Final Words

by Teri Thackston

  As he stripped off his gloves, she took a deep breath. “Skitch, I’m sorry things are strained between us. I guess I was more affected by what happened than I thought.”

  He tossed his gloves into a disposal bin. “I understand.”

  “I know you feel that you have to keep an eye on me and—”

  “I do have to keep an eye on you,” he interrupted. Then he moved to the gurney that had been used to bring the last body into the autopsy suite. The wheels creaked as he rolled it near the autopsy table. He kept his head down as if avoiding her gaze. “Dr. Powell and Ms. Zamora told me to watch you, to make sure you weren’t… You know…” He huffed out his exasperation. “We’re just worried about you, Doc.”

  “I know, Skitch and I appreciate it.” She stripped off her own soiled gloves and tossed them in the bin. “Things will be different from now on. I promise.”

  He stared down at the body. “I just hated to spy on you.”

  “You did what was necessary and you probably kept me from making mistakes.”

  The young man heaved a sigh of relief and lifted his head at last. “Thanks.”

  Emma smiled. “Why don’t you knock off for the day?”

  Obviously feeling better, Skitch stepped to the clean-up sink and washed his hands. “You in a hurry to get out of here too? Big date with Detective MacKenzie?”

  “I hope so. He said he’d meet me here after court.”

  “I’ve got big plans of my own. I scored tickets to the baseball game in Houston.”

  Emma glanced at her watch. “It’s after seven, so you’d better go. I’ll wait for Talbot to come for this man.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Go on. You don’t want to miss that first pitch.”

  “I don’t want to miss that first hot dog. I’m starving!”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “See you tomorrow, Skitch.”

  “Good night, Doc.”

  Relieved to have eased some of the tension between them, Emma washed up and then headed for the cooler room door. Opening it, she stepped inside the super-chilled area. Deep drawers lined three of the walls. On the fourth, the loading bay door stood open. Talbot pushed a gurney inside.

  “Got a fresh one for you, Dr. St. Clair,” he said.

  Emma shook her head. “Not tonight, Talbot. I was just coming to tell you that I’ve finished with my last case and everyone else has gone. We’ll save this one for tomorrow.”

  “But this is that lady cop everybody is all riled up about.” Weariness etched the elderly man’s face. “Old Jimmy drove quick as he could. But the van was actin’ up again and it took him longer to get here than it should’ve.”

  The chill that shuddered through Emma had nothing to do with the low temperature in the cooler room. Slowly, she moved toward the bagged body. “Lady cop?”

  Talbot looked at the tag on the bag. “Yes, ma’am. Layne Simmons. I hear she was a detective from over in Houston.”

  Emma clenched her hands together.

  “Dr. Powell called earlier and said someone would take care of her right away,” Talbot continued. “I’ll set her up an’ then put this one away. Then I gotta go help Old Jimmy with that van before he gets another pickup call.”

  Emma forced her hands open. “All right, Talbot. Please bring her in.”

  * * * * *

  Feet stumbling in the sand, Jason approached the cops gathered at the base of the elevated pier.

  It’s true. God, it’s true.

  Although he’d had every intention of trying, he hadn’t really thought he would come to accept Emma’s claim. Deep down, he’d suspected that her ability to communicate with the dead would turn out to be stress-induced hallucinations or something like that.

  Now he was a true believer.

  On his way back to the courthouse, he’d phoned the officer in charge of the police dive team and asked if they could look into a possible sunken car off the abandoned pier. The team had moved fast. By the time Jason finished testifying for Marta, the car had been located, lifted out of the water and its owner identified.

  It had been registered to Leonard Fletcher.

  He’d barely processed that impossible information when he’d gotten a call on his car radio. That was when he’d learned what had happened to Charlie. He’d also learned that Emma had been right about more than Leonard Fletcher. Instead of heading for the abandoned pier and his sister’s no-longer-cold case, he’d driven to this public pier at the other end of town for a fresh one. Another personal one.

  Leaving his Mustang at the curb, he crossed the narrow stretch of beach that led down to the pilings beneath the pier. In the shadows there, he could just distinguish Charlie from the other men. Looking up, his partner turned from the scene.

  “Where is she?” Jason demanded, excitement and despair warring within him as his friend approached.

  Charlie raised both hands and put himself between Jason and the group of officers. “She’s already gone to the morgue.”

  Remorse slammed into him, anchoring him to the present. “How long has she been dead?”

  “About a day.” Gripping Jason’s shoulders, Charlie turned him back toward his car. “There isn’t much to see here.”

  Jason looked at his partner. Considering what Emma could do, maybe he didn’t need to see anything. But how much of her story could he tell Charlie? None of it, he realized.

  “Layne wasn’t working a case here,” he said. “I checked with her captain in Houston. He put her on probation two weeks ago and ordered her to get anger-management counseling.” He took a deep breath. “She was here to see Paul Sanders.”

  “A good psychiatrist. She could have chosen worse.”

  Jason clenched his fists. “She chose her own killer. Sanders did her, Charlie.”

  The older man frowned. “What makes you say that?”

  He raked both hands through his hair. “I just know. Were there any witnesses?”

  “A couple of teenagers were swimming past yesterday and saw a man hanging around. Then this afternoon, they came out to go swimming again and stumbled across her body.” Charlie hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re giving a statement now but I don’t think they got a good look at the guy. In fact, they didn’t see much more than a shadow.”

  Jason’s jaw set grimly as he headed back toward his car. “Right now I don’t need much more than that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emma drew back the sheet, then lowered her hands to her sides and looked at the dead woman.

  She hadn’t died easily.

  Salt and sand matted Layne’s black hair. Broken capillaries mottled her face. A livid strand of sapphire bruises circled her throat and her cobalt eyes stared at the ceiling, frozen in an expression of terror.

  Emma considered the evidence of strangulation and thought of Paul’s strong hands. He would be a careful killer, wearing gloves in defiance of the summer heat. There would be no fingerprints on Layne’s skin.

  She thought of the scratch she’d seen on his cheek that afternoon and her gaze shifted to Layne’s right hand. Perhaps, after all, there would be proof. Just one bit of skin under one fingernail would prove if Paul was her killer.

  Emma looked at Layne’s face. The court would get its proof later. For now, she would take a dead woman’s word for it.

  Taking a deep breath, she touched Layne’s shoulder. Before her mind could even register the chill of the flesh, the spirit appeared on the far side of the table, eyes flashing, lips an angry red slash in a white face. The image was so vibrant that if Layne’s corpse hadn’t been lying beneath her hand, Emma would have sworn she stood before her alive.

  “Son of a bitch planned this from the moment I met him!”

  “I want proof, Detective Simmons.” Emma ignored the chill that emanated from the figure. “Not just accusations.”

  “I can give you proof.” Layne practically spat out the words. “I gave his face a good scratch just before he grabbed me by the neck and sh
oved my head under that filthy water. Check my fingernails.”

  “I will. But I need more, just in case. I need…”

  Emma’s voice trailed away as the cobalt eyes shifted and darkened in fury. Hair prickled on the back of Emma’s neck. Whirling, she saw Paul standing in the prep room doorway and her heart nearly stopped.

  “Emma?” He glanced around the autopsy suite. “Who are you talking to?”

  Emma retreated a step. Her hands went behind her to grip the cold metal table.

  Paul’s gaze shifted to the body lying behind her. “That’s Layne Simmons. She’s one of my patients.” His voice went hollow as he looked back at Emma…as hollow as his pale blue eyes. He lifted a hand to touch the scratch on his cheek. “I heard she was dead and I came to see if there is anything I can do.”

  “You’ve done enough!” shouted the figure behind Emma.

  Something prickled over Emma’s fingertips, sharp and hot as a Fourth of July sparkler and her hands went numb. The prickling spread, dragging the numbness with it up her arms, into her back, encompassing her torso. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t fathom what was happening to her. Her fingers lost their grip on the table and her arms fell to her sides like ice-filled pipes ready to burst.

  Air rippled around her like a curtain of water, blurring her sight. Then the numbness receded. Beginning with her shoulder blades, sensation returned through her body as the rippled air condensed and took shape between her and Paul. Feminine shape. Layne’s shape.

  Emma realized the spirit had passed through her body. Weakened by the contact, she fell against the autopsy table.

  “You killed me, you bastard!” Layne’s voice raged stronger than the voices of the other spirits and Emma knew that her soul was not nearly ready to pass on.

  Paul stood near the door, unaware of Layne’s approach. Then the spirit shrieked and swooped upon him. His eyes went wide as numbness took him over.

  The shrieks of the murdered soul filled the autopsy suite. A blur of light and shadow engulfed Paul. Affected as Emma had been, he could not move to escape. His face contorted in terror and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as Layne’s spirit took what revenge it could. From her own brief contact, Emma could only image the numbing sensation of heat being drawn from his body. Could the apparition permanently harm him? Emma wasn’t sure.

  Abruptly, Layne’s spirit swept out of him, whirled across the floor and settled several yards away. She appeared fainter and her chest trembled with the effort it took to remain visible. But her eyes gleamed with black hatred as she watched her prey. Her killer.

  Paul’s knees buckled and he fell to them on the cold floor. “What the hell?” He looked at Emma. “It’s true. What you said you could do.”

  His gaze fixed briefly on Layne’s body before shifting to search the shadows in the room. The spirit still hovered where it had settled, glaring at him.

  “She’s here,” Paul whispered, returning his attention to Emma. “She told you that I killed her. Did others tell you too? Is that why you’ve been asking questions about me? Is that why you’ve been so uneasy? Is that why you were at the beach where Leonard Fletcher died?”

  “You…” Emma’s dry tongue scraped against her teeth. “You saw me there?”

  “I went back to get the pipe I used to kill him.”

  Emma edged toward the door leading into the shower area. But Paul, already recovering, began to push himself upright.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  Emma debated running for the cooler room. But the heavy steel door would open too slowly and she would have to run around the autopsy table to reach it. Paul would catch her before she got to it. Talbot and Jimmy were probably still outside working on the van and wouldn’t hear her cry out through the thick walls and the hum of the chillers. If she was going to escape, it had to be through the shower area. If she was lucky, she would find a security guard.

  She looked at the spirit. Fury still blazed in the cobalt eyes. If Emma could provoke her into attacking again…

  “Why did you kill her, Paul?” she asked.

  “She was a police officer. People depended on her.” He glanced around the suite again, wary now. “But she started drinking and then abusing her power. I’ve worked with her before but I knew this time that therapy wouldn’t help her.”

  Emma heard a low growl from Layne’s spirit.

  “You should understand.” Still shaky, Paul pushed away from the wall. “You know how it feels to want justice and not get it. She had to be punished.”

  Layne’s spirit shrieked. Paul cried out as she swept over him again, driving him back against the wall.

  Emma took advantage of Layne’s attack. Running across the room, she bolted into the shower area, crossed it and burst out into the main corridor. It stretched away empty in both directions. She started toward the door that led to the staff parking lot but the ding of the elevator stopped her. She looked back as the elevator door opened and Edgar stepped out.

  “There you are,” he said. “Did you hear the police found—”

  “Edgar!” Running back, Emma grabbed his arm. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  Suddenly something hit them from behind, driving them into the elevator and slamming them into the mirrored wall at the back. Emma threw up her hands to shield her face but Edgar hit the mirror, shattering it. Groaning, blood trailing down the glass from his nose, he slid to the floor.

  Powerful hands grabbed Emma and jerked her around. Paul loomed above her, his eyes wild with fear. “You left me there!” he shouted. “You left me alone with her!”

  His fear gave strength to her anger and Emma glared up at him. “I left you alone with a figment of my imagination.”

  Fury swept away what remained of his terror and he shoved her down on top of her unconscious boss. At least, Emma hoped that Edgar was only unconscious. He didn’t stir beneath her weight and blood smeared his face and clothes.

  Paul stood over her, fists clenched at his sides. “I knew you were up to something when I found you in my office building today. When you questioned me during your sessions, I worried that you’d found out what I was doing. When I heard the police had found Layne, I suspected you’d try to tie it to me.”

  “And so you came here hoping to accomplish…what?”

  Once again, he lifted a hand to the scratch on his face. “I hoped to distract you long enough to dispose of any evidence I might have left behind and then I planned to leave town.”

  Emma eased away from Edgar. “You couldn’t have distracted me long enough to dig all the DNA from under her fingernails. Not unless you killed me first.”

  “I didn’t think you would be here.” Paul’s anger vanished. Lowering his hand to his suit coat lapel, he smoothed it down. Then he pressed the button for the third floor and the elevator doors slid closed.

  Emma’s heart pounded harder. “What are you doing?”

  A cold smile curled his lips. “She may have told you that I killed her but she won’t tell anyone else. Neither will you.” The elevator began to rise. “People will say you were still distraught over what happened to Brian. You still felt guilty for surviving when he didn’t.”

  Leaning down, he grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. She tried to pull free but his fingers dug into her arms.

  “My report will indicate that you were depressed and suicidal.” The elevator slid to a halt. Dragging her behind him, Paul stepped out. “I came here tonight to check on you but I was too late. You went to the roof and threw yourself off. Everyone will believe that Dr. Powell tried to save you but he fell too.”

  Emma wasn’t afraid to die. She knew the peace that waited on the other side and when her time came, she would go without fear. But this wasn’t her time or Edgar’s. She wanted to see her parents again. She wanted to see Jason, to build a life with him. She wanted to live.

  “You’re unstable, Emma. You’ll never forgive yourself for surviving when Brian didn’t.” He
spoke to her as a patient father might speak to a distraught child. “You won’t be able to concentrate on your work. Your usefulness is over.”

  Knowing that begging would never break through to whatever remained of his rational mind, Emma struggled harder, jerking on her arms and kicking her feet. If she couldn’t reason her way out of this situation, she’d beat her way out.

  But Paul picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “You’re wasting your energy, Emma. I promise you won’t hurt for long. And Edgar Powell is unconscious. I’ll go back for him in a minute. He’ll never know what hit him.” He shoved open the door to the stairway that led up to the roof.

  She grabbed the doorframe. “Is that what you told Layne and your other victims?”

  “I deal only with those who can’t take care of themselves.” Breaking her grip easily, he carried her up the stairs. “Those who are a menace to themselves and the society they prey upon.”

  “I haven’t preyed on anyone!”

  “You endanger my work.” Opening the door at the top of the stairs, Paul carried Emma through. Lowering her feet to the graveled rooftop, he shifted his grip and held her against his chest. Moonlight showered over him, catching the mad glint in his eye. Almost patiently, he went on, “Those who commit crimes must be punished so their victims may be avenged.”

  Summer heat radiated off the roof but Emma felt only the chill of fear. “You’ve killed people who couldn’t be held responsible for their actions. Paul, please—”

  “Everyone is responsible for what they do. Even those who are incompetent to stand trial must pay for their crimes in some way. An eye for eye, as my father would say.”

  “That’s why you really do this, isn’t it? Because your parents were murdered and their killer was never tried.”

  “You know more than I thought you did.” He lowered his voice and his words grazed the flesh just beneath her right ear. “Yes, that’s why I do what I do.”