“I think it sounds good in theory…” I returned.
“Well? Why don’t we?” she pressed, peering back at me with brows raised and the question swimming in her green eyes. “We haven’t been on a real vacation in years.”
“Yeah, okay, sounds like a hell of an idea,” I replied with a mocking note. “Where are we going and when do we leave?”
“I’m serious, Rowan.” She sounded a bit hurt.
I quickly backpedaled. “I’m sorry, honey. That came out wrong. Actually, I’m serious too, sort of. Unfortunately, we need to wait until this is over.”
“And until Miranda is gone for good too, I suppose?” she said with an almost accusatory note in her voice.
“Yeah… That’s pretty much a given.”
“So, what you’re really saying is don’t make any plans.”
I had obviously misinterpreted how serious she was about this, and her sudden change in demeanor was a wake-up call. Reaching over, I carefully began to massage her shoulder through the leather of her jacket. “No, that isn’t what I’m saying. We just can’t leave right this minute. You know that as well as I do.”
“Aye, I do. But when?”
“I don’t know,” I replied and gave her a half-hearted shrug. “Think about it. I tried backing away from all this, and we saw where that got me. I mean, even you wanted me to stop fighting it. So, now… Well, I’m kind of stuck until this is over.”
“I know,” she murmured. “But remember? We promised ourselves…”
Her point was valid. We were more than due for a break, and we really had promised ourselves we would get away from things for a while once Annalise was in custody. Unfortunately, life got in the way, as usual, and now the dead were once again taking their turn playing roadblock.
It wasn’t as if we couldn’t afford a vacation financially. Money was the least of our problems. All we really needed to do was clear our schedules, get someone to housesit, and just go. It was the whole schedule-clearing thing that had become our ubiquitous sticking point.
I drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly. “Tell you what,” I said after a thoughtful moment. “I’ll make you a deal. As soon as this case is over we’re outta here.”
“And what about Miranda then?”
“If she’s taken care of, fine. If not, well, I’ll just carry the jar around in my suitcase, I guess.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah… We need the time away.”
“I’m fairly sure that’s what I was just saying.”
“I know, and I was listening even if it didn’t seem like it. There’s just one caveat… We can go anywhere you want except New Orleans. I don’t want you that close to that bitch ever again. Besides, I don’t even know if I’m exactly welcome there anymore.”
“Actually, I was thinking more along the line of home.”
“Home, eh? Well, I guess that will save us the trouble of packing.”
“Rowan…”
“I know, I know… Just joking again… I get it… You want to go to Ireland.”
“Aye. It’s been too long.”
“Can’t I just blindfold you and take you to one of the local pubs and pretend?”
“Joking again?”
“Trying to.”
“Well stop. You aren’t funny.” She underscored the comment with a grin.
I laughed and nodded. “Ireland it is.”
A hard rap sounded on the windshield to my right, making me start at the noise. I turned to see Ben peering in at us from the passenger side of the Jeep. Apparently both of us had been so preoccupied with our conversation that we hadn’t noticed him standing there. I popped the latch on the door and pushed it open, so he reached out and took hold of the upper edge of the frame and swung it wider. Bending down, he looked through the now open gap.
“Am I interruptin’ you two?” he asked.
“Well, yeah, sort of,” I returned.
“Too bad.”
“Wow, Ben, thanks for understanding,” I retorted.
“Yeah, well I been standin’ here forever.”
I glanced at my watch then back at him. “Maybe a minute or two at the most.”
“Uh-huh, like I said, forever.”
I climbed out of the Jeep, and he moved back as I swung the door shut. Felicity was already coming around the front of the vehicle and stepping up on the sidewalk.
Ben glanced over at her then waved a finger at the Jeep and said “Yo, Firehair… Make sure ya’ lock it up.”
“We’re in front of the police station,” she replied.
“Yeah, and your point?”
Felicity replied by cocking her head to the side and giving him a nonplussed stare as she slid her hand into her jacket pocket. Almost instantly the clunk of the locks sounded next to me.
“There. Better?” she asked.
“Hey, it’s your shit, not mine,” Ben returned then stepped back up onto the sidewalk. “By the way, you got any salt?”
Felicity gave him a puzzled look then quipped, “Not with me. Why, are you out or something?”
“Here,” he said as he reached into his jacket pocket. When he withdrew it, small, white paper packets were protruding from between his fingers. He held them out to her, and she instinctively cupped her hands beneath his as he let them fall into her palms.
“I didn’t bother sortin’ it, so there’s prob’ly some pepper in there too, sorry ‘bout that,” he told her. Then jerking his head to the side, he motioned up the street and grunted, “C’mon, let’s get movin’.”
“What’s all this for?” Felicity asked, stuffing the unsought bounty into her pockets.
He pointed at me as he started turning to head up the sidewalk. “Ta’ keep his sorry ass safe. Got a bottle’a aspirin too if ya’ need it.”
“We’re going straight to the morgue, aren’t we?” I asked, my voice coming out in a flat drone because I already knew his answer.
“Yeah,” he replied. “We’re goin’ straight to the morgue.”
* * * * *
I’d made far too many such visits to the Saint Louis City Medical Examiner’s office over the years, and even though I had become prematurely jaded to the sight of corpses and the cold feeling of death, I still never could get used to the place.
Every time I walked through the door of the innocuous building situated next to police headquarters, it was like being the unexpected celebrity guest at a morbid party. It almost always began with a stunned silence that went unnoticed by everyone but me—simply because the ethereal hush was falling over the ghostly voices of the dead that only I could hear in the first place. Of course, the stillness never lasted long. Within moments the screams, the cries, and the pleading voices from the other side of the veil would fill my ears in a deafening cacophony.
And then above it all, there was always the one clear voice of the soul I was supposed to help. That one always shared with me the most pain, anguish, and even physical torture. I suppose it needed something to set it apart from the crowd, although I would have gladly settled for a gentler way of capturing my attention.
As expected, today was no different. And just as I had done on each and every occasion, I fought to ignore the screams in favor of the here and now that was unfolding in front of me.
“Where’s Ceece?” Ben asked the woman behind the desk in the lobby. We were barely through the door, and she hadn’t even been afforded the chance to greet us.
“I’m sorry?” she replied.
“You know, the lady who’s s’posed ta’ be sittin’ where you’re sittin’ right now,” he explained.
She nodded as a look of understanding tweaked her features. “Oh, you mean Cecelia. She just ran out to pick up lunch. May I help you?”
Ben flashed his badge. “Yeah, I’m Detective Storm. We’re here ta’ see Doc Sanders.”
“I’m sorry, Detective, I’m afraid she’s also at lunch.”
“She should be expectin’ us.”
T
he woman shook her head. “I’m certain she’s at lunch.”
“She go out too, or is she in ‘er office like usual?” he asked.
“I believe she’s in her office, but as I said, she’s taking a break for lunch. She should be…”
Ben held up his hands to stop her and began shaking his head. “Ceece knew we were comin’, so did Doc Sanders.”
“I’m sorry, but neither of them said anything about it to me,” she returned.
“Well, they musta forgot.”
“Let me check…” she said as she carefully glanced over a schedule sheet while running her pen along the side and then gave it a second pass. She began shaking her head slowly as she looked up and said, “I’m very sorry, Detective Storm, but you don’t have an appointment listed here and Doctor Sanders is…”
“…at lunch, yeah, I know. Look… I’m serious. Ceece knew we were comin’. If that ain’t enough for ya’, try this on. My boss sent us over here to talk to your boss. Now I really don’t wanna have my boss jumpin’ on my ass and then callin’ your boss’ boss, ‘cause in the end the shit’s just gonna roll downhill on top of both of us. Know what I mean? So just do me a favor… Pick up the phone and let the doc know we’re here.” He shook his head again. “She says no, all good. We let her explain it. Okay?”
The woman looked at him with a sideways glance. “Are you always this intense?”
“Yes, he is,” another voice came from the doorway to our right, and a definite tone of exasperation surrounded the words.
We looked over to find Cecelia coming into the lobby from the back, door slowly swinging shut behind her. Her purse was slung over her shoulder, and she was juggling a pair of large carryout bags in her arms.
“Ceece,” Ben crooned with an air of relief.
“Don’t Ceece me, Storm. You aren’t supposed to be here yet,” she snipped as she walked across the lobby and deposited the bags on the desk. “I told you Doctor Sanders would be available after lunch.”
“Yeah, well shit happens, ya’know.”
“Especially with you,” she sighed. “Is there really some pressing reason why you have to see the doctor now?”
“Yes,” he replied.
She stood staring at him expectantly. After a moment she said, “I take it I’m not going to get an explanation?”
“I can’t get into it,” he said. “Let’s just say the doc owes me.”
“Owes you? Are you sure you don’t have that backwards?”
“Nope.”
Cecelia shook her head. “I’m not even going to ask.”
“Yeah, that’s prob’ly a good idea. B’sides, couldn’t tell ya’ anyway.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she mumbled.
Ben nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
Cecelia directed herself to the woman at the reception desk. “Go ahead and buzz Doctor Sanders, Caroline. He really is supposed to be here.” She paused for a heartbeat then added with emphasis, “After lunch.”
CHAPTER 20:
“I think it’s warmer outside than it is in here,” Ben mused aloud as he shuffled in place. I was fairly certain his dance was more out of impatience than an attempt to keep warm, even though his observation was certainly dead on the mark.
Shortly after the receptionist had buzzed Doctor Sanders, we were signed in then escorted to the cold storage area and autopsy suites at the back of the medical examiner’s building. Unfortunately, we had already been standing here for several minutes, and it was beginning to look like the M.E. was going to make us wait indefinitely.
“Yeah,” I agreed with my friend then looked over at my wife. “You okay, honey?”
She merely nodded in response. She tended to be a bit more sensitive to the cold than me, so she had already zipped up her leather jacket and was now pulling on her gloves. I was almost regretting having left my own coat back at the Jeep even though I knew there was more to the gelid atmosphere than simply the physical temperature.
I gave Felicity’s shoulder a quick squeeze then glanced around at the tiled room. It had been awhile since I’d ventured this far into the bowels of the building, but little had changed since then. Stainless steel rectangles still formed an evenly spaced checkerboard on the far wall, each one a doorway into a cubicle where earthly remains awaited their turn under the knife. At the back end of the room were doors leading into the garage where an overt but acceptable form of segregation occurred on an almost daily basis. Living people entered and exited in the front, corpses there in the back. The only thing missing was a sign reading “Dead Persons Only.”
“I guess Doctor Sanders decided to finish her lunch first,” I finally said after completing my visual inspection for a third time.
“Yeah,” Ben grunted. “Sure seems like it. You’d think they’d at least have us wait someplace warm.”
“Aye, if you hadn’t been so pushy, maybe they would have,” Felicity offered.
“Just doin’ my job,” he returned.
He was still shuffling about, allowing his gaze to wander just as mine had, but with one overt difference—he was avoiding eye contact with me, and Felicity as well. Impatience, I could understand, but this was more than that. I’d seen him play the stone-faced cop more than once, so I knew for a fact something was bothering him that he simply couldn’t mask.
“What are you so nervous about, Ben?” I asked.
“I ain’t nervous.” He shook his head.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well then maybe you got trust issues.”
“These days, you’re probably right, but I’m pretty sure that’s not it. Why don’t you tell me what this is all about. What’s really going on?”
“Whaddaya mean?” He shrugged and waved his hand toward the far wall as he added, “What’s it always about when we come here, white man? You, a pissed off stiff, and la-la land.”
He finally stopped avoiding eye contact and looked at me expectantly as his words dissipated on the cloud of steam that was his breath. I stared back and frowned.
Pissed off stiff. My friend’s less than eloquent way of referring to the body of a murder victim was just another hallmark that told me something was amiss. Granted, any corpse I came here to see during an investigation had some form of brutality responsible for its date with one of the stainless steel tables. And, yes, the spirits once housed by the now lifeless bodies were less than happy about it. But Ben customarily showed at least some amount of reverence.
Still, I knew exactly what he was trying to say. I was here, for all intents and purposes, to translate. To tell the living what the dead had to say, all in hopes that it would shed light on why they were here in the first place.
But that was obvious. Moreover, it wasn’t what I was asking, and he knew it.
“No kidding, Ben. I pretty much figured that out when you herded us up here,” I said. “But you know it doesn’t work that way.”
“Yeah? So when have ya’ ever not gone Twilight Zone when you were here?”
“That’s not my point, and you know it.”
“Maybe not, but it’s mine.”
“Okay, so what if I do? You know how convoluted this can get. There’s never a straight answer from the dead. I’m not going to be able to just hand you a name or anything.”
“Yeah, I know that,” he nodded. “Just do what ya’ do, and we’ll go from there. That’s all I’m askin’.”
“Dammit,” I grumbled. “I let you sidetrack me again.”
“Me? Whaddid I do?”
“You avoided my question. You know that’s not what I was asking.”
He splayed out his hands in mock surrender. “Sounded like it ta’ me. You asked what…”
“Stop it,” I said, cutting him off and holding my own hands up, palms toward him as a sign that I’d had enough. “No double talk. Just answer the question.”
He shot me a concerned look. “You feelin’ okay, Kemosabe? You’re actin’ a little freaked.”
“Don
’t turn this back on me,” I demanded. “Something’s up or you wouldn’t have been in such a rush to get us in here.”
“What rush?” he asked with a shrug.
“Give me a break. You met us at the Jeep, hurried us up here, and then bullied your way in.”
“I was just savin’ ya’ some time. ‘Scuse me.”
“Bullshit.”
“Look, Row, I don’t know what’s eatin’ ya’, but you need to calm down. Okay?”
“What’s eating me is that you’re lying about something, Ben. I can tell by the way you’re acting.”
“Jeezus, didn’t we already go through this shit last night?” he replied.
“Yes,” I snapped. “Which is why I’m not overly pleased about going through it again.”
“Then don’t.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t acting all squirrelly again.”
“You’re imaginin’ things. Listen, it’s simple… Just like I told ya’ on the phone, we got a missin’ woman who fits the victim profile of the two stiffs that just checked in here. But based on the pattern, she’s prob’ly still alive.” He pointed over to the storage drawers to punctuate his next statement. “Brass wants your input so maybe she doesn’t end up movin’ in over there next to the first two.”
“Okay, I can understand that.”
“Wunnerful. See? There ya’ have it. So if it seems like I’m in a rush, maybe I am… And for a damn good reason, don’tcha think?”
“I wish I could believe it’s that simple, Ben. But I can’t. Something else is going on here.”
“Well I said it once and I’ll say it again, you’re imaginin’ shit. Just chill out, okay? It’s all good.”
I shook my head. “No it isn’t. I still don’t get why your brass suddenly wants my advice on this.”
“I already told ya’. Prob’ly because of your track record,” he replied. “You’ve been instrumental in solving every case you ever consulted on. They know that. Some of ‘em definitely don’t like it, but they know it. Enough said.”
“Even if I buy that, there’s got to be more to the story…”
Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 17
