by John Clement
But I also knew no decent officer would respond to the report of a dead body without first confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no chance of resuscitation. I could have described the porcine cast of the man’s skin, or the odd angle of his thin arm stretched out next to his body, or the absolute stillness of the silk scarf laid over his face, but it would have been a waste of time.
We both knew he’d be a fool to take my word for it.
Morgan was still standing next to the squad car, looking slightly hesitant, and I wondered if he wasn’t considering getting behind the wheel and backing down the block so he could go inside without my knowing he was bending the rules a bit.
He was just about to make a move when I tapped lightly on the window. “Deputy Morgan?”
He turned and glared. “What now?”
“It’s locked,” I said.
He glanced down at the car’s handle. “Yes. I’m aware of that. It’s for your own safety. I’ll let you out as soon as I know the house is clear.”
I shook my head and held up my ring of keys. “No. I mean the front door.”
He blinked. “Oh.”
He opened the door and took the keys, nodding silently and mumbling something that sounded like, thanks, and then shut the door again after I showed him which key was Caroline’s. After that, I slumped down in my seat and put Charlie in my lap. He was trembling slightly, so I tried to rock him like you might comfort a baby. We both watched Morgan as he retraced our path back up the driveway to the front porch. At the big picture window by the front door, he paused and peered inside. Just then a woman’s voice cut the silence. It was the dispatch operator coming through on the police radio in the front seat.
Her voice was a thin wail, almost like a siren. “Deputy Morgan, backup en route, ETA is three minutes.”
I glanced up at Morgan. He pulled his radio out and then seconds later I heard his voice. “Ten-four. Standing by.”
He took another step past the window as he clipped the radio back on his belt and withdrew his gun. Then, in one swift motion, he unlocked the front door and disappeared inside. Less than twenty seconds later he came backing out with his radio in his hand again.
His voice was softer now. “Lorraine, this is Deputy Morgan. Possible Signal 5 here. We’re gonna need a 10-93. I repeat, 10-93.”
I had forgotten most of the technical jargon and law-enforcement terms within three or four months of leaving the sheriff’s department, but a few of them had stuck in my brain like mice in a glue trap. “Signal 5” is police code for homicide, and “10-93” means “send detective.”
There was a burst of static from the radio and then a couple more voices on top of each other, both talking so fast I couldn’t understand a thing, but finally the dispatch operator said, “Deputy Morgan, please describe the victim.”
“Approximately a hundred forty pounds, five foot nine inches. Caucasian.”
“Age?”
“Midthirties.”
“Male or female?”
There was a pause, filled with nothing but blank space, and then I heard what at first I thought was more static, but then realized it was Morgan taking a deep breath. I glanced up at the porch again. He was leaning with one arm braced against one of the big pillars, his legs at a wide stance, his head hanging down.
He said, “Female.”
7
I was still sitting in the back of the squad car, trying to keep myself calm, while the night sky all around me was ablaze with the flashing red-and-blue lights of emergency vehicles. I counted at least three deputy cruisers, an ambulance, a Sarasota police van, and two unmarked cars. A line of traffic cones had been set up at both ends of the street to keep the gawkers and local reporters at bay, but there must have been at least a dozen deputies and crime technicians milling around in front of Caroline’s house.
Despite all that, Charlie was sound asleep, curled up on the black vinyl seat next to me, and if I hadn’t thought people would think I’d finally lost my marbles, I would have curled up right next to him. In the thirty minutes or so we’d been waiting, he had completely exhausted himself, barking at every single person that got within ten feet of the car, and I had completely exhausted myself going over every conversation I’d had with Caroline leading up to her departure, trying to remember if she’d said anything … anything that might shed light on what had happened.
The first thing I remembered was a phone call I’d gotten from her about two weeks earlier. She’d recently started seeing a man, an ophthalmologist, who was currently separated from his wife of twenty years, although Caroline didn’t know all the details yet. They’d only been dating for about a month and a half, but he was, in Caroline’s words, a catch—not particularly handsome, but kind, smart, and extremely successful. He had talked a lot about a small schooner he’d bought last summer and how he never had time enough to enjoy it, and on their last date he had suggested they take it out and sail down the coast together.
Her immediate impulse was to say yes, but she told him she’d have to think about it. At that point they’d been on less than half a dozen dates, so she had called to get my opinion. Was it too soon? Was it insane to agree to a romantic getaway with a man she barely knew?
Given the fact that I don’t like boat rides any more than rabbits do, I told her of course it was insane, but the real question she needed to be asking herself was, “How much do you like him?”
I remembered her response exactly. She said, “Dixie, I think I love him.”
I closed my eyes and laid my hand on Charlie’s side. I could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, and for a few desperate seconds I tried to think of nothing but the sensation of it.
“Well,” I said. “I guess we know why you were scratching at that door yesterday.”
He lifted his head and squinted at me for a moment or two, then laid his head back down between his paws with a sigh.
I nodded. “You’re right. I should have listened.”
Until then, I hadn’t allowed the thought to actually form in my mind. It was too terrible. But now I couldn’t avoid it. The words rose up inside me, almost as if I was whispering to myself: Dixie, is it Caroline’s body in that house?
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.
First of all—the light-blue suit. In all the time I’d known her, I’d never seen Caroline wear a man’s suit. Ever. And anyway, if she hadn’t shown up for the boat trip, her new boyfriend would have thought something was wrong. He would have tried to call her. And when she didn’t pick up, he would have been worried. He would have gone to her house, and if there was no answer he’d have left a note on the door. And if that hadn’t worked he’d have gone to the police and reported her missing.
Right?
I grabbed my phone again and shook my head.
Normally, I get detailed contact information for every one of my clients. I write down where they’re going and who they’ll be staying with. I get hotel numbers, nearby relatives, neighbors, vet information—anything I can think of that might come in handy in the event of an emergency. I’m extremely diligent about it. I never make an exception.
Except with Caroline.
She wasn’t staying in a hotel, so it hadn’t even occurred to me to get another phone number or any other kind of contact information. All I had was her cell, and now I was dialing it for what felt like the hundredth time.
Her voice was bright and cheerful. “Hey there, I can’t talk right now because I’m doing something fabulous, either that or I’m too lazy to get my butt off the couch and pick up the phone, but if you’ll tell me something interesting, maybe I’ll call you back. Ciao for now!”
This time, I didn’t even wait for the beep. I just hung up. I’d already left at least five messages, each of them a variation of basically the same thing: Call me! I hadn’t been specific about why, just that it was important I speak to her as soon as possible. I knew if I told her what had happened she’d definitely think it w
arranted a call back, but I didn’t want to leave a voice mail, and—I shuddered at the thought—I was beginning to seriously wonder if she’d ever hear it anyway.
I shook my head again. There was no point panicking … yet.
Just in front of me, parked in front of Morgan’s cruiser, was an ambulance from Sarasota Memorial Hospital, which is only about a five-minute drive from here, and directly behind me was a walnut-brown Lincoln Continental with Florida State government license plates. Beyond that was a black, four-door SUV with a light dusting of pollen across its windshield.
Blocking the entire roadway to the right, its front grill parallel with the back door of the ambulance, was the Sarasota County mobile forensics unit, a big square van that, if you didn’t know better, you’d think was an ice cream truck. But I knew better. The side panels were open, and two forensics examiners, both in white lab coats, rubber booties, and latex gloves, were pulling out a couple of black nylon supply packs from a wall of shelves.
There were so many flashing lights in the street that when I closed my eyes I could almost imagine I was in a nightclub, so that’s exactly what I did. I pictured myself far, far away—maybe on an exotic Mediterranean island in an old seventies-style disco with a fog machine and an over-the-top light show. I imagined myself swaying in time to the mind-numbing dance music and sipping on some mind-numbing drink, like a mojito or a pisco margarita, or maybe just a bottle of vodka.
The only problem was that instead of pulsing music overhead, all I could hear was the incessant tick-ticking of the emergency lights on the rack mounted to the top of the squad car. Just then there was a tap on the window and I opened my eyes to find Deputy Morgan watching me through the half-open window.
He said, “I thought you might want to know we searched the house. There’s nobody in there but a rabbit and a very shy cat. They’re both fine.”
“Okay, thanks. And any word…”
My breath caught in my throat. Until now, I’d managed to present a relatively calm exterior, but I didn’t think I’d be able to say Caroline’s name without losing it.
I said, “Have they identified the body?”
Morgan shook his head. “You can wait outside now if you want.”
“That’s okay. I’ll stay here with Charlie. He’ll get too wound up if I let him out of the car now.”
“No problem. Just got a couple more things to finish up, and then the detective would like to speak to you.”
I said, “I’ve been trying to get ahold of Caroline, but she’s not answering.”
He paused for a moment.
“Don’t call her again.”
I watched as he went back over to the bottom of the driveway where there was a group of EMTs and deputies. In the middle was a tall woman with a nest of sorrel hair piled in a frizzy heap on top of her head. I could hear her talking quietly, but I couldn’t quite tell what she was saying. All the men and women gathered around were listening intently, including a lanky, awkward-looking boy in a red baseball cap. I figured he must have been a neighborhood kid that got past the police blockade, or maybe he’d been brought on scene by one of the deputies, maybe he’d seen something suspicious.
Suddenly, I remembered my meeting with Elba Kramer next door. I grabbed my phone to check the time and then fumbled around in my backpack for the business card her assistant had given me. I looked up just in time to see Deputy Morgan tip his chin in my direction, and the tall woman with red hair turned and looked at me. She gave a short nod to the group, and then they dispersed like a football team breaking out of a huddle. Two of the deputies began stringing up a roll of bright yellow tape with the words POLICE LINE—DO NOT CROSS written in ominous black letters, and another man started pulling out cameras and lenses from a green duffel bag on the hood of an unmarked car.
Deputy Morgan was headed straight for me.
I put my phone down and turned to Charlie. “Now listen, I don’t want you barking at anybody while I’m talking to these people, okay?”
He lifted his head and squinted, considering his options.
I said, “Good. It’s settled. You stay here and behave yourself, and then we’ll get you home.”
Morgan opened the door, and as I got out I kept an eye on Charlie to make sure he stayed put, but he was so pooped he barely moved. The tall redhead was waiting at the curb, and as we joined her, I noticed she was easily a good four inches taller than Morgan. Her skin was pale, threatening to freckle, and she wore a dun-colored blouse with a gray collar, a frayed beige scarf that hung past her waist, and a plain, knee-length skirt that with only a few minor alterations might easily have doubled as a potato sack.
She stepped forward and extended her hand, adjusting the canvas bag that was slung over her shoulder, and just then there came from somewhere inside it the muffled sound of a cell-phone ringing. She ignored it.
I said, “Hi, Detective McKenzie.”
She said, “Hi, Dixie.”
The first time I met Detective Samantha McKenzie was at the house of one of my former clients, the Harwicks. They lived in a huge, ornate mansion off Jungle Plum Road at the north end of the Key. I’d been hired to take care of their massive tank of exotic fish, as well as their cat, Charlotte, a cantankerous but beautiful Siamese diva with a luxurious, silver-tipped chocolate coat. On my first day there, I found Charlotte lurking around the edge of the swimming pool in the back, tentatively batting one paw at the surface of the water, and when I went out to fetch her I saw a dark shape lying at the bottom of the pool.
That dark shape, unfortunately, turned out to be Charlotte’s owner, Mr. Harwick.
Detective McKenzie was assigned to the case—she had just joined the sheriff’s office a few months earlier—and the moment she started questioning me, I knew I’d never met anyone like her. The way Detective McKenzie’s mind works is unique: it’s not unlike a runaway roller coaster. It twists and turns, careening from one track to another at dizzying speeds and with no apparent rhyme or reason. Plus, she’s blunt and no-nonsense, which comes off as sheer rudeness. It was only after I’d gotten to know her a little better that I realized it’s not rudeness at all, but rather an inability (or flat-out refusal) to adhere to all the social rules and common niceties that the rest of us follow.
To add insult to injury, she also has the unsettling habit of avoiding direct eye contact. Instead, she fixes her gaze just slightly off to the side or at the center of your forehead, which is precisely what she was doing right now.
“I understand you’ve had quite a shock.”
I said, “I’ll be fine … but the woman inside. Do you know who she is?”
She tilted her head. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
I said, “No. I have no idea. I couldn’t see her face, and everything happened so fast.”
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment I saw a look of confusion flash across her face. “So, you didn’t notice…?”
I said, “Didn’t notice … what?”
A pained smile formed on her lips, which seemed more than anything else to confirm my worst fears. Almost immediately, a trembling started at the base of my spine and crept all the way down to the souls of my feet. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have turned on my heels right then and headed straight for the Bronco. I figured if I moved fast enough, I could be out the driveway and crashing through those traffic cones before anybody even knew what was happening.
Instead, I took a deep breath.
“Detective McKenzie, didn’t notice what?”
8
I can’t say for certain how long I was standing there, staring at McKenzie’s gray eyes and waiting for an answer. It felt like an eternity, but in the time that passed all I managed to do was curl my trembling hands into fists and prop them unsteadily on my hips. The tight smile on McKenzie’s face hadn’t wavered, but I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me. I could see it in her eyes.
She said, “Dixie, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I’m afra
id I’m going to have to ask you to come inside and take another look.”
A voice inside my head murmured, No way. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I was going back inside that house unless it was to get Franklin and Gigi out. But then I thought of Caroline, and all I could hear was her cheerful voice on the phone … Seriously, Dixie. Is it crazy to get on a boat and go sailing off into the wild blue yonder with a man I barely know?
I said, “Detective McKenzie, I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired, and I need to find a place for Franklin and Gigi to stay for the night, since I’m assuming they can’t stay here, and I need to get Charlie home before his owners start worrying. So please, just tell me … is it her?”
She frowned. “Is it who?”
I took a deep breath. “Caroline. Is it Caroline’s body in there?”
For the first time, her face softened. “Dixie, I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I was actually hoping you might be able to answer that.”
I took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m just a little flustered.”
“So, you didn’t recognize her at all?”
“No. In fact, I thought she was a man at first.”
“At first?”
“Yes, because of the suit.”
“But then you realized you were wrong when you looked under the scarf.”
“No, I didn’t look under the scarf.”
She nodded. “You overheard Morgan’s call to dispatch.”
“Yes. He asked me to wait in the car while he checked things out, and I heard everything over the radio.”
“So you didn’t touch the body at all?”
I frowned. I couldn’t tell whether she was trying to figure out if I was stupid enough to tamper with a dead body or if I was stupid enough not to attempt resuscitation.
