Jesse watched the two leave as an errant thought filtered into her head. David Hathaway might be an interesting distraction, but, like most parents, she already had more on her plate than she could handle. Really.
***
David walked through the hospital with Dr. Martinez as his mind stayed in the office with Jesse Baker. He had watched her lean over to pull a folder out of a cabinet drawer and for a moment his mind had gone blank. She had more than caught his attention as she’d come striding toward him in the hallway earlier—with her long, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, she wore a fitted, V-necked sweater the same color as her brown eyes and a not-quite demure skirt that hit just below her knees, but hugged every curve. A pair of four-inch heels that he was sure were an attempt to disguise her petite stature were the coup de grâce. He’d thought her too young to run Riverside Hospital and had initially thought maybe the administrator had sent an assistant to handle the inquiry into Aaron Greene. And to say he was surprised when she said she’d been there for twelve years was an understatement. He vaguely remembered thinking it put her closer to his own age if she had started right out of graduate school.
But then when she’d bent over in her office, pure male instinct had taken over and the only thought that had flitted through, and stuck, in David’s mind was that he saw no panty lines under that nicely formed skirt—that and the short list of reasons why he saw no panty lines. All very nice thoughts, in his opinion.
Then she’d straightened and looked at him. The shape of her standing before him, slightly turned at the hip and glancing over her shoulder, had reminded him of the bombshells from the fifties. She wasn’t tall, maybe five foot four in her heels, but she looked like someone had taken Marilyn Monroe, blonde hair and all, and just shrunk her down without changing any of the proportions.
David had never liked skinny women and, for good or for bad, Jesse Baker had reminded him of that with every move she made, from her confident walk, to the way she slid into her chair, to the way she held his gaze for just a moment after she’d straightened away from the file cabinet.
But then she’d handed him the file. And he had reminded himself that he wasn’t there to flirt, a skill that was so rusty he was pretty sure he’d lost the ability altogether anyway. No, he was there to figure out if eighteen-year-old Aaron Greene had built a bomb that had gone off earlier in the day, destroying the peaceful spring morning as well as Aaron’s home, his body, and his father’s life.
David gave an internal sigh as he followed Dr. Martinez and begrudgingly admitted to himself that it was probably a good thing she had arrived when she did. He had no business digging into Jesse’s life, asking about her sons. His own life was finally, after years and years of effort, becoming less complicated. He didn’t need to fuck that up by flirting with a woman he’d just met. A woman he knew nothing about and who was, most likely, married. So, dutifully, he wrenched his brain away from the tempting curves of the hospital administrator, and focused on the horror that Dr. Martinez was about to lay before him.
Forty-five minutes later, he had the gist of what he needed to know. Aaron had suffered third-degree burns on 10 percent of his body and had another 20 percent affected by first- and second-degree burns. The bulk of the serious injuries were centered around his right palm, left forearm, and down the left side of his torso. The majority of the second-degree burns impacted the left side of his body—his leg, shoulder, and that side of his face. He was in shock, unconscious, and would likely remain so for at least another day or two. If he didn’t come to in that timeframe, Dr. Martinez indicated that his chances of survival would drop significantly.
She and her team were competent, more so than he’d expected walking into the hospital of a relatively small town. But while Windsor, where the explosion had happened, with its mix of wealthy weekenders and hard-working, blue-collar full-time residents was a town with a low crime rate, Riverside was a different story. David knew it was gentrifying, but he also knew from his chief that, for decades, Riverside had seen more than its share of crime, violence, drugs, and poverty. And the hospital, by necessity, had responded accordingly.
After going over everything and peppering Dr. Martinez with a number of questions, David followed her back to Jesse’s office where they found her sitting behind her computer screen, leaning back in her chair, chewing on her lip. She looked up at them from under her eyelashes with a decidedly irritated expression.
Dr. Martinez laughed, the first laughter he’d heard from anyone since he’d walked into the hospital. “Let me guess, the monthly newsletter?” she asked.
Jesse let out a huff. “I hate this thing,” she responded. She stared at her computer for a moment more before sitting forward and shutting it off.
“I foolishly started it three years ago and now everyone expects it,” she explained, looking at David as she stood and began gathering her things.
Beside him, Dr. Martinez chuckled. “It’s true, everyone does expect it. But only because you have a way with words.”
“Ha, anyone who manages a facility filled with two hundred doctors better have a way with words,” Jesse countered. “Anyway, I’ll figure it out later.” She popped her laptop off the docking station and slid it into her bag. “Will I see you at the meet later?” she asked Dr. Martinez, pulling the bag’s strap over her shoulder. “Matt and Danielle are both on the track team. We only have a couple of meets left before they both graduate,” she added as an aside to David. A hint of parental sadness tinged her voice. He knew the feeling.
The two women made plans to meet at the high school and when it was clear they were finished, he thanked the doctor. She’d agreed to keep him updated and it was all he could ask for at the moment.
“Ready?” Jesse asked once Dr. Martinez had left. He nodded and followed her out.
“You seem to have a good staff here,” he said, making small talk as they left her office.
“I know, not what you’d expect from a small-town hospital, but you’re right, we do,” she answered. “Don’t get me wrong,” she added as she hit the down button outside the elevator. “We’re not nearly as equipped as Albany or even Pittsfield, Massachusetts, but we’re pretty good for our size and location. You must not be from around here?”
They stepped into the elevator and he was surprised to catch a delicate whiff of her perfume. It was hard to smell much of anything not industrial or biological in a hospital, but he definitely caught her scent. With a shake of his head, he answered.
“No, I moved here about ten months ago from Northern California.”
“What brought you here? I love it, but it’s not a well-known area.”
David shrugged. “I like it, too. Colder than where I’m from, but I wanted to be on the East Coast and Albany offered me the chance to be both a firefighter and an arson investigator. I’ve done both, but in the past several years, I’ve mostly done the investigation part. I like it, but I missed being part of a team.” That was part of the story—all true, just not all of the story.
“And how does that work?” she asked. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing a basement hallway. Stepping out, she directed him to the right as she clarified, “Being a firefighter and an investigator, I mean.”
“In big cities they’re usually different roles,” he said, following her through the dim corridor. “But in areas like this, with lots of rural municipalities, towns and counties that don’t have the need or funds to keep someone like me on staff full time rely on the state. So I’m employed by the State of New York as a part-time investigator and the rest of the time I work for the Albany FD.”
He finished explaining just as Jesse stopped at a pair of closed doors. As she looked up at him, he noted that she had the longest eyelashes ringing her eyes, which he now realized were more hazel than brown.
“Sounds like a reasonable compromise,” she said, her hand on the swinging door.
He shrugged.
She studied him for a mome
nt then took a deep breath. “You ready?”
After his sharp nod, they pushed into the morgue, a serviceable room containing a single table, a desk, and a woman washing up at the sink. On the table lay a form under a white sheet. The woman turned and looked at them over her shoulder as the door clicked shut behind them.
“Jesse,” she smiled. “I’m glad you came down, I wasn’t sure if you were going to.” She finished rinsing her hands and grabbed a couple of paper towels before turning all the way around.
Presumably this was the medical examiner. She was another attractive woman, but in a very different way than Jesse. Even in her scrubs, it was easy to see she had an athletic build, though she looked like she’d either put on weight recently or was in the early stages of pregnancy. She was a lot taller than Jesse and had dark hair and Mediterranean skin. In looks, about the only thing the two women had in common was the way they wore their hair. As his eyes met the woman’s, he recognized a look of idle curiosity in her expression.
“I wanted to make sure we were still on for tonight?” Jesse asked.
The other woman’s eyes swung back to her friend.
“And by the way, this is David Hathaway, the arson investigator,” Jesse said. “David, this is Dr. Vivienne DeMarco. She is, among many things, our medical examiner. She’s also a professor at the university in Boston and an FBI consultant.”
The introduction was meant to impress him and it did. He wondered how such a small town had landed such a person.
“She’s also pregnant and shouldn’t be working so hard.”
David turned at the new voice and saw a man in a sheriff’s uniform stride into the room with a resigned expression on his face. The officer walked up to Dr. DeMarco and gave her a swift kiss.
“You shouldn’t be standing so much,” the man’s voice was soft with affection.
“I’m pregnant, Ian, not ill. Now, don’t be rude,” Dr. DeMarco responded as she gestured toward David with her head. The sheriff ignored her statement for a moment and fixed her with a look, before turning toward David.
“Sheriff Ian MacAllister. Also Vivienne’s husband. But call me Ian, please,” he said, holding out his hand.
“David Hathaway,” David responded, taking the proffered hand. The assessment the sheriff subjected him to was swift, but David didn’t doubt it was complete. Something in the man’s bearing screamed competence. Probably military-trained competence.
“It’s nice to meet you. Can’t say I’m a fan of the circumstances, but what can we do?” Ian said with a shrug.
David couldn’t agree more and said so.
“So, is there a reason you called me here?” Ian asked his wife, who elbowed him in response.
“Yes, now don’t be pushy,” she answered. “Let me just finish up with Jesse and I’ll be right with you both.”
The two women walked toward the door. It was obvious they were good friends and they seemed to be making plans to meet later that night for dinner. It was amazing to him that they could be talking about such a thing considering where they were. Oh, he was used to it. Sort of. He’d been around enough burned bodies that the smell didn’t completely turn his stomach anymore. And well, Dr. DeMarco—he understood that given her job, she probably had a cast iron stomach.
But it said a lot about Jesse that she hadn’t flinched a bit when they’d walked into the room. He didn’t get the sense that she spent a lot of time in the morgue or saw all that much violent death, but she just seemed strong. Able to take what life put in front of her. Today it happened to be a body burned nearly to nothing. He had to admire her for that.
“So what’s the public story?” Ian asked, pulling David’s attention back to the situation at hand.
“About?” David countered, feeling a little slow.
Ian lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t heard much of the news today, but if they suspected a bomb was the origin of the fire, it’d be all over. We wouldn’t be hearing about anything else. So even if that’s what you are investigating, the public story must be something else.”
David studied the sheriff, taking in the man’s matter of fact assumption that what was being made public might not be the real, or entire story. It made David wonder about Ian’s background. Not that it mattered one way or another.
“Officially undetermined, but we’re mentioning a possible gas explosion,” was all David said, figuring that as law enforcement, Ian should probably know the company line, so to speak.
Ian raised his shoulders in an “it’ll do” gesture and they fell back into silence. David didn’t miss the fact that he wasn’t the only one whose eyes seemed to gravitate to the two women.
“They might be talking about you,” Ian said, out of the blue.
David turned at Ian’s voice. “I beg your pardon?”
“My wife is steadfastly trying not to look in my direction. That usually means she’s up to something,” he said. “And my guess is, given the way Jesse is shaking her head and rolling her eyes, Vivienne is probably trying to suss out whether or not she’s interested in you.”
David wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. At least Ian had answered the question of whether or not Jesse was married. But still, even knowing small towns had lots of small-town gossip, being sucked into it after knowing a man for less than five minutes left David with very little to say. And he must have looked it because Ian let out a big laugh.
“Don’t worry. If there’s a single guy within a forty-mile radius, my wife is trying to set Jesse up with him. I try not to get involved. But there it is.”
“There what is?” Dr. DeMarco asked, returning to their side of the room. David watched as Jesse gave him one last look before pushing the morgue door open and leaving him alone with the couple.
“You, trying to set Jesse up,” Ian responded as he crossed his arms over his chest, all but daring his wife to argue. She opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again before pursing her lips and glaring at her husband—like a puppy caught in the act.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she finally retorted. “Now, if you’d both like to turn your attention to Brent Greene, I will present you with my findings.”
“Please,” Ian said, making a grand gesture toward the table. David encountered a lot of people in his line of work. Some earned his respect, some he enjoyed working with. But it seemed that everyone he’d met in just the last few hours during his visit to Riverside were people he might actually like. Not just as colleagues, but as possible friends.
They were genuine in the way they worked together and treated each other as professionals. But they also seemed to somehow cross over and have real relationships outside of work—meeting for dinner, cheering their kids on together—or, in the case of Dr. DeMarco and Ian, working and living together. Maybe there was something to be said for small towns.
“Now, Mr. Hathaway—” Dr. DeMarco began.
“David,” he interrupted.
She acknowledged his interjection with a nod then continued. “You might be wondering why I called Ian here. Aside from being my husband, of course.” She cast a smile at Ian over her shoulder and her husband’s lips lifted in return.
“I assumed it was because arson, of any sort, is a criminal investigation and him being the sheriff and all,” David responded, his curiosity piqued. If Dr. DeMarco had found something to indicate it was more than arson, this could get interesting.
“It is, of course. But let me direct your attention here.” She led both men over to a large computer screen and pulled up a couple of x-ray images. Both showed a skull. “Now, Mr. Greene’s ultimate cause of death is smoke inhalation,” she said.
“He wasn’t killed by the fire? Or the explosion?” David clarified.
“No,” she shook her head. “He was dead before the fire got to him and the injuries that I did find that resulted from the explosion wouldn’t have killed him.”
“But you did find evidence of an explosion?” David asked.
&
nbsp; Dr. Demarco nodded. “Most definitely. But I found those injuries mostly on the lower part of his body and not severe enough to be the cause of death. So, as I was saying,” she continued, “the smoke is what ultimately caused his death, but I want to draw your attention here.” She pointed to the forehead area of the x-ray. David stepped closer and peered at the area. At his side, he felt Ian do the same.
“Is that a series of fractures I see?” David asked, frowning.
“It is,” she answered.
“He was hit on the head before he died from the smoke?” Ian clarified.
“He was. And whatever it was he was hit on the head with, or by, was powerful. This bone here,” she circled the area of the forehead, “is a very strong bone. As you can see from the x-rays, there are several small, radiating fractures. It would take a hard instrument and a strong person to do that.”
“And not something that would happen if he fell and hit his head?” David asked.
“Definitely not. Not enough force,” she answered.
“Can you tell if it happened before or after the injuries he got from the explosion?” David asked.
Dr. DeMarco shook her head. “Not by the injuries themselves. The best I can tell from the remains is that they happened either close together or at the same time.”
“But?” Ian pressed, obviously hearing something in his wife’s voice.
She cast him a glance then spoke. “But if we look at the placement of the injuries, not the injuries themselves, I would posit that he was hit on the head, fell down, and then the explosion went off, sending debris and such into his legs, particularly the lower portions which were probably closest to the origin.”
Ian bobbed his head. “Okay, so a forceful hit to the head knocked him out.”
“So, what would do that?” David asked.
“And who?” Ian added.
“As to who, that’s your job, babe,” she said with a grin. Out of the corner of his eye, David saw Ian roll his eyes at his wife’s dry tone.
These Sorrows We See Page 40
