll download the movie from that internet app I’ve got. Then you can go to town and knock off some steam by watching—” he took a breath as if saying it was actually painful “—Casablanca.”
“That’s all right,” she told him. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just work on my article tonight, try to put it in the best light—”
“No,” he contradicted her, “I said we’re going to do something to help you unwind and a Cavanaugh always lives up to his word. You want Casablanca, you’ll get Casablanca,” Morgan told her. “Although why is beyond me.”
His determination managed to coax a smile out of Krys. “Don’t forget the popcorn,” she reminded him.
“Heaven forbid,” he said, turning his car toward the closest grocery store.
* * *
“So this really does it for you?” Morgan asked in amazement. They had returned home and true to his word, he had provided her with popcorn and the classic movie. They had finished almost all of the former and the better part of the latter.
She had settled in against him and was rabidly watching the black-and-white movie.
“Each and every time,” Krys answered, never taking her eyes off the wide-screen TV.
“Each and every time, huh?” Morgan repeated. “Just how many times have you watched this movie?” he asked, curious. He couldn’t conceive of watching this even once, much less more than that. At least, not willingly.
“Probably ten, maybe eleven times,” she told him, making a calculated guess. Her eyes never left the characters on the screen.
“You’re kidding,” he said, stunned.
“No.” She continued watching. “How many times have you seen it?”
“Counting this time?” Morgan asked.
Krys spared him a quick glance before answering, “Yes.”
“That’s easy,” he told her, then answered, “Once.”
Her hand stopped mid-dip into the tiny remaining handful of popcorn. Turning toward him, she stared at Morgan as if he had just informed her that he was an alien life form.
“You’ve never seen Casablanca?” she asked him in disbelief.
“Well, I have now,” he reminded her. “Or at least most of it.”
“But it’s a classic,” she cried.
Morgan shrugged. “My education has some gaps.”
“Apparently,” she concluded, looking back at the screen.
Morgan decided that it was better if he just kept silent until she had finished watching the movie. That was why he’d downloaded Casablanca for her in the first place, so she could watch it and gather whatever benefits she could from watching what to him was a rather predictable movie—except for the small fact that the hero didn’t end up with the heroine when the credits finally rolled by.
After what seemed to him like a long time, the final words, about this being the beginning of a beautiful friendship between Bogart and the policeman, Claude Rains—the only words he was familiar with—were finally uttered
.
Thank Heaven! Morgan thought with relief.
Krys, he noticed, had sat riveted through the end, and then through the credits. Wondering how much longer she intended to watch, he turned toward her—which was when Morgan realized that the woman sitting there had wet cheeks. Both of them.
“Are you crying?” he asked in amazement.
“No,” she answered in a voice that was close to cracking. “It’s raining and I forgot to wear my hat.”
“Okay, wise guy,” he said, approaching the situation from another angle. “Why are you crying? I thought you said that you like this movie.”
“I did, I do.” Sniffling, she went on to explain, “He did something noble and beautiful for her—he gave her up—because he loved her.” Krys let out a long, shaky breath. “Things like that don’t happen in real life,” she said sadly.
He felt for her. More than that, he could feel himself being drawn to her. “Sometimes they do.”.
Her tears were still flowing as she shook her head. “No, they don’t,” she told him.
Morgan could feel something stirring inside of him no matter how hard he tried to block it. Oh damn, maybe he was going to regret this. But she seemed so unhappy and he really hated seeing her like this.
He had sat through this movie because he wanted her to shake off the frustration she had experienced today, wanted her to be happy, at least for a little while even if it was vicariously.
But that obviously hadn’t worked.
In an effort to comfort her, Morgan put his arm around Krys’s shoulders.
That was all it was supposed to be at first, just a simple act of comfort. Human contact between two people who had spent a rather frustrating day that had one thing after another piling on top of each other until she was all but buried underneath it.
But that human contact led to something more. Before he was fully aware of it, holding Krys against him had her turning her face up to his. He knew he should have just left it at that, or, if he felt he had to do something, he should have simply brushed his lips against her cheek.
Cavanaugh In Plain Sight (Cavanaugh Justice Book 42) Page 16
