by Gregg Olsen
Tess was right. Darby’s mom was right!
It was after hours, so Kendall dialed the assistant vice principal at home.
“Stacy, this is Kendall Stark of the sheriff’s office. Sorry to bother you at home. Just doing some routine checking.”
“At this hour? Jeesh, detective, I thought my job was bad. What’s up?”
“Sorry. I lost track of the time. Millicent Carlyle. Is she employed there?”
“She’s looking for a new job?”
“Can’t say,” Kendall said. “What does she teach?”
Stacy laughed a little. “She’s not a teacher at South. She’s our lead custodian. And if the sheriff is looking for a new one for your office, he’s going to have to arm-wrestle the principal to get her away from us. Millicent is the best we’ve ever had. She’s more reliable than the crew of misfits we’ve had around here. She’s a real peach. She keeps everything shipshape. She was in the navy.”
As they talked, Kendall pulled up the DMV photo of Millicent. She was an attractive woman with soft brown eyes and a flattering short, asymmetrical haircut. She wasn’t a model, but she wasn’t scary either.
“Yes, I know,” Kendall said.
“She worked at the prison too,” Stacy went on. “I think it sort of helps her do her job around the school in a kind of not so ironic way. The kids here think they’re in prison. Bitch and moan they do. Can’t have cell phones on campus. Can’t smoke. Have to go to every class to get at least a C. They don’t know that this is the easiest part of their lives, not the most difficult.”
“I get what you’re saying, Stacy,” Kendall said, adding a quick “keep this on the QT, will you?”
Stacy sighed. “Everything’s confidential these days.”
“Have a good evening, Stacy. Thanks.”
Birdy Waterman looked down at the picture of the deceased and waited for Don Lake’s twin brother to come into the Starbucks at Ashler Hills in Scottsdale. Daniel Lake had told her to meet him there at 7 a.m.. It was early and the temperature was already closing in on eighty degrees. The weatherman had said there might be a thundershower later in the afternoon, but Birdy couldn’t see how that prediction could be anywhere near possible. There wasn’t a speck of a cloud in the sky.
The drive to the Starbucks had been as lovely as any she’d ever made. The saguaros were in bloom. Those with a crown of blooms looked like they were figures wearing headdresses of flowers, like the girls had worn on May Day or at a wedding she once attended on the beach. One specimen looked like it was flipping off the speeding drivers in their showroom-worthy BMWs, Mercedes, and some foreign cars that the forensic pathologist couldn’t identify as anything other than out of her budget forever. From its landscape to the interests of its well-heeled residents, Scottsdale was like a foreign land. Birdy had picked up a travel magazine at the airport and read it before bed. It was a salute to mothers of the regions. They looked like no mothers she’d ever seen before. They posed provocatively in designer clothes and burbled about the rigors of shopping and eating out. One complained that it was difficult being the prettiest one at her club, but she faced the jealousy with the help of a therapist.
Near the end of each profile, one of the women mentioned she adored her children too.
Birdy wasn’t dressed like a tourist. She wore a light blue suit and heels and carried her best handbag, a Marc Jacobs that she purchased online for half price. It was large enough to carry a few of the tools of the trade that she’d need for the exhumation that morning. She sipped her latte and looked at her phone. She thought of calling Elan to see how he was doing, but she thought better of it. He was, after all, sixteen as Kendall had rightly pointed out. He’d be just fine.
Right on time, Daniel Lake, wearing khaki shorts, a Tommy Bahama shirt, and flip-flops, came into the coffee shop.
Their eyes met and it must have been painfully obvious she was the out-of-towner, despite her fancy bag. All the other early birds—a term she despised for obvious reasons—were tan, bleached, whitened, and lipo-ed to perfection. He waved and indicated that he needed something to drink. She looked down at the photo. Yes, like he’d said on the phone, they were indeed identical twins. Daniel was more than a decade older now, but in the old Arizona DMV photo of Jennifer’s first husband that she brought with her along with the original autopsy report, it looked as though Donald had come out of the grave.
Which was exactly what he was going to do later that morning.
“I know you’re going to dig my brother up and frankly, I’m not unhappy about it,” he said, sitting at her wobbly table. “Not in the least.”
Birdy introduced herself and put out her hand, which he accepted.
“I’m sorry about putting your family through this,” she said.
He waved her concerns away. When he moved, she noticed a slender gold chain nestled in his silver cholla chest hair.
“Hey, like I said I’m really glad. My mom, not so much. But she’s old and sick and it doesn’t matter what she thinks anymore. She actually liked Jenny. I forgive her for that because, well, she’s my mom.”
Daniel Lake was instantly likable.
“I take it that you feel a little differently?” she asked.
He toyed with the plastic lid on his cup, before removing it and sipping his coffee.
“There’s no point in lying. I’m a straight shooter, Doctor. Always have been. I told my brother she was trailer trash from Gila County and she might have been a fine piece of ass, but she’d ruin him.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. He, like all the others in the magazine she’d read, worked out.
“Which part? Piece of ass? Trailer trash?”
“Either. Both, I guess.”
“Actually, funny thing, Don and I grew up trailer trash too. Dad worked for the forest service and did a little mining. We never did have much except a dream to get out of Star Valley and make something of ourselves. Don made it in a big way with his catering business and his restaurant. It makes me sick that that bitch pissed it all away after he died. Couldn’t hang on to a dollar if you duct taped it to her fake boobs.”
Birdy really liked Dan. He wasn’t careful. He just said what was on his mind.
“You don’t hold back, do you?”
The man raised a shoulder and let out a laugh. “I read the articles up there in Washington. Everyone from Gila County who knew my brother has read them too. I know what Jenny did up there and I’m pretty sure she did it down here too. I thought so at the time. Not poisoning, but something.”
Birdy picked at the cinnamon scone she’d purchased with her latte. She wasn’t hungry, but nervous about the day ahead. She thought having something in her stomach would calm her a little.
“Talk to me about your brother’s marriage,” she said. “What was going on with him and Jennifer at the time he died?”
“A lot,” he said. “That’s what. I need another cup of joe. Hang on.”
Dan got up and placed an order, chatting with the barista like he knew her. He might have. Or it might have been his personality. The guy liked to talk and that was a very good thing.
When he came back he gave Birdy what he called “the unvarnished” truth about what he’d observed during the course of his late brother’s courtship and marriage. He talked about how Jennifer had set her trap at the hotel and that Dan was the only one dumb enough to fall for it.
“Look, the irony is that she was a gold-digger, but she hitched her wagon to a catering guy. That’s a dumb gamble. Catering? Anyway, I’ll give her a little credit for pushing him in the right direction, but hell, he would have gotten there eventually on his own. He wasn’t dumb. And he was pretty handsome too.”
He waited for a response to his attempt at a punch line, but she said nothing
“Twin joke,” he said. “You’re supposed to laugh.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I get it.”
“Yo
ur job or your personality?”
“Huh?” she asked.
“You’re wound up a little tight.”
Birdy knew he was right. “Probably a little of both. Doing an exhumation is about my least favorite thing in a job that has more than its share of negatives.”
“Yeah, then why’d you pick it?”
The forensic pathologist was taken aback a little. No one had asked that question in a long time. Her standard answer up till then had always been because she wanted to help people who couldn’t help themselves. Those who didn’t have a voice. Yet after doing it for so many years, she doubted that motive or at least how it sounded to others.
“It’s the kind of job that picks you,” she said. “You don’t pick it.”
“Like a minister or something?” he asked.
“Something like that.”
They talked some more about how Don had been so happy when Ruby was born, and then Micah.
“She let my brother name the kids. We’re rock hounds. Coming from Gila County, there isn’t a whole lot to do but look for rocks.”
“He was happy then,” she said.
“Yeah then.”
She looked down at the photo. “And then what?”
The wistful smile faded from Dan’s face. He was handsome, like his brother had been. The sun had weathered his face over the years, but the deep creases looked good on him. His eyes were faded denim blue and his hair had silvered a little.
“Jenny starting running around again, that’s what. He told me that she was stepping out on him and that he was going to divorce her and get custody of the kids. Told me that she was probably entitled to half the business and that getting rid of her would be worth it.”
“Except for the custody issue, what would be so awful about that? For Jenny?”
He finished his second cup. “You should have figured that out by now, considering what she’s done up there.”
She wondered if he was going to get another cup, but he didn’t. “I guess so,” she said. “But tell me what made you so sure?”
“One time I was over there and she was drunk and you know what she told me? She thought that I was my brother. You know what she said?” he asked, shaking his head. “You won’t believe it. I told the sheriff. But he didn’t do a damned thing about it.”
Birdy leaned in. This had to be good.
“She said, ‘I’m going to kill you one day. No one will know how, but I’m going to do it just when you least expect it.’ ”
“That’s a pretty scary threat,” Birdy said, steadying the wobbly table.
“It was a goddamn promise. Dr. Waterman, get this. It gets even better. It happened two weeks later. Donny hadn’t been feeling well for a while and finally when he got better he went out with his buddies golfing at Troon. And bam, he has a heart attack! He died right there on the golf course.”
“I saw the autopsy report, Dan. He did have a heart attack.”
Dan stood up. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I know something you don’t know, I bet.”
“What’s that?”
“She was doing the doctor who did Donny’s autopsy.”
Birdy was surprised. She didn’t even try to hide it. “No,” she said.
“Sure as shit she was,” he said, stepping away. “Hold on to that thought. I got to use the bathroom. I had two cups before I got here. My eyes are going to turn brown.”
He disappeared into the restroom.
While he was away, Birdy pulled the autopsy report from her purse and scanned it for the umpteenth time. When he died, Donald Lake was forty-two. He’d had no history of heart trouble. The notes indicated that it had been an extremely hot day, more than one hundred degrees. Birdy wondered who in their right mind would golf in that kind of weather. But she put that out of her mind. This was a strange land, with strange people.
Dan returned to the table, this time with a bottle of water. A smart move, she thought. She noticed that the table was no longer wobbling. The restroom break had helped. He started talking right where he left off. Dan Lake didn’t need a prompt. It was like he’d held a fingertip to a passage he’d been reading and was ready to keep going.
“I confronted the doc a few months later when I found out they’d gotten together, but he denied and denied. Some chump. You know what he did?”
Birdy shook her head. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“Get this. He married her. He married her in Las Vegas.”
She could scarcely believe her ears. “You have no reason to kid me, but really?”
He gave her a knowing look. “It lasted about as long as most of those marriages over there. That doctor divorced her in six months. Never heard why. Haven’t seen him since. He lives around here though.”
“Someone should talk to him,” Birdy said.
“Yes you should,” he said. “And I’ll make it easy on you.”
“How’s that, Mr. Lake?”
He got out his wallet and handed her one of his business cards. Like his brother, he was in the restaurant business too. Birdy looked confused.
“Look on the other side,” he said.
She turned it over. It held the name and address for Bobby Drysdale.
“I don’t have his number, but it’s not far from the cemetery. After you dig up my brother maybe you can dig up something with the old doctor.”
She smiled. “Another joke, right?”
Dan grinned back at her. “You really do need to lighten up.”
She got up. “It’s kind of hard, considering what I have to do now. But I’ll try. Thank you for helping me. You’ll be sure to know if I find anything.”
“Doctor, do me a favor.”
“Of course. If I can.”
“Tell Ruby and Micah that their grandma misses them. Hasn’t seen them in way too long. Would mean an awful lot to the old bird. Might keep her around a while longer. Losing your son is hard, but you’ve probably seen a lot of that in your line of work.”
Birdy couldn’t deny that she had.
“I’ll deliver the message personally,” she said.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he said. “Call me Danny. Everyone does.”
Birdy watched Danny Lake leave and get into his Mercedes convertible. He revved the engine and pulled away.
She noticed his license plate. It matched the name of the restaurant that had been on his card: DONDANS.
Birdy sat there for a few more minutes, looking at the autopsy report and the printout of the directions she’d made in the Comfort Inn’s tiny business center that morning. She was expected at the cemetery at ten. She dialed Kendall, but it went to voice mail.
“Nothing really earth-shattering, but Donald Lake’s twin brother thinks that Jennifer killed Donald. That’s not really news. What is interesting is that Jennifer—who everyone down here calls Jenny—actually married the doctor who conducted Donald’s autopsy. You heard right. That marriage, however, was very short-lived too. With one big difference. That one is still alive. I have his address and if I have time I’m curious enough to pay him a visit. Let me know if you think that’s out of line, helpful, whatever. I’m not a cop, but I think I can handle the interview. If I get to meet him, that is. Anyway if you’re still listening to this rambling message its eighty-five degrees down here and I’m about to dig up a dead body. Jealous? Thought so.”
CHAPTER 28
The cemetery on Pinnacle Peak Road was the veritable oasis in the desert. Its verdant acreage swathed the top of a lumpy landscape like a green velvet coverlet on a grandmother’s old feather bed. A family of bobwhite quail cut in front of Birdy as she walked toward the front door of the Welcome Center. It was proudly named, but looked like one of the dozens of taupe, tan, and cream-colored adobe-style mansions that hugged the base of the peak dominating the terrain. The funeral director, a deputy from the Maricopa County sheriff’s department, and the cemetery administrator waited inside.
“I hope I’m not late,” she said, introduc
ing herself and providing a duplicate copy of a court order for the exhumation.
The funeral director was Stephan Santos, a flinty-eyed fellow with damp hands and an awkward smile. The deputy was a young woman with ramrod posture and eyes shielded by sunglasses, though she was indoors. Her name was Lucy Anderson.
“I’m here just to observe,” she said. “I have a sister in Portland,” she added.
“That’s nice,” Birdy said. “Not too far from home.”
The last man was the cemetery administrator. Richard Mundy was in his sixties, had caterpillar brows, and was none too pleased about what they were assembled to do.
“We don’t take kindly to what you’re doing here, disturbing hallowed ground,” he said. Louis Vuitton bags hung under his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Birdy said. She meant it too. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Who’s going to pay for this?” he asked.
“Kitsap County will reimburse you. You’ll need to provide an invoice for the dig and re-interment.”
“What about my time?” Mundy said, clearly no stranger to pushing the limits. His funeral director looked to the floor, embarrassed. “This is taking my time.”
Birdy knew this man was trouble on the phone and he’d just confirmed it.
“You can include it in your invoice,” she said, trying to keep the conversation pleasant and on an even keel. She declined to remind him that what they were doing was part of a criminal investigation to show a pattern of homicide spun by Jennifer Roberts. That Kitsap even paid for his work crew was above and beyond what most jurisdictions would do. People who had homes turned upside down by a police search don’t get the benefit of a paid-for cleaning crew when the rum-magers for evidence leave.
Though some ask for it.
“Well,” he said, looking down at the document she’d provided first by email, then under the court’s seal, “since the paperwork is in order, go ahead. Do what you have to do.”
“All right then,” Birdy said. “Depending on the condition of the vault, the casket, the victim, this might be a very short exhumation and exam.”
