by Norah Wilson
“Morgan,” Boyd said. “Glad to see you caught this one.”
“My sergeant assigned me when he saw who the nine-one-one caller was.”
Boyd nodded.
“So, explain to me how you came to be here, McBride.” He glanced over at Hayden. “She with you when you found the body?”
“Yeah. She’s a little shaken up, I think. I’m sure she’s seen lots of trauma, but probably not in the field. I was just going to go see what I could do for her.”
“Sorry, but you won’t be talking to her until we have your independent statements.” Morgan nodded his head toward the curb, where another sedan had pulled up. “That’ll be my colleague, Craig Walker. I’ll have him interview Hayden.”
Boyd watched as the newcomer climbed out of the car. It was a full-size vehicle, but Walker dwarfed it. As he walked toward them, Boyd figured he probably dwarfed most things. The man was built like an NHL enforcer, and he had the mug to match. Not battered like a hockey player’s, but ridiculously rugged. This dude was going to interview Hayden?
“I don’t know, Morgan. Shouldn’t you do both interviews, so you can make sure our accounts match up?”
“You can wipe that scowl off your face, McBride. Walker won’t be flirting with your girlfriend. He’s about as taken as a man can get.”
It was on the tip of Boyd’s tongue to deny that Hayden was his girlfriend, but he bit it back. He didn’t know how to politely categorize his relationship with Hayden. He didn’t want the men thinking they were casual fuck buddies, passing the time while Boyd was here. It was more complicated than that. Deeper. Yet it was also a temporary thing, a no-strings affair. Jesus, what the hell did they have going on?
Morgan introduced him to the big detective.
“Walker,” he acknowledged.
“McBride. Sorry about your brother. That was messed up, man that young dying.”
A surge of emotion caught him by surprise. He’d thought he was done with that. He’d gotten to the point where he could talk about Josh’s death without choking up. But something about the big guy’s head-on reference to Josh slipped right under Boyd’s defenses.
God he missed his brother.
“Thank you.”
With a nod, Walker went over to interview Hayden. Boyd forced his attention back to Morgan, who was asking how they’d come to be at Dr. Gunn’s. Quickly, he recounted his and Hayden’s efforts to make a short list of family physicians, as distinct from the ob-gyns that Morgan was running to ground, who might have been involved with his birth, how they fixed on Dr. Gunn, and what happened when they called him.
“Dr. Gunn confirmed he was present for our births. According to Gunn, he’d already told the story once to Josh and agreed to tell it to me. We made an appointment for eleven. When Hayden and I arrived, I asked her to stay in the car. I went up to the door and rang the bell repeatedly and knocked on the door, but no one answered. However, Gunn’s car was in the drive. When I checked the door, it was unlocked, so I went in. Hayden heard me calling for Gunn and getting no answer, so she came on in. Long story short, we found him dead in his study, slumped in a pool of blood. From where I was standing just inside the door, it looked like he’d bled out from a slashed artery in the forearm. Hayden got a closer look than I did, and she concurs. Radial artery, she thought.”
“That’s what Officer Green tells me,” Morgan said. “She figured he knew what he was doing with that scalpel. Vertical slash.”
“Somebody certainly did,” Boyd said.
Morgan ignored that. “So, did you touch anything?”
“No. I didn’t go any deeper into the room than just inside the door. Hayden did, to touch his neck. She insisted on checking for vitals in case he was still alive. She got no pulse and indicated his body had already begun to cool significantly. We backed out of the room and came out here to make the call.”
As Morgan scribbled some notes, Boyd’s gaze wandered to Hayden and the big detective.
“Thank you, that’s good for the moment,” Morgan said. “Now I want you to park it over there. Got it?”
Boyd peeled his gaze away from Hayden to see that Morgan was pointing to the vehicle he’d arrived in.
“We need to get separate written statements from the two of you before you put your heads together again, okay?”
“Understood. And if you can get me a statement form, I’ll write mine right now while it’s fresh, instead of standing here twiddling my thumbs.”
“Okay by me.” Morgan summoned Constable Green, who, together with another pair of uniformed officers, had already cordoned off the property with crime scene tape. “Can you get the man a statement form and a pen?”
“Yes, sir.”
When the officer walked off toward her cruiser, Boyd said to Morgan, “You do realize this is foul play, right? I mean, shortly after Dr. Gunn told Josh whatever he told him—presumably information that included the identity of our birth mother—Josh died. And within hours of agreeing to talk to me about the same subject matter, Dr. Gunn dies.”
“I’ll admit, it doesn’t smell good, but I haven’t seen the body yet. Could we give the coroner and our forensics team a chance to form an opinion before we start leaping to conclusions?”
Boyd’s lips tightened. “Of course. But while your guys are combing the place for evidence, could you look for a file that might be my mother’s?”
“You didn’t look around yourself?”
“I was tempted to—believe me.” Boyd rubbed his temple to try to ease the headache that was starting up. “But I didn’t want anything mucking up your crime scene. If Hayden hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t even have let her check for vitals. Because the only thing I can think as I’m standing there is that if somebody killed Dr. Gunn, it was probably the same person who killed Josh.”
“Those are two big ifs, McBride, seeing as we don’t yet know for certain whether Gunn or your brother were homicide victims. But I appreciate your restraint.”
Boyd shrugged. “Wasn’t worth the risk of jeopardizing your case. And if there was a file there when we stumbled on the body, it’ll still be there when you process the scene. But I’ve got a sinking feeling you won’t find it. If someone killed Dr. Gunn, they’ll have taken it.”
“If there was a file there in the first place.”
“He said he’d show it to me.” He raked a hand through his hair. “And, yes, maybe that was just a ploy to lure me over here and there is no file. But that doesn’t make a helluva lot of sense.”
Morgan acknowledged the comment with a grunt. “So what you’re suggesting is if there’s no file to be found, someone helped him slit his wrists. But if we do find your mother’s file, then he likely committed suicide?”
“I guess, yeah.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t see a killer leaving it. But if Dr. Gunn committed suicide over guilt about his role in our unorthodox adoption, or even over what happened to Josh, then he very well may have left the file or a note or something. He promised me information, and I think he meant it. But it’s possible he may have intended to keep that promise with a paper trail, rather than a conversation.”
“What about this visitor he said he was expecting? Any idea who that was?”
“None. But they might look good as a suspect. They were probably the last ones to see him alive.” He rubbed at his neck again.
“If there even was a visitor.”
Boyd angled a look at Morgan. “You’re suggesting he made up his mind to take his own life even as he talked to me on the phone. That he made up the visitor to give him time to get it done before I came knocking.”
Morgan shrugged. “One scenario is just as likely as the other right now. We need more information.” The approach of a vehicle drew Morgan’s attention away. “Sorry, we’ll have to finish this conversation later, McBride. The coroner’s here.” He nodded in
the direction of his car. “Remember, plant yourself over there, and no talking to Hayden until we have both your statements.”
He watched Detective Morgan stride across the lawn to greet the guy from the coroner’s office. The two of them made their way up the drive and disappeared into Dr. Gunn’s house.
He slid his glance over to Hayden again. She was still fully involved with Detective Walker. There was nothing remotely flirtatious in their postures—just an attractive, distraught-but-composed woman being interviewed by a tall, ripped, testosterone-exuding woman magnet—
“Detective?”
He turned to see Constable Green had approached with a statement form on a clipboard.
“Thank you.” He took the clipboard from her. “I’ll get right to it. And maybe you can suggest to Detective Walker that Dr. Walsh be offered the chance to do the same. We’re not supposed to talk to each other until you have our official statements, so the sooner the better, since we’re traveling together.”
“Will do.”
Boyd took the pad and paper over to Morgan’s car. Using the car’s roof for a desk, he wrote up his statement. He found himself falling into cop speak, describing the victim as the deceased, and noting the location of the desk as being at three o’clock relative to the doorway. Not that Morgan would mind. Precise and unambiguous were what mattered.
He paused briefly when the forensic van rolled up. Two men and a woman hopped out. As he watched, they pulled on pristine white overalls, then grabbed big fishing-tackle-type cases from the van. He knew that before they entered the house, they would cover their footwear with plastic shoe covers, don shower caps, and pull on latex gloves, all in aid of keeping their own hair, fibers, and prints from contaminating the field. The bearded guy would no doubt put a surgical mask or hairnet of some kind over his face. Not as glamorous as the CSIs on TV, but then, not much about police work resembled what you saw on TV.
He went back to his statement. When he finished, he thought about handing it to the constable but decided against it. He wanted to hand it directly to Morgan if he could, so they could continue their conversation. That would give him a chance to press him for more information about what he’d found inside.
He glanced over at Hayden to see she was sitting on the street curb on the other side of the driveway, writing her own statement. Good.
He leaned against Morgan’s car to wait. With nothing to do now, he started to get antsy. Dammit all to hell. He’d gotten this close to discovering what Josh had learned, only to have it jerked away. His gut told him someone had done this to Dr. Gunn. The timing of the so-called suicide was too convenient to suggest otherwise.
“McBride.”
Boyd looked up to see Ray Morgan standing in the doorway of the house, giving him a come-here gesture. As Boyd crossed the lawn toward the house, he saw the man from the coroner’s office leaving.
“What’s the word?” he asked, looking at the coroner’s retreating back.
“At first blush, it looks pretty convincing as suicide. The angle of the wound seems right. Even a couple of hesitation marks parallel to the fatal incision, where he started to cut, then backed off. Oh, and the pathologist thinks he might have taken some blood thinners to make extra sure, but there’ll be a full autopsy. And we’ll see what forensics comes up with.”
Boyd digested that. “Was there a note?”
“No note, suicide or otherwise. But we did find this on the desk.” Morgan held up a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a thin blood-covered file.
CHAPTER 22
Hayden had just finished answering a few questions from Detective Walker about her statement and signed off on it when she saw Detective Morgan emerge from the house and summon Boyd. When Morgan held up a plastic evidence bag with what looked to be a file in it, her breath caught in her lungs.
From her angle, she could only see Boyd’s face in profile, but that glimpse was sufficient to set her heart pounding. Were the answers he sought in there? Answers Josh might have died for? Would the cops even let him see the file?
She hurried over to his side. “Is that what I think it is?”
A look passed between the two men.
“Speak freely,” Boyd said. “Hayden knows what’s going on.”
“It is what you think it is,” Detective Morgan said. “At least I think it is. It documents the prenatal care of a young woman and the subsequent delivery of male twins on April 7, thirty-five years ago.”
“That’s gotta be you and Josh,” Hayden said.
“What’s her name?” Boyd’s voice broke, and he swallowed. “What’s my mother’s name, Morgan?”
“I’ve got to get direction from the department on this, and they’ll likely need to get direction from legal,” Detective Morgan said. “It’s evidence in an active case. It’s also personal health information. Thanks to the falsification or forging of your birth registration, this could take some sorting out before you’re granted access.”
“Dammit, Morgan, my brother died for that information. I deserve to see it.”
Morgan’s eyes hardened. “Your brother died. It remains to be seen how or why. You’d do well to remember that.”
Boyd’s jaw bulged and the tendons stood out in his neck. Hayden laid a hand on his arm, where the muscles were bunched and ready for a fight. He barely seemed to notice.
“Dr. Gunn intended me to have that information. You know he did.”
“I do know that,” Morgan said in a low voice. “Which is why I’m carrying this file in a see-through evidence bag.”
Hayden and Boyd both dropped their gazes to the blood-soaked file. The label was clearly legible. Duncan, Arianna Lynn.
“Thank you.” Boyd lifted his gaze to the detective’s again. “Jesus . . . thank you.”
Detective Morgan shrugged. “It was laying right there on the desk. In plain sight for Dr. Walsh to notice when she approached the desk to check the vic for a pulse, right?”
Hayden hadn’t noticed much beyond the dead body of Dr. Gunn facedown in the biggest pool of blood she’d seen, in or out of an ER, but she grabbed at the explanation, for Boyd’s sake. “Right.”
Boyd glanced from Morgan to Hayden and back to Morgan again. “I have no words, except thank you.”
“Well, you did us a solid by not screwing with my scene or snagging the file yourself. Least I could do.”
“I appreciate it. Now that I have a name, maybe I can find some answers.”
“Don’t thank me too profusely, McBride. From my admittedly quick perusal of the file, it looks like Arianna Duncan is deceased.”
Hayden drew a surprised breath, then glanced at Boyd. His face had gone completely expressionless, which she’d come to realize meant he was deeply affected.
“I see,” Boyd said, his voice flat.
“I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. But on the other hand, it’s nothing you’re not going to find out when you dig into that name. Although given the deliberate obfuscation of facts that seems to have plagued your birth and adoption, I can see you might want to give that a rigorous look to make sure there really was a young woman named Arianna Lynn Duncan and that she really is dead.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I’m really sorry, man. I’m sure you wanted to meet her, talk to her.”
“Thanks, but it’s not like I didn’t think that was a possibility. As I warned Josh, it’s been thirty-five years. A lot can happen.”
“Wait a minute,” Hayden said. “The death certificate was in the birth file? That seems odd to me. Unless . . . Did she die in childbirth?”
Detective Morgan shook his head. “Not in childbirth, no, but within a few months. And here’s the thing, the reason I’m telling you this—she apparently dropped dead of some kind of heart thing too.”
Hayden gasped. “Like Josh? Sudden cardiac arrest?”
“Cardiac arrest, yes. That’s the term I read.” He looked at Boyd. “I’m giving you this information for your own safety, McBride. I know the results of the genetic testing you had done aren’t back yet, but if your mother and your identical twin died of this, it’s seems pretty certain that there’s a genetic component.”
“Yes, it does,” Boyd said, in a voice Hayden thought was altogether too composed. “About the file—was there anything in it about our adoption?”
“Yeah, there appears to be a signed consent form. Also, a big flag for the nurses reminding them that the babies were being adopted, and while they could show the mother that the twins were healthy, they weren’t to let her hold or nurse them.”
“To prevent her from bonding with them and changing her mind,” Hayden said, imagining that poor woman’s grief at not being able to touch her own babies.
“Look, do you need us to hang around?” Boyd asked. Wow, he was volunteering to leave the scene? She would have bet he’d have to be chased off. On the other hand, he’d just been handed a lot to digest—his birth mother’s identity, the fact that she was dead, all but conclusive evidence that he and Josh had both carried a genetic electrocardiographic abnormality.
“Have you given your statement, Dr. Walsh? Signed and everything?”
She nodded. “I have.”
Morgan turned back to Boyd. “I’ll need a minute to read yours, okay?”
Boyd handed the completed form to him.
After a few minutes, Morgan said, “Good job. Couldn’t be clearer.” He handed the statement back to Boyd. “If you’ll just autograph it for me.”
“Great.” Boyd whipped out his pen and, using the deck railing for a desk, signed the statement and handed it back. “You’ve got my cell number if you need anything more from me.”
“And I put mine on my statement,” Hayden put in.
