She'll Never Live

by Hunter Morgan

  Claire didn't know Savage well. He'd come with good references from a Podunk town in Arkansas where he'd been with the county sheriff's department. He was quiet. Did his job, though he was a little squeamish. And according to Ashley, he had the hots for her. Claire didn't know if she should count that for or against the man.

  "A disturbing the peace. Drunk college kid on a balcony rail trying to do the hokey pokey." McCormick salted and peppered his eggs, hash browns, and scrapple as he ticked off his night's calls. "A guy urinating in public." He elbowed Savage. "Hey, tell the chief about the kids in the ocean."

  Savage picked up a bottle of Tabasco from beside the Heinz 57. "She can read the report," he mumbled, concentrating on his eggs. "Leave her alone, Ryan. Let her order her breakfast."

  "I don't know how you can ruin perfectly good eggs with that stuff." McCormick waved his hand as the smell of the hot pepper sauce mingled with the scent of the freshly scrambled eggs.

  Even through the neatly pressed long sleeve uniform shirt, Claire could make out the officer's serious pecs. She had once asked him why he wore long sleeves, even in the heat of the summer. Memorial Day to Labor Day, Albany Beach's police force was free to wear short sleeves, but McCormick had informed her that short sleeves didn't look professional. She could see his point, but decided that, personally, armpit stains were even less professional.

  "Come on, tell her about the kids," McCormick repeated, refusing to let the subject drop.

  Savage set down the bottle of hot sauce and slowly screwed the lid back on. "We picked up these college kids."

  "Nine of them," McCormick injected.

  "They were swimming in the ocean about two in the morning," Savage continued, obviously against his better judgment. "Apparently making enough noise to wake up some folks in a nearby condo."

  McCormick spoke with a bite of scrapple in his mouth. "They were swimming buck naked."

  "They were skinny-dipping," Savage confirmed.

  "Guess what they were doing naked," Ryan almost cackled. He pointed with his fork. "Tell her."

  Savage looked around. "Ryan," he said under his breath. "This place is packed."

  "No one's listening. Come on."

  Savage glanced at Claire. Hesitated.

  "Fornicating," Ryan said, lifting a broad eyebrow. "All of them right in the surf. One big 'effin' orgy." He took a bite of egg. "Imagine that, Chief."

  "Imagine that." She sighed, glancing up at Loretta who had come to take her order.

  "Usual?" The hefty woman's hair was so fire-engine red it couldn't possibly be natural.

  "Please." Claire smiled.

  "Coming up."

  Claire got up off the stool. "You guys get some sleep. Have a good night tonight, if I miss you. Be safe," she called as she walked away.

  Loretta met Claire at the register a minute later.

  "Bran muffin. Two jelly doughnuts and two cups of coffee." She leaned forward to speak safety as she sealed the plastic lids on the coffees. "I just wanted you to know I was with you last night. At the meeting."

  Claire met the older woman's gaze. Metallic blue eye shadow. "I appreciate that." She offered a perfunctory smile.

  "I couldn't speak up, of course." Loretta gazed out at the room of busy diners. "People are funny about that kind of thing. I can't afford to lose no one's business right now. What with tourist trade being so bad."

  Tourism was down in the little beach town. Rental condos were left vacant for weeks at a time, for the first time in years. Revenue was down everywhere: restaurants, gifts shops, the movie theater and bowling alley. Vacationers were staying away from the town they no longer deemed safe for their families.

  "I understand." Claire reached for the coffee and doughnuts. "How much do I owe you?"

  "Four." Loretta averted her gaze.

  It was the first time she had charged Claire for morning coffee and doughnuts since Claire had returned to Albany Beach to accept her father's job. She pulled the money out of her back pocket. She'd been reading accounts of law enforcement officers who had dealt with or were dealing with serial killer investigations. Every first-person account mentioned that their lives were never the same again.

  Sadly, she guessed it was true.

  Claire was stopped at a red light only a block from the station when her cell phone lying on the seat beside her rang. "Drummond," she said.

  "Chief, it's Jewel."

  The hair rose immediately on the back of Claire's neck. Jewel was her bubble gum-popping day shift dispatcher who also served as her secretary, clerk, whatever she needed. Normally, Claire was contacted by the station over the car radio, or the radio she wore on her uniform. Her cell phone was mostly for personal use, although it was listed on her contact sheet at the station. "What is it, Jewel?" she said tersely, pulling into an empty parking space. The town had way too many empty parking spaces this summer.

  "Something going on over at the ER."

  The familiar pop of a burst bubble of gum sounded in Claire's ear.

  "A girl's being transported to the hospital by the paramedics," Jewel continued. "Detective Robinson is already on his way over, but he thought you might want to be there with him for the interview."

  "Tell me what's going on." Claire signaled, whipped the car around in a one-handed U-turn, and headed for the hospital. She usually made it a policy not to talk on the cell phone while driving. While not illegal in the state yet, it was dangerous and she always liked to set a good example for the citizens of Albany Beach. This morning, good example be damned.

  "Detective Robinson said he would fill you in on the particulars when you got there, but apparently, this chick was attacked by some guy she met in a bar."

  "Attacked? As in raped?"

  "No, like he tried to kidnap her and throw her in the trunk, only she got away."

  "Holy shit," Claire murmured.

  "Amen to that, Chief." Jewel popped another bubble in concurrence. "So, Detective Robinson said for you to meet him in the ER."

  "I'm headed there now." Claire's mind was flying in a million directions. Could this be the single stroke of luck she'd been praying for? Someone who had seen the killer? Someone who could tell her something that would lead her in the right direction?

  She hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

  * * *

  Claire parked her police cruiser in one of the spaces designated for emergency vehicles in the ER parking bay and hurried through the automatic sliding glass doors. She saw paramedic Kevin James and his partner headed toward her in the brightly lit corridor where there were colored lines painted on the tile floor, meant to be used to guide patients to various areas of the hospital.

  "Kevin."

  "Hey, Chief."

  "I'll grab the coffee and meet you at the bus," his partner said, hooking a thumb in the direction of the auxiliary coffee shop as he turned the corner. "Maybe Madge still has some blueberry muffins."

  "What's up?" Kevin asked Claire. He was in his early thirties with sandy colored blond hair and killer blue eyes that gave him an all-American look. He knew how to wear the county's emergency medical technician uniform, too. His long sleeve light blue shirt was always pressed and immaculate, his navy pants creased. He'd grown up in the area; his parents had chicken farms all over the county. Nice guy.

  "I was kind of hoping you could tell me." She lowered her voice as a nurse pushing an elderly patient in a wheelchair approached them.

  "'Morning, Chief Drummond." The nurse avoided eye contact as she passed. She'd been in the group of hostile hospital employees at the town meeting the previous night.

  "Good morning, Kathy." Claire nodded, turning back to Kevin as the nurse continued on her way. "Did you treat this woman just brought in?" she asked quietly. "The one who was attacked?"

  Kevin nodded. "She managed to get away from the guy. Got back to the apartment she's sharing with some girlfriends for the summer. Clothes torn. Beat up. They convinced her to call 911."

  Clo
thes torn. Beaten. Claire felt her blood pressure plunge in disappointment. This wasn't her guy. It didn't match the MO... unless the killer was changing, evolving. The possibility made her shudder. "So he tried to kidnap her?"

  Kevin nodded. "He attacked her in a bar parking lot. Tuna's. Tried to throw her in his trunk."

  "She was inside the bar? Underage?" She scowled.

  "You know these kids, Chief. They've got fake IDs that look better than the real ones." His gaze shifted to the two lab techs from the phlebotomy lab approaching.

  Dressed in scrubs, they carried plastic trays of glass vials to collect specimens. Alan Bradford and Casey McCall. They'd both been at the meeting the previous night, too. Casey avoided eye contact as he walked by, but Alan had the guts to speak. "Good morning, Chief."

  She nodded. "'Morning, Alan." In his early thirties, like Kevin, he, too, had lived his whole life in Albany Beach. She didn't know him well, but he was pleasant whenever she ran into him and she always let him take her blood when she needed tests run. Her veins were hard to hit, and he never had to make a second stab. When Ashley had required blood work over the winter when her doctor had suspected she might have mono, Alan had been the one to alleviate her daughter's trepidation, and get the sample without hurting her.

  "Hope it's not more bad news that's brought you here," Alan said as he walked by.

  She offered a grim smile. "I hope not, either." She met Kevin's gaze again as the lab techs disappeared into an elevator. "Was she sexually assaulted?"

  "It wasn't clear. She was pretty out of it. They'll take blood in the back, run a tox screen, but she was still under the influence of alcohol when we arrived. Maybe something else."

  "And how old?"

  "Eighteen. College freshman."

  Claire closed her eyes. Only three years older than Ashley and she was out drinking, possibly raped, almost kidnapped. Claire's ex and his Mormon wife were looking good to her this morning, especially in light of Ashley party the previous night. "Okay, listen, thanks." She brushed her hand down Kevin's arm. "You have a good day."

  He headed for the doors leading out into the parking bay. "You, too, Chief. Good luck."

  Claire found Detective Robinson speaking quietly with Dr. Larson in front of a closed door to an examining room. Through the window in the door, she could see a young blond girl, covered by a sheet, lying on her side on a hospital bed.

  "Robinson." Claire nodded. "Dr. Larson."

  Dr. George Larson seemed as permanent a fixture in Albany Beach as the diner... or the Atlantic Ocean. He'd been practicing medicine in the town since the sixties, both in private practice and as a doctor on staff in the hospital. A few years ago his wife had died of cancer and there had been talk of his moving to Florida to be near his sister, but nothing had come of it. Claire had been hearing for weeks that George had been telling anyone who would listen that he had known she should never have been hired as the police chief of the town. He was probably the "prominent citizen" who was putting pressure on the town council to get rid of her.

  With Larson, it was personal. No one in town knew it, but he wasn't quite the good-natured country doctor he liked to portray. He had once had a roving eye with the ladies and a drinking problem. Years ago, as a state police officer, new on the job, she'd pulled him over up in Kent County for erratic driving and ended up arresting him on drunk driving charges. He'd begged her to just let him go, claimed that a conviction would ruin his reputation, his practice. She'd followed procedure and taken him in. The charges had ended up being dropped later, a mix-up in the lab with his blood test, supposedly, but he'd been holding a grudge against her ever since.

  "So what's going on?" Claire asked her detective. "You think our killer tried to kidnap her and flubbed it?" If he did, this would be the first mistake he'd made as far as she knew. The man was very intelligent, and he was careful. The worst kind of serial killer.

  "Too early to tell," Robinson said.

  She could see by the look on the detective's face that he wasn't getting a lot of cooperation from the good doctor.

  "I'll tell you what I told him," Dr. Larson said, making no attempt to be civil. "You don't interview her until she's been treated medically."

  "I understand she was beat up and then her assailant attempted to force her into the trunk of his car. Was she raped?"

  "We haven't gotten that far. She has a pretty serious laceration on the back of her head." Larson motioned with a clipboard. "I've ordered a head CT. Once brain injury has been ruled out, she'll need stitches."

  "If she's been raped, I want a rape kit used."

  "Of course." Larson sneered.

  "By a trained female nurse, and not the day janitor," Claire snapped back. She didn't care what Larson thought of her. She was sick of his petty bullshit. "I've seen some piss poor work coming out of this ER, lately, Doc."

  "Look who's talking about piss poor job performance," Larson fired back as he walked off. "I'll call you as soon the patient can be interviewed, Detective."

  "Son of a—" Claire slapped the mint green painted wall.

  "Hey, don't let him get to you." Robinson motioned with his head. "Go on to the office. I'll sit tight. Call you when we can go in."

  She hesitated. Then nodded. Robinson was right. She needed to get over to the station, see what piles of manure were waiting for her there.

  "Just as soon as he gives you the green light," she warned, pointing to him as she walked away.

  "You bet."

  Claire walked out into the bright morning sun of the parking bay to find Chain leaning casually against her cruiser, smoking a cigarette. Just who she wanted to see. "You old enough to be smoking that thing?" she asked, checking out his eyebrow stud.

  "Yup." He exhaled a puff of smoke and dropped the butt, grinding it out with a black combat boot, left unlaced.

  "Look, Ashley's on restriction for that little stunt the other night. She's not going to the party Friday night, I don't care how many bands are playing or how many live bats they're eating, so there's no sense trying to dissuade me."

  To her surprise, the teen dressed all in black, his hair dyed shoe-polish black, broke into a grin. So he had a sense of humor. "Actually, Chief Drummond, I saw that you were here and I just wanted to..." He lifted one shoulder. "You know."

  "No, I don't know, but let me guess. You were cruising the ER parking lot, saw me and wanted to say hi?"

  "I come by mornings to see my granny." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans. "She's in the old folk's wing. Parking lot was full and I have to pay on the street." He lifted his chin in the direction of his beat-up car. "Free parking back here."

  Claire set her jaw, determined not to be dragged in by this kid's sad tale. "Actually it's illegal parking back here. Emergency vehicles only." She hooked her thumb in the direction of the large red metal sign at the entrance to the lot.

  Chain exhaled. "Anyway, what I wanted to say was that I was sorry about the party. And no matter what you think, we weren't drinking or anything. Me and my friends, we don't drink or do drugs."

  Claire stared at him drolly. "I can't tell you how hard I find that to believe."

  "Look, you don't know me." He stared with hostile dark eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "Ashley told me not to say anything to you. That you wouldn't listen." He walked away.

  Claire rested her hand on the door handle of the car, watching the boy slump his way to his car. She was tempted to call him back. Accept his apology, give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, she had no evidence that he drank or did drugs. But what he didn't understand was that even though she didn't know him, she certainly knew kids like him. She saw them arrested, booked, every summer.

  She just let him go.

  Chapter 5

  At the station, Claire let herself into the "fishbowl" with her passkey card, armed with the coffee and doughnuts she'd picked up earlier at the diner. Jewel was on her cell phone.

  "I don't care what he says
," the dispatcher insisted. "I'm not going out with him again. He's a freak."

  Anyone who entered the building from the public entrance had to talk to Jewel through a speaker in the glass partition. No one got into the back without her expressed permission. Despite her little idiosyncrasies, Claire liked her and depended on her.

  "Coffee with extra cream. Two jelly doughnuts." She set the coffee cup down in front of the young woman. "Sorry, coffee's probably pretty cold."

  "Got to go."Jewel snapped the cell phone shut so fast that the person on the other end of the call couldn't have had time to respond.

  "Thanks. I can heat it up in the microwave."

  Jewel removed the lid on the cup and gazed into the white bag with interest. "Grape or strawberry jelly doughnuts this morning?"

  She said nothing about the personal phone call that was not permitted inside the fishbowl. Claire didn't mention it either.

  "Grape, I think. A gross thought this time of morning."

  Jewel took a bite of the doughnut, leaving powdered sugar around her pink lipstick-painted mouth. Her makeup was seventies Jersey hooker, but she was pretty in spite of it.

  "Not as gross as the thought of that bran muffin." Jewel pointed as Claire pulled her breakfast out of the bag and set it on a napkin that appeared to have been only slightly used by someone on the night shift.

  "I'll be in my office."

  "Okey dokey." Jewel rose with her coffee cup in hand, headed for the microwave.

  "At the risk of sounding like Rodney Dangerfield, I could use a little respect around here," Claire said as she exited through the self-locking door.

  "Who's he?"

  "An old comedian. Never mind."

  "I do respect you, Boss," Jewel hollered as the bulletproof door swung shut. "You should see how I talk to the people I don't respect."