by Cade Brogan
***
As the brightest of the bright in college, most were surprised when Joanna chose forensic pathology as her specialty. “You could be anything you want with those grades,” her mom had rambled until Joanna was nearly ready to kill her, “why in creation would you want to spend your life dissecting dead people?” She inhaled a soft breath of formaldehyde, smiling at her first corpse of the week, her second kill since relocating from Boston to Chicago. Because I enjoy it immensely, Joanna responded in her thoughts. “Opening the skull,” she announced in monotone. She made an incision that ran from just behind one ear, over the top of Jodi’s head, to just behind the other.
Rylee looked away as the forensic pathologist peeled the deceased’s scalp forward. She grimaced when she switched on the saw.
Joanna examined the organ in place before lifting it out for a closer look, measurement, and samples. “One-hundred-sixty-nine millimeters,” she reported, “thirteen-hundred-fifty-two grams.” She poked her tongue into her cheek when she caught sight of the second puncture, that one in the chest, near the heart. If you’d taken your time, she reminded herself, you wouldn’t have made a critical error in your calculation of the dosage. Her right eye twitched. Sloppy work. She’d scrambled to uncap her back-up syringe as Jodi’s fingers encircled her neck. Her prints were visible if you looked closely. And I deserved to be punished, she thought. When she moved, she felt the sting of a particularly deep laceration on her shoulder. Forgive me she lipped inaudibly. Next time, and from now on, I’ll be more careful.
***
Rylee parked in the space reserved for squad cars, checked the laptop one last time, and exited the vehicle.
“Good grief,” Rich muttered, coming up alongside her, “those gaudy red t-shirts with purple print are everywhere.” Everyone, including the woman that Rylee held the door for, seemed to be wearing one. It was definitely a thing for this congregation.
“Ditty-whackers,” Rylee responded. “They’re scriptures taken out of context to whack someone. Extremist churches like this one use ‘em all the time to beat folks down.” She pressed her lips together. “I just try to ignore ‘em,” she continued. “Works, most of the time.”
“You’re a better person than I am, pal,” Rich said, patting her back. “Makes me want to walk up and slug someone.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Rylee responded, meeting his eye. She knew because she’d done it a couple of times, back in college. “Plus, it’d get you in a heaping bunch of trouble.” She took a breath, exhaling slowly. “They aren’t bad people,” she added, shaking her head, “just brainwashed sheep following along, folks taught that they risk going to hell if they dare think for themselves.”
“Like I said,” Rich answered with a gentle fist-bump into his palm, “you’re a better person than I am, pal.”
“Not better,” Rylee responded, smiling thinly, “just more practiced at letting things roll off my shoulders.” Despite the prejudice that she faced as a butch, she’d always refused to conform to gender norms, or apologize for who she was.
Rich nodded toward the new wing, down a wide, freshly carpeted corridor, “Says the office is down there.”
Rylee nodded back, turning the corner. “So,” she said, “interview the pastor and take a look at the membership list. Anything else you can think of for this trip?” The fact that they had two victims with this place in common guaranteed they’d be back sooner rather than later.
“Maybe check out the attendance records, if they keep ‘em,” Rich responded.
“Yeah,” Rylee answered, “good idea.”
***
Floor-to-ceiling glass panes marked the perimeter of the modern office space. Walls without walls. A large oval conference table sat twenty feet over. A spacious workstation, several filing cabinets, and upholstered seating for visitors was positioned nearer to the door. The receptionist looked up from her keyboard as the detectives stepped to the counter. “Good morning,” she greeted on autopilot, “how may I—” Her gaze fixed as her stream of words froze. She lifted two fingers to her parted lips as her tone faded to virtually inaudible. “How may I help you?”
“Good morning,” Rich greeted. “We’re here to see your pastor.” He cocked his head instead of showing his badge, probably noticing that she was ignoring him.
Rylee swallowed hard, her heartbeat racing beyond the confines of the organ.
“Hi,” Kenzie said softly.
“Hi,” Rylee responded with another hard swallow. For that second, her breathing stalled mid-lungs. “Your preacher,” she finally blurted out, “is he available?”
“Do you have an appointment?” Kenzie asked—as if that mattered.
“Yeah,” Rylee answered, forcing a thin, stiff smile, “we do. We just talked with him on the phone.”
Kenzie bit her lower lip, pressed ‘speaker,’ and announced, “Pastor...Rylee Hayes and—” She looked up, meeting Rich’s eye.
“Rich Winters,” Rich responded with a quick glance to his partner.
“And Rich Winters,” Kenzie continued, “are here to see you.” She fingered a curly lock of hair behind her ear, stealing a quick glance to Rylee.
“Good,” the minister responded. “Go ahead and send ‘em on back.”
Kenzie looked up, holding Rylee’s gaze. “You can go on back,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up into a sad smile.
Rylee looked away for a second, clenching her jaw. When her gaze returned, she responded, “Thanks.”
Rich followed, studying one, and then the other.
Chapter Eight
“No,” the pastor responded, “I’m sorry, but I simply have no idea why someone would hurt, let alone murder, either of those two women.” His voice was devoid of emotion, his hands were folded on his desk, and his eyes were fixed downward. “I’ve been racking my brain since you called, trying to come up with something,” he continued, “but for the life of me I can’t come up with anything significant that they had in common.” He shook his head slowly. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Not just significant,” Rylee interjected, leaning forward on the leather sofa, “anything at all.”
“I don’t know what more to say,” he responded, his eyes drifting toward the corner of his area rug, and then looking up. “I want more than anything to help you.”
“Just share what comes to mind,” Rich encouraged. “Let us decide what’s important.”
Pastor Mark nodded, taking a breath. “Both were longtime members of the congregation,” he said, “and both were baptized into the faith right here as young adults.” He furrowed his brow. “Both attended Bible study from time to time.” He pursed his lips. “But not as regularly as they ought.” He met Rylee’s gaze. “I saw them more as acquaintances than good friends,” he added, “but I could be wrong about that part.”
“Why’s that?” Rylee asked, tilting her head as she looked up from her notes.
“Only because they regularly shared a ride to worship,” he responded, “which doesn’t always mean anything, just once in a while.” He nodded toward the wall, on the opposite side of which, sat Kenzie. “My secretary has a big heart,” he said with a warm smile, “always goes out of her way to offer transportation to those who need it.”
Rylee nodded, her lips pressing together as she pushed back an unwelcome wave of nostalgia. She knew Kenzie was a good person from first-hand experience. It had taken the longest time to get her out of her heart. If she were to be totally honest, she’d admit that she hadn’t been successful. “So,” she continued, pausing to swallow, “the ride, that’s the only thing, other than church related activities, that they had in common as far as you know?” She met his gaze directly, not wanting to consider the obvious that intentionally or unintentionally had been left out. “You can’t think of anything else?”
“No, not really,” Mark responded, shaking his head. “You might want to talk to Kenzie though. Kenzie Big
ham, my secretary. She may offer up something that I haven’t thought to tell you.”
“We’ll do that,” Rich said, standing. “Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime,” the pastor responded, handing over the church membership roster and attendance logs. “Oh, and there’s one more thing,” he added, taking a breath, “I haven’t had an opportunity to tell Kenzie about Jodi Hollis.” He pursed his lips. “She was pretty broken-up about Sally...so...”
“We’ll break the news gently,” Rich promised. When he glanced to Rylee, he lifted an eyebrow.
“Thanks again,” Rylee said with a stiff smile and a nod. “We’ll be in touch.” As they stepped through the doorway, Rich nudged her shoulder. “Let’s chat in the hall for a moment,” he said softly.
Rylee nodded with a gentle bite to her lower lip. They’d been partners for what seemed like forever and he knew her pretty damn well. She glanced to Kenzie. “We’ll be right back,” she said, holding her gaze, “and then we’ll need to talk with you.”
“I’ll be right here,” Kenzie responded softly.
***
“So,” Rich started off, touching her shoulder as the door shut, “I just wanted to step out so you had an opportunity to not participate in her interview if you wanted.” His tone was gentle like he was talking to his daughter. “I can’t remember ever hearing you speak about her,” he went on, “but from the looks of things, I’d say there was a time when you two meant a lot to one another.”
“Yeah, there was,” Rylee admitted, looking off. “But it was a long time ago, back when we were in college.” She met his eye, stomping down memories. “Thanks, but you don’t have to worry, I’m fine.”
“I’ll let her know we’ll be in the lounge,” Rich responded.
***
“We appreciate you agreeing to speak with us,” Rich began, sliding his business card across the table. “You know that you’re under no obligation to do so.”
“It’s no problem,” Kenzie responded, smoothing her navy skirt, and adjusting her blouse. “I want to do whatever I can to help you bring Sally’s killer to justice.” She shook her head, sighing softly. “I still can’t believe that happened to someone as kind and loving as she was.”
“Bad things happen,” Rylee piped in, meeting her eye with intensity.
Kenzie blinked, taking a long sip of carbonated water.
“Alright then,” Rich said, clearing his throat, “I guess we should go ahead and get started.” He rearranged his paperwork, tapping his pen on the tabletop as he waited for Kenzie to look away from Rylee, and Rylee to look up.
“Yes,” Rylee said, rocking back in her chair, and then dropping forward, “let’s get started.”
Rich broke the news of Jodi’s death, gently, as promised.
Rylee waited, allowing it to settle, before launching her volley. “So, tell me again,” she continued, “how was it that you came to be their regular ride?” She held Kenzie’s gaze. “I mean…don’t you have...others...others who ride with you from time to time? Seems to me that, week-after-week, having two of your three available seats taken by people you don’t know that well...” Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted. “Well, it seems that it would be a hardship.”
Kenzie locked gazes. “No,” she responded, “not at all.” She knew what Rylee wanted to know. She knew it, and be damned if she wasn’t going to hold out.
Rich exhaled, lifting his pen. “So tell us again,” he interjected, “who all does ride with you on Sunday mornings?” He met his partner’s gaze briefly before looking back. “Just in case we need to talk with them before this is all over.”
Kenzie pursed her lips, directing her answer to Rylee. “Just my daughter,” she responded, squinting one eye.
Rylee nodded as if the revelation didn’t surprise her at all. When she met Kenzie’s eye, she was certain that her ex-girlfriend had recognized the show of false-bravado for what it was.
“She’s thirteen,” Kenzie continued softly. “I’m divorced.” Her eyes met Rylee’s with gentleness. “And there’s no one else.”
Rylee nodded again, pressing her lips together. With a breath, she continued with her line of questioning. She slid her card across to Kenzie when she was done, adding, “Call if anything else comes to mind.”
***
“So, that was awkward,” Rich said, stepping outside to the lot.
“Sorry,” Rylee responded, dropping her head. She handed him the keys, adding, “You drive.”
“Okay,” Rich said, meeting her eye. “Lunch?”
“Yeah, I could eat,” Rylee answered. “Any where’s fine.”
“Okay,” Rich responded. “That burger joint on Cermak?”
“Yeah,” Rylee said, “whatever...wherever’s fine.” She looked off for nineteen blocks, interspersed with high-rises. When asked, she ordered a double-cheeseburger, fries, and a Sprite. “Sorry,” she repeated, unwrapping her sandwich, and preparing to take her first bite. “I couldn’t seem to do anything but act like a jerk.” She chewed, looking off, and swallowed.
“It happens,” Rich responded. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do but let it out.” He swallowed, meeting her eye. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“No,” Rylee answered. “Just need to get my head squared-away, put the past back where it belongs.”
Rich nodded. “You know she’s a suspect until she’s not,” he tossed out hesitantly. “She was at both buildings on the mornings of both murders.”
“Yeah, I know,” Rylee answered, “but she didn’t do either one of them. She’s not that kind of person.” She shook her head. “Couldn’t hurt another living creature, even if she wanted to. Physically, that is,” she continued, “not even a fly.” She sucked down a long drink of pop. “Now breaking someone’s heart,” she said, clenching her jaw, “that she can do without giving it a second thought.”
***
“Mmm, I smell spaghetti,” Rylee called out, removing her cap as she stepped onto the patterned linoleum floor. Avocado green and harvest gold, it had been put down a full decade before she was born.
“And garlic bread,” Gladys responded, pushing back a lock of silver hair before tipping her cheek up for the kiss that she knew was coming. “Thought you might stop by on your way home.” As she stirred her sauce, garlic, basil, and oregano wafted onto the porch. “You know I made plenty,” she added, smiling, “stay if you want.”
“You twisted my arm,” Rylee answered with a wink and a return smile, thinner than usual. She glanced toward the living room. “Gramps around?” she asked. “I want to see what he thinks about a piece of trace evidence we picked up.” A cop for thirty years, he had great instincts and experience to back them up.
“Of course you do,” Gladys answered, shaking her head, “He’s downstairs finishing up his new track.” Her husband had been a model railroad enthusiast since he retired.
“Cool,” Rylee said. “Going down to check it out.” She kissed her another time before disappearing down the basement stairwell. “Holler when dinner’s ready,” she called out.
“I will,” Gladys responded.
***
“Oooh, look at that,” Rylee greeted, bending over for a closer look, “it goes clockwise through the yard and then bends into that little neighborhood.” She met his eye, saying, “I love it!”
“Thanks,” Omar responded, his blue eyes twinkling with pride. “Been working on it since last Sunday.”
“What a coincidence,” Rylee said, “I want to pick your brain about a case I’ve been working during the same timeline.” She opened her photo application, handing him her phone.
Omar held the device at one angle, moving it closer to his eye, and then shifting it to another. “Looks like some kind of seed,” he commented. “Can’t say much more about it. But then I’m not the gardener. It’s your grandma you need to be talking to about this one.”
“I’m not asking you to identif
y it,” Rylee responded. “The folks at the botanical garden can do that for me. I’m asking if you think it’s worth running down.” She lifted an eyebrow as she cocked her head. “I mean it was outdoors and seeds blow around.”
“So you found it pressed into a muddy footprint?” he clarified, palming back his crop of clipped white hair.
“Yep,” Rylee nodded, “several of ‘em, a couple of ‘em squished in pretty deep.”
“Well,” he responded, “like I said, your grandma’s the one you need to ask, but let me take another look.” He cocked the iPhone. “No,” he finally said, shaking his head, “I just don’t think this one would’ve had what it took aerodynamically to blow in from somewhere else. My guess,” he continued, looking up, “is that it’d be one to stay right where it dropped.”
“So it’s worth running down then,” Rylee responded, “even if I only find that the mother plant was just above it.”
