The Empty Chair ~ Murder in the Caribbean

by Penny Goetjen

  He looked up expectantly as she approached.

  “There is something you should know.”

  Detective Benson’s eyes lit up.

  “There’s a CD.”

  Olivia shoved her hands into her back pants pocket, struggling with the guilt associated with her confession.

  “I found it in the refrigerator at my mother’s house after the fire. It looked like something she wanted to make sure got documented, no matter what happened. It seemed to have survived unscathed. I didn’t have a chance to take a look at it but I have an idea what’s on it was important enough to preserve even beyond her . . . death.”

  The detective’s eyes widened.

  “But . . . someone took it.”

  Detective Benson’s expression turned ugly, obviously contemplating the impact of the information. He clenched his teeth.

  “What the hell happened?” His patience was clearly growing thin.

  Olivia felt painfully ashamed. Could the information on it have prevented Sarah’s death? She didn’t know the answer, but she’d have to live with the possibility.

  She filled in the details for him about leaving the disc at Sarah’s house and the break-in while they were at the hospital visiting her father.

  “Great timing, Olivia. How long did you have this?” He sounded like a parent reprimanding his child. His bushy graying eyebrows furrowed over tired, bloodshot eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what was on it. It could have been nothing.”

  “Thank God your father got a CD and turned it in to us.”

  Olivia inhaled quickly. “What?”

  “Yeah, I bet your mother sent him a copy, too. She’s a bright lady, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.” Olivia was pleased to be speaking of her mother in the present tense.

  “My men are evaluating the photos on it to see if anything is useful to us.”

  She was enormously relieved.

  “Oh, and Olivia, your father’s rental car checked out okay. It wasn’t tampered with from what my guys could tell. Probably a matter of distracted driving.”

  The conversation turned to her safety, and again he insisted she stay the night at the hospital. He couldn’t protect her anywhere else, except perhaps the jail. Resisting initially, she finally agreed to flop onto one of the couches in the lounge. First, however, she needed a breath of fresh air. As she approached the elevator doors, they opened. A man with a familiar face stepped off.

  “David!”

  “Hello, Olivia.” His tone was not welcoming and he brushed past her.

  Curious who he was there to visit, she tagged along, fingers crossed it was Colton. Tickled at the possibility, she sprang lightly on her feet as she stepped behind him.

  He stopped abruptly and turned around to face her. “Olivia, leave well enough alone. You’ve caused enough damage.”

  “Are you here to see Colton? Is he okay?”

  David looked deeply into her eyes, like he was considering his response. “I haven’t seen him.”

  A strange pause hung in the air. He seemed uncomfortable uttering the words, as if they were forced. She struggled with images from Landfill Road . . . and the morgue.

  “I have more important things to worry about right now,” David murmured as he strode off down the hall.

  Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if “I haven’t seen him” meant “I haven’t seen him yet” and he was on his way. A twinge in her stomach sent shivers up her spine. Anticipating the possibility, she followed behind David, catching up to him easily.

  Outside of Room 207, David placed a hand on the door and turned back to look at Olivia.

  “What are you doing?” Clearly he was annoyed by her presence.

  “Who are you seeing, David?” she implored, ignoring his question.

  A peculiar smirk slowly crept onto his face. “Someone I think you’ve met.”

  Olivia’s excitement surged inside of her. Unable to contain herself any longer, she pushed David against the door, and the two spilled into the room.

  Her excited anticipation quickly turned to bewilderment. The patient was not who she was expecting to see, who she was desperately hoping it would be. She stood transfixed. The patient was a woman with shoulder length brown hair. Her face was cut and bruised and both hands were wrapped in white bandages. She looked like she was asleep. Olivia suddenly recognized who she was looking at. Opening her mouth to speak, she closed it again as she gazed upon the patient. Finally she found her voice.

  “Sarah, it’s you. Please be all right,” she whispered so as not to wake her. Relief flooded through her. She took a step closer. “Oh my God, what happened . . . ?” Her voice trailed off, not talking to anyone in particular.

  David wasn’t going to let the one-sided conversation go any further. He stepped in front of Olivia, his hand extended to block her from advancing any farther.

  “Okay, look. You need to—”

  “How do you—” She looked from Sarah to David and back again. “How do you know each other?”

  “She’s my mother.”

  Olivia’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, I see.” She was thrilled to learn of their connection.

  “But she’s not yours. It’s time for you to leave. You’ve done enough.” His voice was firm. Grabbing her by the upper arm, he spun her around and led her to the door.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Wincing from his powerful grip, Olivia wiggled to get free, determined to turn and get another look at Sarah.

  Clearly intent on getting her out of the room, David didn’t address her question.

  Olivia tried again to squirm out of his grasp, but he was stronger than he looked. She gave in and let him shove her through the doorway.

  The automatic door closed on its hinges with a dull thud behind her.

  Sarah had survived the crash. Given how the detective had described the scene, it was a miracle. Olivia prayed she would recover fully. As much as that was a relief, it wasn’t Colton. Her thoughts returned to the male body on the table in the morgue.

  The door reopened behind her with a squeak.

  David stood with one hand holding it open and the other on his hip. The latter quickly shot forward to point to Olivia. With nostrils flared, fury burned in his eyes.

  “You have brought all of this on us. Back off already.” His voice was hushed but firm. “These people you’ve pissed off have no regard for life. They’ve proven they’re murderers. My mother could have been one of their victims.” Anguish was chiseled onto his face.

  “I’m sorry it wasn’t me in that car. It should have been. David, I’m so sorry.” Olivia cringed at the painful images of Sarah getting ensnared in the dangerous mess she had inherited from her mother. She continued to pray Sarah would recover from her injuries.

  A dull pain shot through her chest, causing her to draw in a quick breath and tuck her left arm close to her body. Her body ached with guilt. If this was her payback, she certainly deserved it.

  A feeble voice inside the room caught their ears.

  “Mom!” David turned and lunged toward her bedside.

  Olivia caught the door before it closed completely and pushed it open so she could slip through.

  “Sarah,” she whispered, stopping halfway to the bed to give David and his mother some space. Carefully he embraced her as if she were a delicate china doll.

  Sarah turned and forced a weak smile when she saw Olivia. She slowly lifted her arm and reached out to her.

  Closing the gap between herself and the bed, Olivia gently grasped Sarah’s outstretched hand.

  “So glad you’re alive. I’m sorry, so sorry. What happened?”

  While Olivia inspected her friend’s bruised and scratched face, Sarah managed another smile.

  “Let’s just say it’s a good thing I used to do gymnastics.”

  David sat on the edge of her bed as they listened to his mother recount her story.

  Sarah explained how she jumped out of the Jeep partway
down Hull Bay Road once it became obvious there were no brakes. Fortunately she was driving on the left so the bushes along the edge broke the momentum of her body hurtling through the air. Since she lost consciousness, she never saw where the Jeep ended up, but she hoped no one else got hurt.

  Picking up where his mother left off, David’s tone was nothing short of a reproval of Olivia. “The police said the car kept going for a while before hurtling off into the ravine on the right side of the road. It burst into flames. You ended up nowhere near the Jeep so, at first glance, they assumed whoever was driving had died inside.” He turned and glared at Olivia. “Of course, they thought someone else was driving.” He turned back to his mother. “You were brought into the hospital by a couple guys who live near where you landed.”

  Olivia’s body started to quiver, deeply shaken for putting Sarah in such grave danger. Feeling David’s continued disdain for her, she expressed her relief Sarah had survived and then excused herself so mother and son could have some private time together.

  As Olivia grabbed the handle of the door, Sarah called her name.

  “Guess my plan to switch cars wasn’t so hot, was it?”

  Olivia turned and recoiled, releasing the door handle. Although it was sweet for Sarah to acknowledge it was her idea to switch cars, Olivia shouldered the responsibility entirely. “Sarah, I never should have let you drive the Jeep. I should have thought it through and realized how dangerous it could be for you. I am sorry to have put you in harm’s way. So sorry you got badly hurt.” She closed her eyes. As she opened them again, a tear escaped and traced its way down the side of her cheek. “I’m . . . sorry.”

  Turning back toward the door, she quickly made her exit.

  In response to Lieutenant Benson’s previous urging and the fact she had nowhere else to crash, Olivia found her way to the lounge at the end of the floor and chose a pseudo leather, modern couch to flop down on for the night. It didn’t look or feel all that comfortable but she figured it was never meant to be slept on. However since she was exhausted, fatigue washed over her and she drifted off quickly.

  Olivia never noticed the men who slipped in during the middle of the night or the hand that covered her nose and mouth with a wet cloth.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  It was dark when Olivia opened her eyes. So dark she couldn’t make out where she was. Her head felt fuzzy. She remembered lying down in the hospital lounge, but blinking her eyes didn’t help to discern her surroundings. They weren’t adjusting. It didn’t make sense.

  Desperate to get off the couch and find the light switch, she rolled over to her left side, but her arm hit something hard. It was cold and smooth. Running her hand along it, she concluded it must be the wall. Rolling to the right she bumped into the same type of hard surface. It wasn’t making any sense. Wasn’t she on the couch? One side should be open. She tried to sit up but hit her head so hard a white light flashed in her eyes.

  “Ow!” She rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers and dropped back down.

  Olivia then moved her hand up toward what she had bumped into. Running her fingers along it, she could tell it was a flat metal surface.

  Then it hit her. The smell. A sour, acidic odor that reminded her of visits to the morgue. Panic exploded inside of her. She was in one of the drawers. Screaming filled the inside of the box as she pounded her fists on the sides and ceiling. Someone had to be around. Someone had to hear her. Her breathing quickened. Her heart thumped loudly. How much oxygen was in the confined space? She kept screaming and pounding her fists. There was little room to move.

  Please, God, don’t leave me to die in here. Please, no.

  She paused, venturing to take a deep breath, and listened to see if she could hear anyone. Nothing. She panicked. More screaming escaped her lips. Her voice grew hoarse. More pounding. Her fists were getting sore. Her chest heaved. Fearing the limited air would run out soon, she fought with herself to slow down her respiration.

  Then she remembered her phone. If she could just slide it out of her pocket, she would be able to call for help. She felt a glimmer of hope until she reached down to pat the front pocket of her pants. Nothing was there. It was gone. Whoever had put her into the morgue drawer wanted to make sure she didn’t get out.

  The air in the drawer was getting thin. Desperate to attract someone’s attention, she pounded again, knowing she might use up what little air she had left. She prayed someone would hear her.

  Unexpectedly, a strange calm came over her. Had she resigned herself to death? No one was going to hear her. Olivia felt herself losing consciousness, but she endeavored to stay lucid. If these were her last few minutes, perhaps she should have a chat with God. Seemed appropriate. It had been such a short life. She was sad to think it would end this way. Not that she had contemplated much about the end. Twenty-three-year-olds were supposed to have plenty of time to worry about that. At least she had tried to find her mother.

  Suddenly there was a muffled sound. Was it the door to the morgue? She yelled out and pounded her fists again. Gasping as she felt herself being pulled backward, she realized the drawer was moving. Bright light flashed in her eyes. She winced as it took a moment for them to adjust from the pitch black.

  “Olivia!” It was the detective’s voice. Movement behind him told her he had brought reinforcements with him.

  Struggling to get out of the drawer, she tried to turn on her side and take in full breaths. The sour odor of the morgue hit her in the face. She grabbed the metal side with both hands. It was cold and hard and dug into the palm of her hands.

  Two strong hands lifted her out. Gasping for air, she instinctively grabbed onto the detective’s shirt and hung on tight. Her feet wobbled when they hit the floor.

  “It’s okay. . . . You’re okay.” Benson reassured her and held her tightly.

  As the rapid heaving of her chest slowed, Benson looked around the room and guided her gently to a sturdy leather chair over in the corner pulled up close to a metal desk. Grabbing onto the arms, she flopped into the seat, plunking her feet down firmly on the floor. It was good to be in a space larger than a coffin.

  Shoving his pudgy fingers into his shirt pocket, the detective pulled out a phone and handed it to her. “This must be yours. Found it on the couch you were sleeping on last night.”

  Relieved to have it back, Olivia watched as Benson walked back over to the open drawer. Something caught his eye as he glanced down. Reaching in, he picked up a pair of gold aviators.

  Someone must be wondering where they had misplaced their sunglasses.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Olivia burst out of the morgue and ran to the elevator. Needing to get to her father quickly, she pushed the up button several times and impatiently shuffled her feet in place. Finally the doors on the right side opened and thankfully the car was empty. She slid in, pressing the button for the second floor and the button to close the doors. It wasn’t working fast enough for her liking. Stepping out of the elevator before the doors completely opened onto the second floor, she turned right and fast-walked with a deliberate gait to his room. When she got there, he was fully dressed in his street clothes and zipping the side of his carry-on bag. He turned toward her as she charged through the door.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, walking closer and examining his face, noticing how pale his skin was.

  “Ollie, it’s time to go home—”

  “No! . . . No! We need to find Mom.”

  Her father’s head dropped and his gaze fell to the floor.

  “Look, we—”

  “You go, if you want to. I’m not giving up.” She stood up straighter and her back stiffened.

  James sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for her to join him. Reluctantly, she complied with his request.

  “There’s something you need to know . . . and I don’t really know how to . . .” He kept his head turned away from her. “Ollie, I need to get back home to see my own doctor.”

&nbs
p; “What?” Her voice was barely audible, her eyes searching her father’s.

  “I’m not doing well, Ollie. I don’t know how much time I have.”

  Her eyes widened. Growing concerned for him, she reached over and took his hand. His head hung as if in shame.

  “What’s going on?” Her voice quivered.

  He raised his head and connected with her, hesitating, but then finally admitted, “I’ve got cirrhosis of the liver.” He looked into her eyes, clearly with a heavy heart. “I’ve only myself to blame.”

  Letting his hand drop, she got up and walked away, trying to put as much distance between herself and her father’s pathetic circumstances as possible, circling around the foot of the bed and stopping at the window. She glanced outside without noticing the bright rays of sunshine streaming in, broken up by the fronds of a grand palm tree undulating in the gentle breeze.

  “How much time?” Her voice was even, with no emotion.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think they know for sure. I just got the news.”

  Olivia stood at the window gazing out with her arms folded tightly against her chest, lips pursed, shaking her head from time to time as she processed. Her father remained silent, perhaps allowing her the time she needed.

  Finally she turned back toward him, glaring intently, teeth clenched. “. . . I’m sorry to hear your unfortunate news. But, like you said, you did it to yourself. I’m not leaving here until I find out where Mom is.”

  Olivia stormed out of the room. Her father let her go without calling after her.

  Detective Benson entered James’ room as an aide was removing his breakfast tray. He took one look at him fully dressed and surmised his plans. He understood. And he would be relieved to have both of them off island.