Where All the Dead Lie

by J. T. Ellison

  Untimely death always saddened Sam. Lord knows she saw enough of it in this town. Drugs and gangs and prostitutes; the natural but unattended deaths of an aging society; accidents; suicides and murders. There was nothing that didn’t cross her table. She certainly knew she hadn’t seen it all, but she’d seen enough. Having children of her own had changed her perspective, given her more compassion for the families who came to Forensic Medical to identify their loved ones. She still had a great deal of detachment, but being best friends with Taylor, seeing the insanity that seemed to follow her, Sam had an appreciation for life that she wasn’t sure she’d had before.

  Almost dying did that to a girl.

  Which brought her full circle. She was still so mad at Taylor. What was she thinking, kissing Memphis? That was going to lead someplace very bad. And then Sam would be caught in the middle. Damn it, she had her own problems to deal with.

  She had a stack of paperwork to attend to before she left for the day. She settled in—signing orders, signing off on yesterday’s autopsies, finding a good rhythm. The stack grew smaller. She might make beef stew for dinner, something warm and hearty. She used to have time to make bread, but with the kids being so little, that was always hard.

  Bam. The loss hit her like a hammer to the temple.

  She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, waited for the wave of intense longing to pass.

  It was amazing how the mind worked. She didn’t need to see a child on the street, or think of a baby. Something as mundane as the idea of not being able to make bread brought it all back.

  The knife sliding into her flesh, the cramping, the sheer horror of knowledge.

  She was a doctor. She knew exactly what that knife had done. She’d winced when she dissected Marias González’s womb, knowing that’s what hers looked like, so small and inconsequential, so vastly empty.

  The blade had sliced the anterior edge away, just there.

  God, she was going to have to go see Taylor’s shrink if she couldn’t get her head wrapped around this.

  Keri McGee appeared in her doorway, knocked softly on the wood. “Did you hear? About the standoff?”

  Sam was grateful for the distraction. “What standoff?” she asked.

  “Turn on your television.”

  Sam grabbed the remote from the coffee cup she usually left it in and powered up her TV.

  “Hit WSMV, they’ve got the best camera angle,” Keri said. “But it’s on everywhere.”

  Sam inputted channel four and sat back in her chair. A breaking news banner was on the bottom of the screen, it read: Serial Bank Robber Suspect in Standoff with Metro Police. A raven-haired reporter was speaking into the microphone. Sam recognized the backdrop. They were in Belle Meade, by the country club. It looked like they were on Chickering Road, right near where she grew up.

  “Shit.” Sam pulled the phone toward her and dialed Marcus Wade. He answered on the third ring. She could hear a ton of noise in the background.

  “What’s happened? You’ve only been gone for three hours.”

  “Hey. Had a break. Marias’s husband decided to talk. She’s a house cleaner, works for Executive Cleaners. Long story short, Marias found the money and a wig while she was cleaning, completely by accident. She took some cash with her as proof to report the man to us, but she didn’t think we’d believe her. She’s been sitting on that money for two weeks. Finally decided to come forward, but from what I can piece together, she decided to tell the robber herself first, plead for him to turn himself in. He refused.”

  “That wasn’t smart.”

  “No, it wasn’t. He must have been watching her, hoping she didn’t turn him in. When he saw that she was, he had no choice but to stop her. Marias wouldn’t tell her husband the man’s name, so we cross-checked all the clients of the cleaning service with DMV and found the Jaguar. It’s registered to a Douglas Bowerman. He’s a freaking lawyer, of all things. Nice house. But he’s going under, the bank foreclosed on him. He got desperate. We got paper, went to arrest him, but he had other plans. Barricaded himself. He’s got a wife and kids in there. I take it you’re watching?”

  “Yeah. Think Keller will be able to talk him out?” Joe Keller, their hostage negotiator, was a tough, no-nonsense cop, and a great favorite of Taylor’s. She had trained for SWAT and had worked with Keller many times. Sam didn’t know him as well, but had faith that if anyone could end this peacefully, Keller was the man.

  “Honestly? I don’t know. He’s been volatile so far. It was just a matter of time before someone got hurt.”

  “You’re sure it was him driving the Jaguar, not his wife?”

  “I’d like a chance to ask. But I don’t know if I’m going to get that. Hey, I gotta go. They’re going to toss in some flash bangs, see if they can’t roust him.”

  “Good luck. Stay safe.”

  Marcus hung up and Sam dangled the phone between her fingers for a few minutes. Keri watched her, rolling her hands together.

  Sam put the phone back on the hook and viewed the television for a minute. There was a flurry of activity, and the reporter looked scared.

  So much for things ending well.

  “You geared up?” Sam asked Keri.

  “You think we’ll be needed? I’m supposed to be off in twenty minutes.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. These things don’t usually work out, not when it’s a criminal with nothing to lose. He’s most likely already killed one person. There’s no good way out.”

  “Dr. Loughley, I know I’m on duty tonight…but I was hoping… I sort of have a Christmas party I’m supposed to attend. My boyfriend’s company get-together. Though if you need me, I’m happy to stay.”

  Of course she did.

  “Go on, then,” Sam said. “Have fun.”

  Keri rewarded her with a wide smile. Sam remembered what it was like to be excited about a date. She’d like to recapture some of that for herself. Karma…

  More action on the television screen, and the reporter started yelling, “Oh my God, were those gunshots?” She turned to the camera, realized the cameras were still running, and became suddenly grave. “There has been gunplay tonight in Belle Meade, where we’re standing in front of a home…”

  The phone rang. Sam caught the caller ID. Marcus.

  So much for the beef stew.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Taylor woke flushed and lazy, and as she came to, horrified. Oh, God. What had she done?

  She had a wicked headache, different than usual—harder, more insistent—almost like she was hungover. She hadn’t had that much to drink. Maybe she was coming down with something. Yes, maybe. In any event, she was glad Memphis wasn’t there. Facing him in her bed in the morning felt too familiar for where they stood in their relationship.

  God. Baldwin would never forgive her.

  Could she forgive herself?

  She got showered and dressed. Avoided looking herself in the eye. She wasn’t proud of what happened last night. But at least now she knew. Things could be good with Memphis. Very, very good. She checked her phone, and saw that she still hadn’t gotten a call from Baldwin.

  She couldn’t fit both of them in her brain right now. Maybe she could ring the bell, and ask for breakfast to be served in her room instead. She didn’t know if she could face Memphis just yet.

  Grow up, Taylor, she told herself. You’re a big girl. You did it, and now you have to pay the price. Go have breakfast with the man and get it over with.

  She went to the door, surprised to see the chair still leaning against it. She wondered how he could have pulled that off.

  As she touched the wooden arm, it fell over with a crash. It hadn’t been wedged in at all, just leaned delicately. He must have set it there as he left, snuck out of her room before the servants were the wiser. Now that was a fancy trick.

  The hallway seemed much longer than ever before. Eyes followed her. She could swear she saw the Pretender standing in the doorway of the billiards roo
m, leaning back against the frame, one ankle hooked over the other, a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.

  Blood streaming from the bullet hole in his forehead, a dark gape in his perfectly white skin.

  She shook her head and looked back. The doorway was empty.

  She scurried into the dining room. Memphis was alone, waiting for her.

  “Morning. Everything okay?”

  She nodded. Made no mention of the strange sense from the hallway, her bizarre dreams the night before, or Trixie’s late-night visit, or his follow-up. Now, in the light of day, she felt rather foolish about the whole thing—she hadn’t had a morning-after walk of shame in a long, long time.

  She sat down quickly, knocking a fork onto the floor.

  Good grief, girl. Get it together.

  Memphis was downright cheerful. Of course he was. His nocturnal sojourn didn’t show in the least. Instead, he seemed rested and comfortable in tan cords, a white button-down and a shaggy green sweater under a dark gray fleece vest. It seemed he was back to himself. There were no shadows from yesterday’s misfire at the bridge, nor any inkling that he’d been directly responsible for Taylor’s disturbed night’s rest.

  “How are you this fine day?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth to answer and stopped herself. She didn’t want to share that she had her voice back. Not just yet. That was something she needed to keep inside. And to be honest, she didn’t know exactly what to say.

  She had stashed her notebook in her back pocket when she left the room, a cop’s habit as much as anything, so she pulled it out.

  Cat apparently has my tongue.

  He laughed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you were up all night.”

  She shot him a look. There was no one around; he could talk about it.

  Well, that’s because I was. Having the most terrible thoughts.

  He didn’t rise to the bait.

  “Take it easy today, okay? Jet lag can be a monster. Plan your day so you can have a nap. It will make you feel better.”

  Um, yeah. Okay. He really wasn’t going to say anything. What the hell? She wasn’t even good enough for a mention? She buried her face in her teacup. This was beyond embarrassing.

  She just wanted him to leave. Then she could go back to bed and sleep. Sleep would be good. She was exhausted. She’d gotten maybe a full two hours last night, in spurts. The melatonin was working; she’d have to let Maddee know. She was more tired than she’d been in years. If only it worked on headaches. And heartbreak.

  She wanted to ask about the bridge. About Evan. She just didn’t know how to bring it up.

  They settled into breakfast, the usual Scottish fare—this time with porridge on the side, which Taylor was surprised to find she loved, since she wasn’t a huge oatmeal fan.

  Memphis finally pushed away his plate and smiled. Not the lazy, come-hither grin he was so good at, but a tight, perfunctory smile.

  “You’ll be okay while I’m gone?”

  She flipped to a fresh page.

  Of course. Too much on my plate already. All this healing and resting to do, it’s going to be exhausting. What about you?

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t let Maddee push you around. If you’re not comfortable, you just tell her to stop, okay? Same goes for anyone here on the estate. You’re to treat this as your own home, and everyone has been instructed to give you anything your heart desires.”

  Don’t need anything. Planning to rest, read, work with Maddee, take a few walks. That’s all.

  “Be sure you have Jacques take you ferreting for rabbits, though. That’s great fun.”

  Ferreting for rabbits. Check. On the list. Anything else?

  “I think you’ll do. Just make sure to stay in touch—email or text me and let me know you’re okay. I won’t be gone more than a couple of days. I’ll be back at the weekend. I’ll take you to Ben Nevis, we’ll hike up the mountain.”

  Ben Nevis?

  “The highest peak in Scotland. Beautiful views of the great glens.”

  Sounds lovely.

  “It will be. I promise. I’ve got to run now, my train is at ten. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Will you be able to find your way to your rooms?”

  It’s like second nature.

  He laughed, then kissed her lightly on the forehead. He let his hand linger on the top of her head for a moment. She didn’t know whether to raise her chin and invite him to kiss her lips, or pull away and cower under the table. She was no better than a schoolgirl.

  She did neither, just sat there, frozen and immobile.

  “Bye, Taylor.”

  He was gone. She heard him banter for a few moments with Trixie, then things went silent.

  Well.

  She knew the Brits were a bit buttoned-down, but really. Last night deserved at least some sort of mention. Unless he hadn’t enjoyed it—no, he had. There wasn’t much mistaking that.

  Maybe he wanted her to make the next move. No pressure. She couldn’t remember all the details, had she told him to never mention it again? Because that’s how he was acting. He was sometimes good at following her directions. Or maybe he was embarrassed, too?

  Her range of emotions finally settled on relief. She needed to get her head on straight about this. Decide what it was she really wanted. She’d made a mistake. A big one. One that she’d felt in her bones she might make. And now that she had, well, she regretted it. Fully.

  After the strangeness last night, having him gone seemed preferable. The idea of him creeping around outside at night freaked her out anyway. And that he could get into her room anytime he wanted… Yes, him leaving was for the best. She’d broach the subject of Evan and the bridge on a chat, where she could really express herself.

  She stowed her embarrassment at him not bothering to mention their liaison. He was leaving it all up to her.

  The day stretched before her. It was cold outside, but she definitely wanted a walk. Maddee would be here at ten to have her session. She had an hour to herself—maybe now would be the perfect time to stretch her legs. Or curl up and relax. She was awfully tired.

  She glanced in the hall before she left the dining room. It was empty. Nothing lingering. Maddee’s hypnosis had helped her find a way back to her voice, but it seemed like she’d tapped into something else too, something darker. Maybe today they could exorcise those thoughts completely as well.

  Taylor left the dining room, took a moment in the hall to orient herself, then set off for her stairs. It didn’t take long for her to get turned around. She backtracked and took the right staircase, found her hallway. But the door was in the wrong place. She realized she was standing in front of Memphis’s office.

  Any port in a storm, she thought, and tried the knob.

  It was locked.

  She debated for half a second, then remembered the key in her back pocket. The door had an old-fashioned locking mechanism; it looked similar to the gate to the gardens.

  Glancing over her shoulder one more time, she slid the key into the lock. Turned it. Was only half-surprised when it opened.

  The skeleton key must be the master. For the whole castle.

  He wouldn’t have given it to her if he didn’t want her to use it, right?

  Rationalization was the most useful skill of all.

  She slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

  The office was strangely empty. There was no fire in the grate, and thankfully, unlike her dream, no blood dripping from the walls. Just Memphis’s elegant rolltop desk, left open, with stacks of paper on it. He was a horizontal filer. That was interesting. Baldwin was just the opposite. Everything had its place. His desk was always clean.

  Now you’re going to compare their filing systems?

  She shook her head. Comparing them, anything about them, was a path to sure destruction.

  A discarded newspaper sat on top of the pile. Obviously the cleaning elves hadn’t made it to this room yet. She wondered what the newspaper held. She�
�d take it back to her room, cozy up to the fire for an hour, and read it before she met with Maddee. A normal morning thing to do.

  A framed picture of Evan sat on the corner of Memphis’s desk. She hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but that didn’t mean anything. She hadn’t been snooping yesterday. She picked up the silver frame and looked at her host’s dead wife.

  There was a resemblance between herself and Evan, without a doubt. She’d noted it in other photos before. But Evan looked so much more carefree in this photo than Taylor ever felt. Perhaps it was the weight of her job, what she saw, what she’d done, but Taylor didn’t ever remember feeling as light as Evan looked. She was a simpler woman. An easier woman. But of course, she was dead. Memphis must see something of a replacement in Taylor.

  She set the photo down. No sense going there. Memphis had been clear about what he wanted, had shown her the possibilities. Regardless, he was her friend, nothing more.

  So what was she doing in his office, looking through his desk?

  She sat heavily in his desk chair. The scent of him, all leather and wood smoke, lingered in the room. He smelled different here than in America, where he’d been subjected to hotel soaps. Here, he smelled real. Maybe he was right not to mention anything. Maybe they could forget it ever happened. She wished to God it hadn’t. And she was going to have to bear that knowledge for the rest of her life.

  Annoyed, she grabbed the newspaper. There was a file underneath it, sitting on the top of his desk. She read the tab. It was labeled Evan.

  Evan?

  She glanced over her shoulder. Listened carefully. No one was around to see her sneak a peek.

  The file was about an inch thick. She used a pencil to open it.