by Norah Wilson
And baseball. Boyd could at least read the old guy the game summaries or box scores. Hell, why wasn’t there even a television in the room?
Wait, maybe there was. He hadn’t really inventoried the room. But if there was one, he bet it never got tuned to the sports channel or the news feed or frickin’ C-SPAN or CPAC. And that was just wrong. There was life in the old guy’s eyes. He was in there.
Maybe he should ask Sylvia’s permission to visit.
Right. And maybe she’d carve him a new one.
He made his way downstairs. There was no wine or beer in the refrigerator, so he warmed some milk in the microwave and drank it right there as he distracted himself by flipping through the headlines in the day’s newspaper. He rinsed the cup and stashed it in the dishwasher, hoping he wouldn’t incur Mrs. Garner’s wrath for cleaning up after himself.
Back in his room, his brain immediately fell back into the rutted groove. Josh—natural causes or foul play? Dr. Gunn—suicide or foul play? Arianna Duncan—natural causes or foul play? And was there anything he could do besides freaking waiting on other people’s investigations? Unless . . .
He brought his computer out of sleep mode and Google searched “Arianna Lynn Duncan.” Nothing. He tried “Arianna Duncan” and “A. L. Duncan” too and got some hits on the latter. Unfortunately, they didn’t relate to his mother. Looked like his first impression was right—the death was just too old for the obituary and news articles to go digital and get interwoven into the fabric of the Internet.
He pushed the computer away, turning his focus to Dave Bradley. His turning up was likely nothing. Sylvia had explained the family connection. Bradley was a reporter, and Dr. Gunn’s death was newsworthy in this small city. Boyd didn’t like it, though. Didn’t like hearing the other man’s name at all.
Damn, the warm milk wasn’t doing anything for him. He felt manic. Anxious. Like he’d come out of his own skin if he couldn’t do something.
His phone made a soft trill, announcing a text. Smiling, he reached for it, knowing it could only be Hayden. It was.
Are you as wide awake as I am? she’d written.
Instead of texting her a reply, he called her.
“I guess that’s a yes,” she said.
As soon as he heard her voice, the crazy, frustrated energy morphed into something else. Something he knew how to deal with.
“That’s a hell yes,” he said. “I was hoping to talk you into some phone sex.”
She laughed. “That would also be a hell yes.”
CHAPTER 25
The next day, Hayden directed Boyd through light morning traffic to the library, a spot she’d visited a time or two to borrow audiobooks. The staff was extremely helpful, showing them how to use the equipment. Actually poring through the material was a little laborious, but Detective Morgan had given them a time frame—July 1979. After about twenty minutes, Boyd found it.
“This is it. Arianna Duncan, aged twenty, July 17, 1979, at the Dr. Everett Chalmers Regional Hospital.” He glanced up at her. “That doesn’t sound right, does it? If she died of sudden cardiac arrest, that kinda precludes getting to a hospital, doesn’t it?”
She shrugged. “They probably transported her by ambulance and a doctor declared her dead on arrival. Even if she was dead on the scene, she’s not declared until she hits the hospital. That’s where she died as far as the record is concerned.”
“Jesus, twenty years old.”
“Oh, that’s so sad.”
“Listen to this—she was predeceased by father, Robert Duncan, and mother, Gladys Duncan (née Carrier), of Saint Andrews, New Brunswick, and survived by a brother, Sheldon, also of Saint Andrews.”
Hayden smiled. “You have an uncle.”
“Well, I had one thirty-five years ago.”
Her smile faded. She couldn’t blame him for his pessimism. If Arianna Duncan was a full sibling to Sheldon Duncan, he could have long QT syndrome. And with their parents dying when they were so young—or at least when Arianna was young—luck did not seem to follow the Duncan family.
“Do you suppose they’d have done an autopsy? Would the coroner have investigated that kind of death back then?”
“Probably.”
“I’ll drop by and fill out the request.”
She gestured to the microfilm. “In light of that obituary, do you think you need a death certificate too?”
“It’s probably overkill, but yeah. I actually did it last night, at the Service New Brunswick website. Same as I did for Josh.”
“Does the registrar of vital statistics check to see if there’s a paper trail confirming that you’re really next of kin?”
“We’ll soon see.” He raked his hair off his forehead.
“Okay, get that thing printed off so we can get around to the coroner’s office.”
There was no lineup at the coroner’s office. Boyd told the front-office clerk that he was in town for a limited time and hoped to pick the report up soon. The woman assured him she would personally see that it was expedited. He asked for a sticky note, on which he wrote his name and cell phone number. Yes, yes, of course, she’d be happy to call him when it was available. It would possibly be as early as Tuesday.
Tuesday? As in tomorrow? Hayden rolled her eyes. Josh used to get the special treatment too. Of course, for Josh, it was that crooked smile and the sparkle in his eyes. For Boyd, she suspected it was more that they wanted to tear off his shirt.
From there, they’d gone to the police station. Boyd had wanted to have a private word with Detective Morgan to see what more, if anything, he might be able to share about Gunn’s death.
Hayden chatted with Detective Sean Hayes while Boyd went off with Ray Morgan to sign his statement. When he and Morgan emerged from the interview room, they bumped into someone, a tall, solid-looking man. The other guy wasn’t quite as a tall as Boyd, but he managed to seem bigger somehow. And not in a bodybuilding, no-neck kind of way. He just had a sort of physicality that was hard to ignore.
Boyd stayed to talk to the big guy, but Ray Morgan came over to join Hayden. As soon as he arrived, Detective Hayes excused himself, picked up his coat, and walked away.
“I hope I wasn’t keeping him from anything important,” she said as she watched the younger detective’s retreating back.
“Hayes?” His gaze flicked toward the exit. “Nah. If he had somewhere he needed to be, he wouldn’t have stayed to keep you company out of politeness.”
She lifted her eyebrows.
He laughed. “I guess you could take that a couple of different ways, but all I meant was Detective Hayes is a nose-to-the-grindstone guy. Never seen him dog it on the job. If he hung back to chat, it was because he wanted to, and it wouldn’t have been at the expense of an investigation.”
“Good.” She glanced up at Detective Morgan. “Any news you can share about the investigation?”
“I just gave McBride what I felt comfortable telling him, which is that it’s looking like a pretty cut-and-dried suicide. But, of course, he had to give me his theory about someone rendering Dr. Gunn unconscious in his chair, then approaching him from behind, positioning the scalpel in the victim’s own hand, and making the fatal slash.”
“You don’t sound pleased.”
Morgan’s good-looking face screwed up in a frown. “Every thing’s a conspiracy with that guy.” He seemed to become aware of his frown and forced his features to smooth. “And you can tell him I said that. He won’t be surprised, considering I already said it to his face.”
Hayden smiled. “What’s the saying? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”
He sighed. “I know. And I plan to call the pathologist and ask him to take a real close look at the angles, see if there’s anything there in the physical evidence to suggest he had help opening that artery. And the forens
ic toxicology should turn up something if someone rendered him unconscious.”
“Will it, though? Will they look for anesthetizing agents?”
He pulled out a small black book and jotted something down. “They will now. And maybe they do it anyway. I’m pretty sure they’re going to find alcohol in his system.”
And possibly some cirrhosis of the liver, if what Sylvia had told Boyd was true. She seemed to think her friend indulged a little too much. Of course, by Sylvia’s exacting standards, that could be one or two drinks a day. But instead of saying that, she remarked that she hadn’t smelled any overwhelming alcohol smells.
“Due respect, Doc, it can be pretty hard to focus on much else when the victim is lying in a puddle of his own blood. That’s pretty much all you tend to see or smell.”
“True,” she acknowledged. She picked up her purse. “Did Boyd tell you what we found out this morning?”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“Just that we were able to get the death certificate for Arianna Duncan, and that he’s filed a request for the coroner’s investigation records.”
“Oh, yeah. He mentioned that. It’s encouraging to see that detail, at least, seems to be as billed.”
“Do you think Boyd’s right? That this Dr. Gunn had something to do with helping adopt those kids out, then obscured or falsified the record to keep the truth buried?”
“I do. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He rubbed his forehead. “Look, I know McBride has a whole collection of alternate theories, but he knows as well as I do that the obvious explanation is usually the one that proves to be true. It’s good as an investigator to keep an open mind to other possibilities, but McBride seems to be working overtime to make this Dr. Gunn thing anything but suicide.”
She tightened her grip on the strap of her purse. “You’re wrong there, Detective. I’m pretty sure he’s praying that it was suicide and that the coroner can establish that beyond a reasonable doubt. Otherwise, this isn’t anywhere near over, and he needs it to be over. I don’t even know if he appreciates how badly he needs that, but he does.”
And when it was over, they would be over. Boyd and Hayden. He’d go back to Toronto, and Hayden would go back to life as it used to be. The idea made a hollowness rise in her chest.
When she’d convinced Boyd to embark on this relationship, she’d known it wouldn’t be easy to give up. She’d still been adjusting to the loss of Josh when Boyd had come along and filled up that void to a degree. Then, by moving their relationship into the sexual realm, she’d let Boyd occupy an even bigger space. When it was over, which could be sooner rather than later, she would be left with a hole in her life. She’d miss him like crazy. Miss the sex, miss those serious, guarded eyes.
Oh, she’d get through it. The demands of the job didn’t leave much time for wallowing. Work had always been her panacea. And there was no point ruining the here and now by anticipating the loneliness to come. Instead, she would focus on enjoying as much of this as she could.
“You know, before I got the call yesterday about Dr. Gunn, I was supposed to call you and invite you and McBride to dinner,” Detective Morgan said. “Grace was bummed about this coming up, since it meant canceling those plans.”
“Right,” she said. “We’re witnesses in your case now.” She offered her hand to him and he shook it. “Tell Grace we’re disappointed too.”
“I will. And let me walk you over there and break up that huddle. I need my sergeant back.”
Hayden’s breath caught as they crossed the detectives’ bull pen. Both men—Boyd and Ray Morgan’s sergeant—were leaning against the edges of different desks. The unknown guy sort of slouched there with his legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over a broad chest, while Boyd sat near the end of another desk, one leg braced on the floor, the other sort of swinging. He looked so comfortable, so at home. This was his world, or an approximation of it. Funny how little time she’d spent thinking about that.
Boyd caught sight of her then, and his eyes seemed to light up, which helped dislodge that hollow feeling.
“There you are.”
“Here I am.” She reached his side, then turned to look closer at the big guy.
“Hayden, this is Sergeant Quigley. He was very helpful when I came to town the first time.”
“Miss.” The sergeant held out his hand.
She shook it. And, oh, yeah, this guy definitely had an extra something about his physical aura. “Good to meet you, sir.”
Boyd shoved off the desk. “Well, we should get out of your hair. I know you’ve got work to do.”
“We’ll keep you posted on your brother’s file, McBride,” Ray Morgan said. “Sarge here has put in a request to get the reports expedited, given the probable intersection with this new case. We’re hoping that means the tox report, at least, should pop free a little sooner than it might have otherwise.”
Boyd’s gaze shot to Sergeant Quigley. “Thank you, sir. That’s much appreciated.”
“No problem.”
Outside on the street, Boyd took Hayden’s hand as they walked the short distance to where they’d parked Boyd’s rental behind city hall.
“So what are you going to do with the rest of your day?” he asked when they’d climbed into the car.
“I’d made no plans.” She rolled the window down for some air while the A/C got up to speed. “I was kind of wondering if there was anything more we could do on the case.”
He looked over at her. “Which one?”
“Either. Both.” She shrugged. “I know you must be going crazy waiting on those reports. And how about Sergeant Quigley putting that call in? I could have kissed him.”
“You and me both,” he said with feeling.
She grinned. “You didn’t answer my question. Is there anything we can be doing?”
“I was thinking about trying to locate Arianna Duncan’s brother.” He pulled from his pocket the folded paper with the copy of the obituary they’d printed at the library. “I thought I’d go home, dig out my laptop, and do a little sleuthing, see if I could find this guy’s address or number.”
“Sheldon was the name, right? From Saint Andrews.” She glanced at him. “Do you suppose he’s still alive? And still in the Saint Andrews area?”
“We’ll soon see.”
When they got to Stratton House, Sylvia was nowhere in sight, for which Hayden was grateful. Boyd had told her about his impromptu visit with the Senator and the nurse’s horrified reaction. He had no idea whether his transgression had been reported or not. Since he’d emerged unscathed from breakfast, she suspected not. As Boyd had pointed out, perhaps the nurse and Dr. Stratton hadn’t yet connected. Or maybe the nurse wasn’t planning to report it at all. She’d seemed to think she could lose her job over it.
They hurried up the steps to Boyd’s room. He went straight to the table to flip his computer on, while she went to flop on the couch.
She glanced over at his computer and saw that he had the search engine loaded. While he worked, she let her mind drift. Naturally, it went back to last night and their playful lovemaking. His focus and intensity in bed she’d totally expected. The playfulness, not so much. It was—
“Got it!”
His declaration pulled her back. “You found him?”
“Yep. Still in Saint Andrews, according to this phone directory.” He looked over at her. “Wanna take a drive?”
“Sure. But shouldn’t you call ahead? Make sure he’s home or that he’ll see you?”
He frowned. “How far away is Saint Andrews?”
“Hour and a half, maybe,” she estimated.
“Then, no, I’ll risk a wasted drive. I’d rather not get into it on the phone.”
“And you’d rather not risk him telling us not to come?”
“That too,” he confess
ed.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“Excellent.” He pulled out his phone and plugged the contact information into it. He looked up at her. “Need to go home for anything, or can we get on the road?”
“I think I’m okay.” She looked down at her cargo pants and blouse. “Unless you think I need a change?”
He crossed to the couch and picked her right up off it. She squeaked and grabbed him around the neck.
“I think you look good enough to eat.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer when we get back to town,” she said huskily.
He put her down so she could slip her feet back into the sandals she’d kicked off. They made their escape without seeing Sylvia, although Hayden felt a little guilty about it. Boyd had said that Sylvia had been a close friend of Dr. Gunn’s and was about as devastated as he imagined she was capable of getting, short of losing the Senator.
She forgot the guilt quickly, though, as they got iced coffees and hit the road. The sun was shining, it was a Monday, and she was off work.
She hadn’t taken a road trip since she and Josh had gone to Grand Manan for two days. The island was rugged and beautiful. Josh had loved it. Boyd would love it too. She found herself wishing they were headed out for a weekend themselves, instead of a quick trip to visit a man who almost certainly was Boyd’s uncle. Arianna Duncan’s younger brother.
Her pleasure in the sunny day dimmed a little as she worried about the reception Boyd would get. She understood that this kind of thing was best handled face-to-face, but, personally, Hayden would rather have a little more notice than a knock on her door.
“Ever been to Saint Andrews?”
His question drew her from her thoughts. “Once, on a day trip with a nurse from the ER. She’s a big gardener, so we checked out the Kingsbrae Botanical Gardens. Walked the beach, did some touristy stuff, had supper at a dining room at a supposedly haunted bed-and-breakfast, and drove home. It was nice.”
