Playing Dirty

by Liliana Hart

  “See,” Emmy Lu said. “Karma. I bet Floyd is sweating bullets now.”

  “Or it’s all part of his elaborate scheme,” I said with a sigh.

  “You give him too much credit,” Emmy Lu said. “Jack runs a smart department. He’ll charge him with everything from littering to jaywalking by the time he’s done, if only to make Floyd’s life a little more complicated.”

  “Jack’s not that petty,” I said, my mouth twitching. “Which is why it’s probably good that he’s the sheriff instead of me. Though I wouldn’t put it past Cole to try to make Floyd’s life miserable. They exchanged words at the end. Floyd made sure Cole knew he’d be the first one he fired.”

  “Ooh,” Emmy Lu said, her eyes going bright. “That man is one tall drink of water. I would never go thirsty.”

  Lily turned an interesting shade of pink, making me think she more than agreed with the sentiment. There were close to fifteen years between hers and Cole’s ages, but stranger things had happened.

  “Why would you never go thirsty?” Sheldon asked, confused. “Two hundred and twenty-three people die a year because of dehydration. You should drink more water and lay off the coffee. We should throw out the coffee machine. You all drink too much.”

  “You throw out that coffee machine and you’ll find yourself back in that grave permanently,” Emmy Lu told him sweetly.

  7

  I was almost relieved when I saw the results of Floyd’s tox results—negative on all counts.

  There was something about Brett Jorgenson’s death that tugged at me. After I’d sent Jack Floyd’s tox results, I’d pulled Brett back out of the cooler and looked at him again. The body told a story during life and after death. And what Brett Jorgenson’s body told me was that he’d had a wild and careless youth, but someone or something had gotten him back on the right path. His body still had the scars of that former life, but he’d worked hard to overcome his past.

  It didn’t make sense to me that he’d do something so reckless as to ingest that high of a dosage of amphetamines in his system. I looked again between his toes and where his veins were most prominent. There were no track marks or signs of doping. It’s not like he was on the Tour de France team. He’d have no reason to dope. The whole thing was strange.

  I looked at his file again and on the autopsy form next to the probable cause of death was a box asking about the manner of death. This was one of those cases that would’ve gone unnoticed in a bigger city and coroners who had a backlog of bodies waiting for them. It would’ve been easy to check natural causes or unknown, and turn him over to the family for burial. But I’d left the space blank. Brett Jorgenson deserved an answer.

  It was just after four o’clock by the time I got a text from Jack saying he was coming by to pick me up. The funeral home was lit up like Christmas, and there were lights in the parking lot and along the sidewalks so those attending the viewing could see their way. We were expecting a large crowd for Stanley Turkus. He’d been a prominent businessman in King George before he’d been tossed about like a rag doll during the tornado. He’d thought he could outrun it in his car, but he’d ended up driving straight into its path.

  Stanley had been cremated, so the family had set up a nice picture display along with his ashes at the front of viewing room one. It was the largest and could hold the most people, and they’d opted for coffee and cookies in the lobby so people could gather and remember the deceased.

  The rain had lightened to a miserable drizzle, and I wasn’t looking forward to getting back out in the elements. The temperature had dropped, so I went to the lost and found box we kept and dug out a cute purple plaid scarf and nice black leather gloves someone had left behind. And then I waited for Jack in the kitchen, nervously pacing back and forth.

  “I thought you were leaving,” Lily said, catching me by surprise when she came in.

  She was dressed in tasteful black slacks and a black sweater. It would’ve looked absolutely ordinary on anyone else, but Lily was built like a pinup girl and she could’ve made a trash bag look stunning if she’d had a mind to.

  “Jack’s on the way,” I told her. “How’d Sheldon turn out?”

  She grimaced. “You know how you plan to do a little touch-up here and there, but before long it’s kind of taken on a life of its own?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Let’s just say that Sheldon has a strong resemblance to Barry Manilow. The makeup wasn’t giving full coverage because the bruising and swelling was so bad, so I thought I’d try some putty. His nose expanded considerably, but at least all the bruises are covered.”

  “Noses are hard,” I agreed. “I had a victim once who got his nose shot off completely and the family still wanted an open casket. I had to recreate the nose from a picture. But it was also an outdoor funeral in August, so you can imagine how that went once things started heating up and melting.”

  Lily snorted. “I guess things could be worse.”

  “Always,” I assured her.

  She moved to the coffeepot, and I envied how she managed to look like she was gliding in the stiletto heels she wore. She was close to six feet tall with them on. My feet would’ve been screaming within two seconds of trying to walk, but she made it seem effortless.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked.

  I thought about it for a minute. Most people I knew didn’t bother to ask me personal questions. They just made assumptions or believed the gossip.

  “As long as I can ask you one in return,” I told her.

  “That’s fair,” she said. “Are you happy with what you do here? Splitting your time between mortician and coroner? I’m supposed to graduate in December, and I’ve gotten a couple of nice offers working in the morgues at a couple of hospitals while I’m doing my graduate work. But being here these last months, I’ve gotten to see and experience another side of death that’s outside of the lab. It’s…I’m not sure the right word for it.”

  “Peaceful,” I said, understanding what she meant.

  She looked surprised and then nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Exactly. It’s like when we’re working a murder and there are autopsies and all this paperwork to fill out, it just seems so clinical. It’s sometimes hard to see the people on the table as, well, people. But it’s different when you’re preparing them for burial. You get a glimpse into who they were. You meet their family. And you see how people grieve differently. I don’t know, it’s like there’s sadness and despair on the coroner side of the job, but there’s hope and resolve on the mortuary side of the job. One balances out the other pretty well.”

  “But you’re worried that this is a unique situation and you couldn’t do both,” I said.

  “Yeah, you don’t really see a lot of coroner/morticians. I guess I’m just feeling pressure to pick one thing and see it through to the end. And now seems like the time to make the decision. I could go on and get my medical degree in pathology. Or I could stop now and go to mortuary school.”

  “Or you could do both,” I told her. “You’re twenty-two years old. Let me tell you from experience to get all the school stuff out of the way as early as you can. It just gets harder and more expensive the older you get. You are smart and gorgeous and kind and one of the most talented people I’ve ever gotten to work with. If you want to do what we do here, I know you’ll succeed and I know you’ll do it better than I could ever hope to.”

  Her smile lit up the room and she leapt toward me and grabbed me in a hug. I wasn’t much of a hugger. I generally didn’t like to be touched by random people, but twice today I’d had friends in my life hug me when I needed a hug the most.

  “You’re the best,” she said, pulling back, excitement in her vivid blue eyes. “Don’t worry about tonight. We’ve got it covered. And if Sheldon’s face melts I’ll lock him in the closet so he doesn’t scare anyone.”

  She grabbed her coffee and turned to leave the kitchen.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I as
ked, lips twitching as I saw the color appear in her cheeks.

  “What’s that?” she asked, eyes widening innocently.

  “I get to ask you a personal question now,” I said.

  “Right. Shoot.”

  “Detective Cole,” I said.

  I’d learned something about getting information from people by watching Jack. A lot of times, the less you said, the more people felt compelled to talk. I knew I was on the right track when her eyes widened and her face went scarlet.

  “How’d you know?” she asked.

  I just smiled and didn’t say anything.

  “It’s not like it’s been on for a long time or anything,” she said. “Just a couple of weeks. I mean, we’ve kind of been dancing around each other the last few months, but he’s never made a move or anything. He’s always been a gentleman, unlike some of the other cops. But then we had that Judas serial killer and he stopped by to get information a couple of times, but you were out. And then one thing kind of led to another and we went out to dinner.”

  Her face was the color of a tomato now, and if I had to guess, they’d done a lot more than go out to dinner.

  “We haven’t told anyone though,” she said. “We’ve barely been in the same room together during work hours.”

  To be honest, I thought she’d only had a crush on him. He was a good fifteen or more years older than her. So I was having a little trouble coming up with the right facial expression to let her know I wasn’t completely shocked.

  “It’s the age difference, right?” she asked, continuing to fill the void of my silence. “I’ve always been more attracted to older guys. Guys my age are morons. They’re too busy flipping their collars up and doing keg stands to think about being a good boyfriend. I want someone who has a job and is somewhat stable.”

  My lips twitched. “So you picked a cop?”

  She laughed. “Well, he’s hot too, and it’s not very often I can find a guy I can talk about dead bodies with.”

  “That I understand completely,” I said.

  I liked Cole and he was a great friend, but like most cops, he didn’t have the best reputation when it came to women. He’d definitely been around the block a time or two, and he had a tendency to start strong and then lose interest after a few months. But Lily was an adult, and maybe Cole would find something in her that made it worth giving the relationship a shot.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” she said.

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it. We’d just like a little time to enjoy ourselves before we start getting lectures about the age difference. He’s kind of freaked out by it anyway.” She looked over my shoulder and out the window. “Jack’s here.”

  “I should only be a couple of hours, but if I’m not back by the time you’re done then go ahead and lock up and set the alarm.”

  “You staying here again tonight?” she asked, her expression concerned.

  “How about we each get one personal question within a twenty-four-hour period,” I said.

  “Fair enough,” she said, saluting me with her coffee. “Have a good night.”

  I didn’t think I’d need my medical bag, so I left it on the hook in the mudroom and grabbed the umbrella and my purse. Jack pulled up next to my Suburban under the carport, and I locked the door behind me before getting into the Tahoe.

  He’d dried off and changed clothes since the last time I saw him, and his hair was still damp with the drizzle.

  “What happened with Floyd?” I asked.

  “We’ve impounded the vehicle for the time being and moved it to a secure facility, but we went ahead and released Floyd. I think he was almost disappointed. I’m sure he was planning to make a big stink about unfair treatment and election sabotage.”

  “You’re not going to charge him?” I asked.

  “I’m going to pass everything over to the DA, and it’ll be up to him whether or not he decides to move forward. But I talked to him for a few minutes and he said he’d probably send it to a grand jury.”

  “Smart,” I said. Sending it to a grand jury would keep Jack’s hands clean through this. Floyd instigated the investigation. And instead of Jack having to make an arrest and look like a vindictive opponent, the DA would let the community decide on Floyd’s fate. “It would’ve been nice for him to spend a night behind bars though.”

  “Floyd is due for some karma,” Jack agreed. “I believe by the time we’re done with all this a night behind bars will seem like a walk in the park. Remember the most important thing to Floyd is his ego. He likes being a big shot, and he likes throwing his weight around. The sheriff has the most free rein and really the most power in the county.”

  “Thanks to you,” I said.

  Most sheriff’s departments didn’t have to answer to the mayor or city council, but the last sheriff had been such a disaster that the mayor in Bloody Mary had very strategically moved in and taken control. Jack had spent the first two years of his term trying to undo all the messes that had been made before he’d gotten there, and he’d found a loophole that stated that one city couldn’t have control over an elected county official. It wasn’t fair to the people in the other towns that made up the county.

  “Floyd has been biding his time over the years,” Jack said. “He’s corrupt, and I think we learned with our last case that most of his connections are corrupt too. He wasn’t kidding when he said I’d pissed a lot of people off by not agreeing to building those federal prisons here. It’s no coincidence that Floyd decided to run for office out of the blue. I’m sure investors were looking for a candidate to throw money at who hates me. We’ve got to do everything we can to keep him out of that position, or King George will never be the same.”

  I agreed with Jack, but I stayed silent. I wasn’t sure what he and I could do at this point, though Emmy Lu had told me the cops had started putting boots on the ground to endorse Jack to the local businesses and they’d been handing out pamphlets off duty. Our best friend Vaughn was in charge of fundraising, and we had more donors and money than ever. We had ads and social media and commercials and billboards. It was the nature of the game. Jack’s mother ran the campaign office, and all her wealthy friends at the country club used their influence. We had a lot of supporters, and we were going to owe every one of them our undying gratitude if we made it out of this mess still standing.

  Jack turned onto one of the county roads, and I pulled down the visor as the setting sun was glaring through the gray clouds at just the right angle. It made the drizzle seem brighter somehow, like diamonds glittering on the windshield and the hood of the car.

  “I called Mrs. Jorgenson and let her know we were coming back out to see her,” Jack said. “Her family is coming in, but everyone lives out of state so they won’t be here until morning.”

  “It must be hard being alone and get that kind of news,” I said.

  “She’s got a three-year-old son to help keep her mind off things.”

  “And you said she’s pregnant?” I asked.

  “Yes, due next month. She has a strength about her. You’ll like her.”

  The rest of the trip was made in silence. When we turned onto Revolutionary Road the sky was an amazing watercolor of pinks and purples and oranges mixed together on the horizon. The rain was still coming in a drizzle, but the clouds were passing quickly and it would be through before long.

  “Wow,” I said, as we pulled into the Jorgensons’ driveway. “It’s beautiful.”

  The Jorgensons lived on a good twenty acres of land, and the property was surrounded by a freshly painted white rail fence. A white farmhouse sat a good distance back from the road with a wide wraparound porch and black shutters. There was a swing set and play yard to one side, and on the other was a three-car garage that looked like it had living quarters above it.

  The porch lights turned on just as Jack stopped the car, and I could see the silhouette of a woman standing at the screen door.

&nbs
p; She opened the screen as we got closer. She was a pretty woman, maybe early thirties, with dark hair she wore in a thick braid over her shoulder. Her very pregnant stomach was hidden under a soft oversized gray sweatshirt and black leggings. Her face was plump from the last stages of pregnancy and it was ravaged with grief.

  “Sheriff Lawson,” she said, maneuvering her body out of the way so we could get by.

  “I’m sorry to have to bother you again, Mrs. Jorgenson,” Jack said.

  “Marla, please,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t mind the distraction. It gets so quiet out here, and I was starting to get tired of hearing myself think.”

  She turned to look at me curiously, and I looked her over like a doctor looking at one of my patients. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her feet and ankles were severely swollen, but other than that, she looked like a woman who was in the uncomfortable last weeks of pregnancy who just found out her husband was dead.

  “Marla,” Jack said, nodding in agreement. “This is Dr. Graves. She’s the coroner for King George County.”

  Recognition lit in her eyes and she nodded. “I thought you looked familiar,” she said. “I used to practice law, so I was very interested in the findings of John Connelly’s murder a couple of weeks ago.”

  I nodded, grateful she chose that case to comment on instead of our most recent mention in the paper.

  “Why don’t we sit down,” I said. “You can put your feet up.”

  She choked out a laugh. “Yeah, I can’t really see my feet anymore, but I know they’re bad. My slippers don’t fit.”

  I’d never really been around a lot of pregnant women, and even when I’d been working in the ER I rarely had occasion to treat one. They made me nervous—it was like waiting for a ticking time bomb to go off.