Pretty Corpse

by Linda Berry

  Lauren found Sarah’s address and sat disbelieving in front of a forlorn two-story house featuring flaking paint and rusty drainpipes. The thought of Sarah and Jesse living here made her cringe. Steve would not have allowed it. Adding to the somber tone, a light rain began to fall, preceding the brunt of a heavier storm. Anxiety tightened her stomach, not from fear of her Jeep being stolen, but from what waited beyond Sarah’s front door. Lauren fished her cell phone from her handbag and punched in David Wong’s number. He answered on the fifth ring, sounding sleepy.

  “What? You still in bed?”

  “It’s my day off. I’m a bachelor.” She heard him yawn. “You got a better plan for a hard-working civil servant? What’s up?”

  Lauren minced no words. “You said you’d help me if I needed you.”

  “What’s up?” His tone sharpened.

  “Sitting in front of Sarah’s house.” Lauren filled him in on the details of her lunch with Pamela. “I’d feel a lot safer if someone was watching my car while I’m inside.”

  “Where are you?”

  Lauren recited the address.

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  ***

  Weighing logic against her instincts, Lauren waited an eternity while the clock ticked away agonizing minutes. A strong wind pushed against the car, and the rain came barreling through full force, pelting the roof and windshield. She kept the engine running and wipers sweeping. After twenty minutes, David hadn’t shown and Lauren’s patience had ebbed. Grabbing the wrapped teddy bear and her handbag, shoulders hunched forward, she dove into the storm, hurrying over a cracked sidewalk past a broken-down picket fence. By the time she reached the stoop, her hair was soaked and water streamed down her raincoat into her loafers. Shimmying closer to the door, under the protection of the eaves, she rang the bell.

  No response.

  She knocked sharply.

  Footsteps approached, the door opened as far as the chain would allow, and a slice of Sarah’s face appeared. Her eyes widened. “Lauren.” Sarah glanced behind her, then back at Lauren. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “Sarah,” Lauren said firmly. “I’m getting soaked. I have something for Jesse.”

  “Who is it?” A voice called out over the drone of a TV.

  “A friend of my dad.”

  “Tell him we’re busy. And next time, call first.”

  “I need to use your bathroom, Sarah. This gift is getting soggy.”

  “Okay. Make it quick.” The door closed and she heard muffled voices on the other side. The door reopened. “Come in.”

  Lauren stepped inside, rain dripping off her nose. The curtains were drawn, the room was dark except for the flickering glare of the TV screen. She handed over the wrapped bear and peered at Sarah, detecting little in the dim light.

  “Thanks.” An unsmiling Sarah nodded toward the couch. “This is Tony. Tony, Lauren.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tony,” Lauren said as her eyes acclimated.

  “You too.” The man sprawled on the sofa sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and turned his profile back to the screen. Steve’s description of a haircut shaped like a lizard and black clothing no longer applied. Romero was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, his dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had a thin, handsome face and muscular arms riddled with tattoos. Maybe he was trying to rejoin the human race.

  “The bathroom’s this way.” Sarah led Lauren across the room, down a hallway, and paused outside a doorway. Lauren turned on the light and looked back at Sarah, her figure now cast in the dim yellow glare. Dark curly hair fell around her face, and Lauren was struck by large brown eyes that reminded her of Steve. A bluish bruise with yellow edges was fading around one eye, and there was a vertical scab on her bottom lip. Sarah’s withdrawn demeanor bore no resemblance to the gregarious and rebellious character Lauren remembered.

  Sarah paled under Lauren’s scrutiny. “I ran into a kitchen cabinet last week. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  Down the hall, a baby whined. Clutching the gift, Sarah disappeared in that direction. Lauren shut the door and surveyed the bathroom. Though smelling faintly of mildew and dirty diapers, it was well-scrubbed, all surfaces gleaming. No one could accuse Sarah of being a poor housekeeper. Quietly but methodically, Lauren searched the medicine cabinet and drawers under the sink. Several items were of interest: eucalyptus inhalant, nasal capsules, eye drops. Lauren recalled Romero’s sniffing and nose wiping. Dripping noses were symptomatic of cocaine and meth use. She flushed the toilet, left the room, and turned down the hall following Sarah’s footsteps.

  Seated on a double bed in a sparsely furnished room, Sarah nursed her infant with motherly affection. The baby suckled hungrily, little fists resting on the curve of her swollen breast. Again, curtains were tightly drawn, but Lauren caught an expression of devotion on Sarah’s face. The young woman looked up and the towel covering her shoulder dropped away. The exposed flesh was dappled with bruises.

  “You’d better go,” Sarah whispered, replacing the towel.

  A sound made both women turn to see Romero’s lanky frame filling the doorway.

  “She wanted to see the baby.”

  “Well, now you’ve seen him,” Romero said quietly. He stepped to one side, indicating that Lauren should leave.

  Controlling her anger, Lauren squeezed past him as she left the room, picking up the stale scent of sweat and cheap aftershave. She didn’t like the way his dark eyes watched her, or the sexual machismo displayed in his stance. That ploy might work on naive young women like Sarah, but not an experienced one, and certainly not a cop. She found her way out of the house and gulped in a lungful of fresh air, barely noticing the rain as she sprinted to the Jeep. David Wong’s white Bronco was parked ten feet behind her Jeep. Lauren motioned for him to join her.

  He slid into the passenger seat moments later, his hair and windbreaker beaded with rain. “You could have gotten into my truck, you know, considering you’re already wet.” He brushed a rough hand over his scalp. “I was having a really good hair day.”

  “You’re gonna get a lot wetter. We got a domestic here, David. We have to get back inside. I’m calling for back up.”

  His eyebrows came together. “Is Sarah okay?”

  “No.” Her anger surfaced, rushing into her words. “I suspect she’s a hostage in her own home.” Lauren picked up her phone and punched in Jack’s office number. When he picked up, she said, “I just came out of Sarah’s house. We got a domestic situation here. I need back up.”

  “One unit enough?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Don’t go in alone.”

  “Officer Wong is with me. We’re both armed.”

  She gave him the address. As soon as she clicked off, her phone burred. Pamela. Not a good time. She let it go to voicemail. The phone instantly rang again. Damn. “Pamela, I’m in the middle of something.”

  “I just opened Steve’s box.” Pamela’s voice was panicked. “There was a police report in it. Steve had a run-in with Tony a few nights before he died.”

  Lauren sat stunned, her mind flicking back to her conversation with Steve the night he had bruised fists. “DUI? Tony went for his gun and they got into a skirmish?”

  “Yes. Steve beat him up pretty good. I don’t know why he didn’t turn in the report. If he had, Tony would be back in jail. This time for years.”

  The report Steve tried to tell her about as he lay dying. Lauren suddenly felt queasy. For a moment she thought she might vomit. She remembered Steve said he struck a deal with a suspect. He probably agreed not to arrest Romero if he left Sarah alone. Permanently. But Romero didn’t want to do that. And he wanted to shut Steve up for good. Romero killed Steve!

  “Lauren … Lauren?” Pamela said.

  Lauren pulled herself together, tried to sound calm. “Rest easy, Pamela. I’m at Sarah’s right now, with back up. We’ll go in and make the arrest. I’ll get back to you.”

 
David sat next to her, eyes alert, body tense.

  Lauren noticed movement in a window of the house. A handwritten sign was shoved between the curtain and the rain-streaked glass. “HELP ME.”

  “Help me,” David read out loud.

  Lauren got back on the phone with Monetti. “We need more units out here, Jack. Fast. This guy Romero killed Steve.”

  “What? Holy Hell!”

  “Wong and I have to go in now!” She clicked off. She and David sprang from the car through the rain, mounted the steps, and rapped loudly on the door. Long seconds ticked by. “Open up! Police!”

  The door swung open wide. Face tear-streaked, Sarah moved aside to let them enter. The flesh was rapidly swelling around her other eye. “He’s in the bedroom with the baby!”

  David and Lauren rushed to the bedroom.

  Empty.

  They searched the front of the house and came to a halt at the kitchen door, which was swinging open, rain and wind hurtling in.

  Sarah rushed into the room behind them, panic in her voice. “He’s taken Jesse!”

  “Where’s his car parked?” Lauren asked.

  “It’s not running. He’s on foot.” She wrung her hands. “He’s got Jesse out in this freezing rain.”

  The backyard merged into acres of weed-choked fields. Beyond the field, Lauren heard the roar of the freeway.

  “Is he armed?” David asked.

  “I don’t know. He has lots of guns.”

  Lauren hurriedly called Dispatch. “Officer Starkley again. Suspect’s on foot behind the house, going eastbound, carrying a baby. Believed to be armed. Officer Wong and I are in pursuit on foot.”

  “Units on the way,” the dispatcher said.

  Lauren caught David’s eye and an instantaneous message passed between them. They sprinted into the backyard. She spotted Romero a hundred yards ahead, stumbling through thigh-high weeds. Lauren was barely aware of rain on her face or the prickly thistles tugging at her clothes. Her focus funneled in on Romero.

  Carrying the baby was slowing Romero down. Lauren and David advanced rapidly.

  “Stop, Tony!” David yelled. “There’s nowhere to go.”

  Romero looked back over his shoulder with a desperate expression. He staggered, fell, and struggled to his feet leaving Jesse on the ground, obscured by weeds. He ran another ten yards, then in one fluid motion, he turned to face them, tugging a gun from his waistband and raising it.

  Lauren and David targeted Romero’s torso, firing at the same time that he discharged his weapon. Almost in slow motion, Romero’s body folded in on itself and crumpled to the ground.

  Lauren and David approached cautiously. She covered David while he stooped and pulled the gun from Romero’s hand. After checking for a pulse, he looked at her over his shoulder and shook his head. Only then did the sound of Jesse’s high-pitched wailing filter in. Holstering her Glock, Lauren ran and scooped the baby off the ground. She held him close to her breast, her raincoat shielding him from the rain.

  “You okay?” David’s concerned voice sounded far away. “Lauren, are you okay?”

  Her eyes locked on his and the world around her came back into focus; the sound and feel of wind and rain lashing their bodies. “Yeah. I’m okay. You?”

  “Yeah.” Wong was blinking against the downpour, black hair plastered to his forehead, rain dripping off his nose.

  To Lauren, he looked like a superhero. A soggy superhero.

  The realization hit her with a jolt. Romero was dead. The hunt for her former partner’s killer was over. Steve’s death was avenged. But Lauren felt no jubilation. Steve was gone forever, his wife widowed, his baby fatherless. He never got to meet his grandson. Tears welled in her eyes and mixed with the rain streaming down her cheeks.

  Jesse was wailing, mouth open wide, little hands wringing, his wet blanket soaking her sweater. She turned back toward the house with David following close behind talking to Dispatch. “Shots fired. Suspect appears to be deceased. Baby’s safe. Code 3. Medics respond.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  AS THE NOISE and chaos of the city slipped away behind Jack’s SUV, Lauren started breathing easier. With his hands relaxed on the wheel, Jack followed the winding coastal highway south; the ocean to the west and open country rolling up into the hills to the east. The muted colors were easy on her eyes. Goodbye steel and concrete, neon lights, garish billboards. Hello forest, pastures of tall grass, sun-bleached barns.

  The smell of warm manure and sweet hay filtered into the cab. She and Jack made easy conversation about trivialities; movies they both liked, their favorite music, funny episodes from their pasts. No shoptalk. His voice was mellow, deep, relaxed. And he listened when she spoke, seeming to digest her words and thoughts rather than merely waiting for his chance to speak again.

  At noon, they reached Jasper’s Inn, a two-story clapboard beach house tucked away on a calm bay in Big Sur. Built in the Thirties on a bluff overlooking the Pacific, the inn had few modern conveniences outside of plumbing and heating. Their room was simply furnished—a couple of armchairs, chest of drawers, king-size bed, clean towels in the no-frills adjoining bathroom. No TV or Internet. Cut off from the world.

  After dropping their bags near the closet, Jack turned to her. “Hope this isn’t too rustic.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “Seems we hit the weather just right. A storm’s coming in. We better head out and see the sights before it hits.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Not yet. I have some granola bars and water in my backpack.”

  “Got your handgun in there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t bring it. I have mine.”

  She thought for a moment. Having her gun made her feel safe, but she placed it in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

  “Grab a change of clothes, just in case we get wet.” Jack looked fit and handsome in a hunter-green flannel shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. Lauren wore jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

  He shoved a windbreaker and Nikon camera into his backpack. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, tied her parka around her waist, and followed him outside.

  Big billowy clouds hung low in the sky, and the breeze carried the scent of brine and sweet grass from the surrounding fields. They drove a couple miles down the highway before Jack turned onto a dirt road and they were swallowed by the forest. He parked at a remote trailhead, they grabbed their backpacks, and left the vehicle. They hiked single file on a narrow path into a forest of towering pines, cedars, and aspens. Red and yellow leaves drifted to the ground and the air smelled of pine needles warming in the sun.

  “How’re you doing?” Jack asked when the path widened, and they could walk side by side. They’d hiked about two miles, gradually gaining elevation. He was breathing deeply from the exertion, as was she.

  “Great.” She took a long drink from her water bottle. “It’s stunning here. I need to do this more often.”

  Looking exuberant, Jack pulled his camera from his backpack. He squatted next to a fern and snapped a shot of a spider web backlit by the sun and beaded with dewdrops. “Getting into nature is my therapy.”

  “The closest I get is soccer fields and my backyard garden.”

  His eyes met hers and he smiled warmly. “We’ll have to change that.” He lifted his camera. “Don’t move. I love the lighting on your face.”

  Lauren held still while he snapped a few pictures and then he showed her the results. The shadows softened her expression and sunlight spilled across her green eyes, brightening them. “You have an artistic eye,” she said with admiration.

  His gaze swept over her face, resting momentarily on her mouth. “You inspire me.”

  She wanted him to kiss her, but he smiled and turned away, leading her deeper into the forest. The trail wound back down and then the woods opened up and they emerged in a grassy meadow. A narrow band of sand hugged the sea; a protected inlet where waves rolled gent
ly onto shore. A tangle of driftwood lay on the beach, limbs rising like fleshless bones from the moist ground. The sea stretched out to infinity and merged with enormous, congealing gray clouds. The storm was quickly moving inland. As they approached the water’s edge, the sand looked like sumptuous silk. She scooped up a sand dollar, brushed off the sand, and put it in the pocket of her backpack.

  Her senses recalibrated, tuning in to a pace of life that crawled rather than stampeded. No growling traffic, just the wind stirring little blizzards of sand, and gulls circling lazily in the sky. While Jack braced himself in the breeze with his camera to his eye, Lauren sat in the sand, removed her shoes and socks, and rolled up her pant legs.

  “Going in?” he asked.

  “I have to.”

  “Me, too.”

  The water was numbingly cold, sand oozed between her toes, and rushed out as the foaming water receded. She followed the curve of the cove to a jutting promontory thick with barnacles, then strolled back on the packed wet sand. The clouds moved in to shore casting islands of shadow on the water, and the wind gusted with more force, chilling her. She tugged on her socks and shoes and her windbreaker and then sat hugging her knees, watching Jack knee deep in water, his camera clicking, muscles bunched and rippling beneath his shirt.

  He plopped down next to her, his feet encrusted in sand, hair tousled. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Paradise. No one would ever know this was here.”

  “I’ve been hiking these woods for twenty years. I know a lot of treasures I want to share with you.” He looped an arm around her shoulder, pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and inhaled his warm, musky scent. She tilted her face up and his warm mouth found hers. His kiss was soft and stirring, with a sense of urgency. He pulled away, looked out to sea, the picture of composure. How did he do that? Maintain control while she was melting.

  “We better head back,” he said. “Storm’s heading in faster than I expected.”

  She didn’t move to rise. He kissed her again, long and slow, and she felt the trusting part of her nature open up like a flower to the sun.