by C. M. Sutter
This has to subside before I go upstairs.
I looked right toward the double-glass doors at the end of the hall, and Jack was still talking with George in the garage bay.
I need to get back to the bull pen before he sees me like this. I’ll be fine once I’m at my desk and munch a handful of antacids.
I climbed the two flights and entered the bull pen, faking the best normal expression I could muster. Nobody realized anything was wrong.
Minutes later, Amber caught a glimpse of me popping something into my mouth. “Hey, no hiding food. Whatcha eating?”
“Just peanuts.” I lied.
She held out her hand. “Give me some.”
“Sorry, I just polished them off.”
“Thanks a lot, you oinker.” She gave me a scowl and continued sorting her paperwork.
Chapter 7
Thankfully, the antacids helped since my stomach pain had gone away. Nobody was the wiser, but I’d sworn off that toxic-tasting coffee for the rest of the day.
Jack’s phone rang just before lunchtime. Since he had his door open, I heard his side of the conversation and knew Jan was on the line. I assumed Becca’s mom and dad had arrived. I saw Jack take in a deep breath, likely to steel himself for the tough conversation he was about to have. Talking to distraught parents who had just lost their child was never an easy task, and in those situations, I didn’t envy his job at all. With the handset back on the receiver, he stood and walked out of his office.
“Kate, you’re going with me.”
My head snapped in his direction. “What?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to introduce you as a psychic detective. Becca could have been the sole cause of that accident, but the fact that she didn’t apply the brakes makes me think something else is going on. George didn’t find anything wrong with the car, which is even more suspect, but something caused her to careen into oncoming traffic, and the press is going to want answers. I need your read on the parents to see if they’re withholding anything. Becca could have had a serious medical or psychological problem. She could have been suicidal or had substance abuse issues too. We won’t know anything, though, until we talk to her folks.” He cocked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I grabbed my notepad and pen from the desk drawer and walked out with Jack through our security door, which led to the dispatch station and reception counter. I saw Becca’s parents sitting in the waiting area adjacent to the building’s entrance. Their slumped shoulders and folded hands told me they were already grieving—that day was likely the worst they’d ever had. My heart ached for them as we reached out to give our condolences.
Jack introduced us. “Mr. and Mrs. Morbeck, I’m Lieutenant Steele, and this is Detective Kate Pierce. We’re very sorry for your loss.”
Mr. Morbeck’s expression changed dramatically. “Detective? Why is a detective involved? Was Becca involved in a crime that led to her death?”
“Sir, we don’t know anything other than what was described at the scene. We’re hoping you two can fill in the gaps.” Jack motioned toward the hallway. “Let’s talk in our conference room where it’s more comfortable, shall we?”
Jack led the way with Mr. Morbeck at his side, and I walked with Mrs. Morbeck behind them. We entered the conference room, and Jack closed the door behind the couple.
“Please, have a seat. May we get you coffee or water?”
They agreed on water, and Jack gave me a head tip. I stepped out, got four bottles of water and a box of tissues, and was back within minutes. With the water handed out, I settled in with my notepad and pen ready, then gave Jack a nod and he began.
He opened the folder in front of him, which contained the five witness statements. The people who were transported to the hospital hadn’t given statements yet, but Jack would make sure that was done when and if they were able. Each statement in the folder was given a quick once-over, then Jack removed his own notes compiled from all of them. He closed the folder and cleared his throat.
“The 911 calls flooded in this morning between seven thirty-five and seven forty-two about a car in the southbound lanes of Highway 45 that crossed the center line. It caused multiple accidents—two that were fatal—in the northbound lanes, and then slammed into a tree just off the highway. Witnesses state they saw Becca’s vehicle swerve back and forth before it headed for the median, yet nobody noticed brake lights.”
Mrs. Morbeck crumbled into a round of tear-jerking sobs. Jack slid the tissue box closer to her and waited.
“I’ll give you a minute, ma’am.”
She waved him on.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded as her husband consoled her.
Jack continued. “One man was hospitalized with multiple injuries, another with severe burns, two victims died when their cars caught on fire, and several other people were banged up but cleared at the scene and didn’t need emergency treatment.” Jack glanced at his notes. “Becca was pronounced dead at eight thirteen this morning. I have several concerns about that. Her body wasn’t seriously injured because the airbag and seat belt worked properly. She was young, and according to the lead EMT and our medical examiner, that should have been a survivable accident, especially for somebody her age.” He looked from one parent to the next. “Is there anything you’d like to share as far as any medical problems or substance abuse Becca had? We need to understand why this accident occurred since there’s a good chance of multiple lawsuits. We need full disclosure here, nothing held back. The car was checked out, and there weren’t faulty brake lines or a stuck accelerator to blame.” Jack went silent and waited.
I held my pen over my notepad, ready to write.
Mrs. Morbeck coughed into her hand then began speaking. “Becca lived in Kewaskum in an efficiency apartment while she was going to school at UWWC. She had nearly a ten-mile drive to school every day, but she chose to be frugal. Her apartment was tiny but affordable and in a decent neighborhood. Everything available near the university was twice as expensive. Becca saves”—she looked at her husband and dabbed her eyes—“or saved all her summer earnings to pay her own way. She paid for her own car too, even though it was a clunker. She was so proud to be making her own way in the world, Lieutenant, and no, she didn’t do drugs.”
I jotted down no drugs.
Mr. Morbeck took over for his wife. “Becca was a healthy nineteen-year-old and participated in sports. She ran track and was on the women’s soccer team. She followed the straight and narrow and had real goals—she didn’t hang around with that kind of crowd.”
I thought back to that morning, when I saw Becca lying on the table in the refrigerated compartment. She did appear very fit, a perfect example of an athletic young lady.
“What was she studying in school?” Jack asked.
Mrs. Morbeck gave Jack a thoughtful smile. “She wanted to be involved in biochemistry after grad school, she just hadn’t narrowed down the exact field she wanted to work in yet. She had a long way to go and was just beginning her dream. The semester had just ended, and it was finals week, so she wouldn’t have missed any exams. Becca was very responsible.”
“Did she ever mention feeling overwhelmed? Did she seem down or depressed?”
The mother shook her head. “Everybody does at one point or another. Like I said, it was finals week, and all kids have anxiety over that, but in her normal life, she seemed happy.”
I wrote that down and made a note to talk to some of her professors.
“Does Becca have siblings that she would have confided in?”
“A younger brother, Brent, but he’s only eleven. She’d have no reason to confide in him.”
I added that to my notes.
Jack scratched his cheek. “When did you see Becca last?”
“She came home over Memorial Day weekend. We had a wonderful time, and she caught up with her high school classmates. We even hosted a barbecue at our house, and several of Becca’s friends showed up.”
Jack nodded. “Sounds like a normal lifestyle. So you wouldn’t say she had suicidal tendencies?”
“Oh, God no! Becca would never consider doing something like that. She had her religious faith too, Lieutenant, and suicide goes against our beliefs. She’d never put us through that kind of agony.” Mrs. Morbeck squeezed her husband’s hand. “When can we see her? I need to hold my daughter in my arms.”
“Ma’am, it doesn’t work that way, especially since we may be looking at a criminal investigation here. Once Becca’s body is released to you, you can spend as much time as you like with her, but right now, it’s by photo identification only. I’m truly sorry.”
Becca’s father buried his face in his hands. “So you’re thinking Becca was involved in some criminal activity?”
“Not necessarily, sir, but we do have to get to the bottom of things. The accident happened for a reason. The car wasn’t defective, so that puts the accident back on Becca. You said she didn’t have medical issues, she didn’t do drugs, and she wasn’t depressed. Is there anything we didn’t cover?”
Mr. Morbeck stared at the table. “Nothing I can think of.”
“How about her driving habits?”
“Meaning?”
“Her cell phone showed text messages sent out to several contacts just seconds before the accident, but they were only jumbled letters that made no sense. Was she prone to texting while driving? That is illegal, you know.”
Mrs. Morbeck shook her head. “I don’t think she did that, but I couldn’t say for sure. I’m not around her all the time.”
“Has she ever been ticketed for inattentive or reckless driving?”
“No, only failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign.”
I made a note to dig deep into her driving record. Many times, attorneys in court had the charges changed to faulty taillights or failure to come to a complete stop when the real violation might have been something far worse. It was a practice commonly used to reduce fines and point violations.
Jack continued. “Okay, then the next step is an autopsy, and the medical examiner will need your permission to conduct one. It’s the only way to rule out, or include, a physical problem. We’d like to be able to fill in the box that states a cause of death other than unknown. I’m assuming you’d want to know why your daughter passed away this morning. Am I correct?”
“Yes, of course. We need to know why Becca died.”
“Thank you, and I’m sure the autopsy will answer the questions we’re all looking for. I’ll have the coroner join us and go over everything with you. She has the consent paperwork you’ll need to sign and the photograph of Becca for an ID.” Jack pushed back his chair and nodded at me. “Excuse us for a minute.”
I walked into the hallway with Jack. “Do you need me for anything else, Boss?”
“Yeah, run downstairs and get Lena and tell her to bring the photo and autopsy consent form to the conference room. I have to call the county and find out when all the highway lanes will be reopened. Tell her I’ll meet her in the hallway in five minutes.”
“Sure thing.” I took the stairs to our lower level and turned left toward the coroner’s office. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, I felt that sharp pain in my stomach again. I backed out of the room and called out to the coroner. “Lena, Jack needs you in the conference room with Becca’s photo and the autopsy consent form.”
She craned her neck around the office door. “Why on earth are you standing in the hallway?”
“I’m not sure. Call it being cautious until I know more.”
Lena shook her head as she pushed back her chair and walked my way. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but something weird is going on. I’ll figure it out sooner or later. Anyway, did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, hon. How are the parents holding up?”
“Not well. They swear Becca wasn’t on any drugs or medication. They said her mindset was fine and she was the picture of health.”
“Humph… and they agreed to the autopsy?”
“They did.”
“Well, what I do know from previous experience is that people hide the truth, and autopsies expose the truth. We’ll have our answers soon enough.”
Chapter 8
When he saw Daphne Cole walk into the library, he slammed the laptop closed. His online research confirmed what he would use next, and Daphne was about to get it in spades. He was furious with her inattention and lack of concern for him.
Daphne was a blond beauty—tall, willowy, and model like. He thought about the night to come and how he’d tangle his fingers in her hair and make love to her one last time before killing her. It was the least she could do to please him—but in that moment, he was outraged. He checked the time and glared at her as she approached the table.
He defiantly folded his arms across his chest. “More important things going on this morning, Daphne? Do you want to pass your exams or not?”
“Of course I do. My future career depends on it.”
“Then you’d think finals week would prompt you to give a shit about showing up on time.”
She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat then looked around—the library was full of students. She leaned across the table and whispered. “Sorry, but my boyfriend was late picking me up.”
“I don’t want to hear your lame excuses, and I don’t take kindly to conversations about your boyfriend. I’ve already told you to get rid of him. I’m the one you should concentrate on since I can make or break you.”
She snarled her response. “He’s my boyfriend, and I like being with him.”
“As opposed to me?” He leaned across the table. “I said to get rid of him.”
She pulled back. “You can’t be serious!”
“I’m as serious as a heart attack. What’s more important to you, your career or a boyfriend who will probably be history by the end of summer break?”
She buried her face in her hands and remained silent.
“That’s what I thought. Now get out your textbook and notes. Your hour-long tutoring session has just been reduced to forty minutes. Let me remind you, you’ll be sorry if you’re late tonight. I have plans that you aren’t about to screw up.”
“But—”
“But what?” He cocked his head and locked eyes with her.
She reached into the backpack and pulled out her textbook, pen, and spiral notebook. “Nothing. I’ll be there on time.”
Chapter 9
When Jack finally cut through the bull pen at two o’clock, I looked up. He appeared distraught as he headed toward his office. I wanted to know what was going on since we’d learned that the cause of that morning’s accident could be harder to determine than we’d thought. The only person who knew the truth was dead.
“Did the Morbecks leave?”
Jack stopped, took a seat in Amber’s guest chair, and let out a long sigh. “They did about an hour ago. The autopsy is underway, but they’ll be back as soon as Lena has the final results. That was a tough one, especially since I don’t have answers to their questions.”
“You don’t have to. The autopsy will tell us everything. Facts are facts, and they can’t dispute the truth.”
Jack raised a brow and let out a puff of air. “True enough, Kate. Right now, we’re in a holding pattern until the preliminary results are in. Learning more will take time, and that’s when the real investigation begins.”
“Sounds like foul play is on your mind,” Clayton said.
“Just thinking out loud.” Jack glanced at the wall clock then at Amber and me. “Are you two busy?”
Amber spoke up. “Nothing that can’t be pushed back. Why?”
“I want you to head over to St. Joe’s and interview Mr. Charles. I was told he’s out of surgery. Go find out if he noticed something that nobody else did.”
I was happy to leave the building since it looked like a beautiful afternoon. “Sounds good to me. Let’s go, Monroe.”
The drive was a short ten minutes from door to door. Amber and I had been in that hospital enough times that we were on a first-name basis with most of the administrative staff. We approached the check-in and information counter and gave a head tip to Anna, the receptionist at the moment.
She gave us a wide grin. “No blood or broken bones, and you’re walking in under your own power. That’s always a good sign. So, what can I do for you ladies?”
I leaned forward and spoke quietly. “We need to know what room Bill Charles is in. We have to interview him about the car accident he was involved in this morning.”
Anna cupped her hand around her mouth. “I heard three people died at the scene, one being a college-aged girl.”
Amber nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s true. Such a sad day for all three families.”
“I can’t even imagine. Give me just a sec.” Anna tapped her computer keys. “Here we go. He’s on the third floor in room fourteen.” She raised a concerned brow. “His surgery was only three hours ago. You sure you want to interview him already?”
“Boss’s orders,” Amber said. “We’ll see how he responds. Thanks, Anna.”
“You bet.”
The elevators were thirty feet to our left, just beyond the gift shop. Amber and I rode up with an orderly attending to someone in a wheelchair. I gave them a smile and kept silent. When the doors parted, we stepped out into the third-floor hallway.
“Who’s conducting the interview?”
Amber gave me a nod. “You are. You can read between the lines better than I can because of your voodoo abilities.”
I chuckled. “Knock it off. Do you really think so?” We headed to room fourteen.
“Uh-huh. Nah, just kidding. Go ahead and start asking questions. I’ll butt in whenever necessary, and I’ll do the note taking.”
“Got it.”
Amber knocked on the partially open door. Beyond it, a privacy curtain was pulled closed, and a TV played quietly in the background.
A raspy voice from inside the room said to come in, and the TV went off. Amber popped her head around the curtain.
