Screaming To Be Solved Page 5

  She curled one hand into a fist on the table, frustration mounting. “What I don’t understand is what happened? Two years ago, when they came to my door and said Evan was dead, was he?”

  “Yes, at least I think so. From what I’ve been told, the medical examiner has determined the body was in the water approximately two years. I just don’t think there’s any way they can nail down an exact day. Not after all this time. But I have no reason to believe he didn’t die on the night you were informed.”

  She put a hand to her forehead and rubbed where it had begun to throb as the waitress refilled his tea and dropped off her coffee.

  “So, where do we go from here?” Marxie said. “I have so many questions I’m not even sure where to begin.”

  “First, I’m going through all the paperwork, sorting through statements from the night Evan died, procedures, evidence, reports from the scene of the accident. I’m going to put in a call to Chief Raines, see if I can schedule a meeting with him in the next few days, clear up any discrepancies or questions from my first run-through of Pembroke’s documents. Then, if necessary, I move on to suspects.”

  “Suspects? What do you mean?”

  “I mean I figure out who could’ve done this to your husband.”

  “We know who did this. Chaz Henry.”

  “You’re right. He played a part.”

  “A part? He caused the accident. Caused Evan’s car to flip, to explode. He did this.”

  “Maybe.” Grant tilted his head slightly. “Maybe not.”

  “What, you think some ghost just magically appeared, sent Evan’s car careening over that ravine?”

  Because her voice had risen, Grant lowered his. “No, Marxie, of course I don’t think that. But I’m open to possibilities. Others that haven’t been explored. Remember, I’ve reopened the investigation. It’s my job to investigate.”

  She exhaled, tried to steady herself. “I understand that, but aren’t we just trying to find out the events that transpired? Chief Raines assured me that we’re just working with a new set of events, the order, I guess, of how things happened, not entirely new circumstances. I mean, we know who and what killed Evan . . . right?”

  “Again, maybe. These are all things I’m reviewing. I’m still in the initial stages of the investigation.”

  She stared at him incredulously. “Friends, remember? You need to give me more than that.”

  He seemed briefly amused as a hint of smile played at his lips, but when she blinked, it was gone again and his mouth was set in its usual grim line.

  “We have an officer who was identified by medical professionals to have been burned so severely only two teeth were recovered. Yet he’s found some forty miles from the scene of the accident, clearly not incinerated by fire. What evidence was collected at the scene two years ago? Who collected it, reported it? What lead them to believe Evan was in the car and not continue searching? Who made the determination Evan died from the explosion? How did they make such a serious error? I’m starting there. Then I’ll move on to Chaz.”

  She exhaled. “Thank you.”

  Then a new thought galloped through her mind, kicking her pulse up with it, and when her hand trembled on her mug, Grant reached to cover it. “Grant,” she began swiftly, “are you considering murder?”

  When he did not immediately respond, she plowed ahead, thinking out loud. “I mean, I’ve always contended that Evan was murdered. Chaz knew a cop was after him and didn’t stop. I’ve blamed Evan’s crash and death on Chaz since the beginning. But I haven’t considered a malicious, intentional murder. But what other option could there be? You mentioned suspects, other people. I know you’re thinking that, considering it.” She paused briefly, daring him to disagree. He did not. “And doesn’t that make sense? Someone purposefully pulled Evan from the car, eventually put him in the water, right? Even if it was Chaz, doesn’t that make it more like first degree murder instead of the manslaughter charge he got off on? How did I not see this and think of this before, when you came yesterday?” Her heart fluttered and she took a quick breath to try and steady its thumping. “I thought you were mistaken, there was a mix-up . . . Then Chief Raines assured me . . . But now, now . . . “

  “Hey,” Grant said before she could begin again, “don’t. Don’t do it to yourself. Don’t start fearing the worst when we don’t have all the facts yet. Let me handle it. I’ll keep you informed. Let’s take things as they come.”

  “I know, I know.” She bowed her head, willing the worst of her suspicions away. Chief Raines had basically told her the same thing. But that didn’t mean her mind could totally rest at ease.

  This might not be Evan’s death all over again, but it was close enough to it where she could feel the demons of grief and despair rearing their ugly heads once more.

  She sat, unmoving, let her eyes wander to the large stained glass displayed in the middle of the room. Its colors and hues were mesmerizing. So beautiful. Her life was a little like the panes from the stained glass, she mused, alive and shining, but muted and hazy just the same. Right when she thought her world was melding back together, it shattered again, splitting the spectrums of colorful light, throwing her back into the darkness.

  “It’s the Bird Girl on the cover of the book.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil,” Grant said. “The stained glass is a tribute to the book cover. You’re sitting very close to where John Cusack did playing John Kelso in the movie too. It was filmed right here, you know.”

  “Really?” she looked around. Savannah was full of rich history with its antebellum homes and century-old squares downtown, but Clary’s? She’d have never guessed. “Never seen it.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  She looked over again at the soft colors filtering through the glass and smiled, more interested now that there was history behind the design. If facets like that could be used in her work, she always tried to make them fit. She loved when design held deeper meaning than what met the eye.

  Evan was the very one who’d told her she had a gift for such things. He’d encouraged her to build on her talents, make her own business and stop giving her exceptional skills to a tile and design store in Pembroke. She could make it on her own, he’d told her.

  She had, and he wasn’t here to see it.

  So she found herself, staring at the glass, reflecting on its history and meaning, and mourning Evan once again. It seemed that everything in the last two days circled back around to him.

  She looked away from the glass, back to Grant as the waitress topped off their drinks, asked if they saved room for dessert.

  She had one more burning question. One she didn’t want to ask, but knew she must. She would not fear any longer; she would have answers.

  “Grant, was there a body?”

  “A body?”

  “Yes.” She put her elbows on the table, leaned onto it. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate to be asking over lunch,” she glanced down at his half-eaten sandwich, “but I have to know. When you said remains, did you mean actual remains, or him? What I mean is, is it his body? Is it Evan?”

  He frowned, rubbed a hand over hair shorn close to his head. “Actually, to be in the water for so long, the body is in fairly good condition. He must’ve been below the sun line. Cold preserves well. Had he been in the ocean . . . ” Grant trailed off, cleared his throat and started over. “He is recognizable, yes. Of course, not looking as he did in life, but recognizable.”

  Since they were resting on the table, she saw her hands go from milky pale to ghostly white, and had no doubts her face did the same as she thought of her wonderful Evan, what he looked like in her memory versus what his body must be now. Watching her, Grant said nothing more.

  They remained that way for several minutes until Grant finally leaned forward. “I’ll go with you if you want.”

  “Where?”

  “To see him.” When she on
ly stared at him, he added, “I figured you’d want to.”

  Surprised, she nodded. “I do. I have to. I know it’s all real, I know he’s gone, but I never got to see him . . . after. I never got to say goodbye.”

  “I’ll go with you then. I’d like to speak with the M.E. anyway.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but no.” She smiled briskly and scooted out of the booth, brushing absently at her dress as she stood. “I appreciate you meeting me toady, trying to help me make sense of this. But I need to do it alone. I’ve got to learn that, doing things by myself.”

  “Marxie,” Grant called as she turned to go. “Some things aren’t meant to be done that way.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, just stood, laid a stack of cash on the table by the ticket and followed her out the door.

  NINE

  He was good at getting his way. After a brief debate, he’d even convinced her she didn’t need to drive alone. So she’d moved her car from the crowded, small café parking lot to a spot on the square and hopped in his black Jeep Wrangler.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Grant asked from the driver’s seat. “You’re face is reminding me a little too much of yesterday. I can take you back if you want.”

  She would love to go back. She’d be infinitely grateful if he just took her back to her waiting car so she could drive off and forget this whole thing. In fact, she wouldn’t mind going back two years, thirty-one days to when Evan was still alive.

  But she couldn’t do any of that. She had to go on. It was what she’d promised herself the day she walked away from the empty coffin and freshly marked headstone. And she wondered now, even with the move to Savannah and the start-up of her business, if she’d truly ever kept that promise. On the surface, sure, she looked wonderful. But inside was where it still hurt, where the emotions she’d buried and never let out itched and burned like a festering boil.

  She looked over to the deep brown eyes studying her and managed, “No. I’m going. I’ll be fine.”

  Marxie had other things to do today, knew by Grant’s list he’d rattled off at the café that he did too. Her presence at the morgue wasn’t even necessary—they’d already confirmed it was Evan—but for her own peace of mind, she had to make this visit. After two years she had feared his body would have deteriorated to little more than she had originally been told was left of him. Now that she knew different, her mind was made up.

  The tragedy with Evan had not only been in his death, but in his complete obliteration. She’d had no last tender moments to tell him she loved him. No bedside hugs or final words. No soft-spoken promises or tear-filled touches. No body even, to touch, to see, to say goodbye to. There’d just been complete and utter finality.

  This new twist, although terrible in every other way, offered a chance at the closure she’d been robbed of before. Today, she could verify with her own eyes that he was gone.

  Seeing him would also put to rest the small inkling of doubt Chief Raines had planted. It either was, or was not, Evan’s body there—she’d be able to tell. Then the theory that the medical examiner had made some sort of mistake in identity could be put to rest.

  When Grant whipped the Jeep into a space in front of the old, gray building, her breath caught in her throat. A bitter cold grappled for space inside her and it took its territory quickly. As she opened the door and stepped to the ground below, she fought off a shudder even as the summer heat engulfed her.

  What would she see here? Could she really handle it? Did she even want to?

  She didn’t have time to think too hard as Grant was already several strides ahead of her, walking with sure steps to the door. She wished she felt as confident as he did, entering this God-forsaken place. But she had so much more at stake. He didn’t understand how it felt to know the pain of death. Couldn’t know the heartbreak of losing someone that’s a part of you. She didn’t blame him for his sense of purpose, wasn’t angry he hadn’t looked back to be sure she was coming in, he’d already done enough. She only envied him the ignorance.

  Finally, he did turn back to cast a half-smile at her when he opened the door. He waited until she caught up and followed her inside.

  The smell that hit her nose when they entered the bright hallway did nothing for her unsettled stomach. It was a distinctive stench: chemicals, cleaners, and yes, death.

  The hall was brighter than she expected, but it was harsh light, florescent tubes that spanned the long, narrow corridor. Doors branched off at random intervals down the hall and large glass windows flanked many of them, but she dared not look in, fearing what she might see. Her eyes stayed glued ahead to Grant’s smooth, steady strides.

  When he stopped, so did she. He rapped twice on a light blue, metal door and after a short wait, a young man in a white lab coat and latex gloves appeared. He was African American, thin, with short, curly hair and big, round brown eyes topped with sleek, modern glasses.

  “Detective.” The man nodded, curt but polite.

  “Busy?” Grant eyed him curiously.

  “Always, but I could use the interruption. What’s up?”

  Grant put a hand to the small of Marxie’s back, ushered her in front of him. “Lawson, this is Marxie Vaughn. Marxie, Law. He’s the medical examiner for our case.”

  He was much younger than Marxie thought a person who sees death everyday should be. His smile was warm and his round eyes squinted companionably with the gesture.

  “Ms. Vaughn.” Lawson slipped off a glove, took her hand and shook, his smile turning sympathetic. Victim must’ve been written all over her face; he obviously knew she wasn’t there in an official capacity.

  Grant cleared his throat, stuck a thumb in his pants pocket. “She’d like to see the body recently brought in from Fell Street Canal. It’s her husband.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Lawson muttered. “It was all over the papers when he died. Didn’t expect him to show up in my morgue a few years later.”

  “Neither did we,” Grant said grimly.

  Lawson raised a brow, turned and gestured for them to follow. “We’ve got him back in the cold area. The negative temps help keep the body longer. I figured he’d be here a while. For the first few days, we didn’t know who he was, and I suspected since he was found in the river foul play was probable. I was backed up too, so I knew he needed to keep.” Lawson glanced back at Marxie as if giving her a chemistry lesson instead of describing her dead husband. His empathy was clearly not as easily sprung as his earlier sympathy. “Looks just like he did when they brought him in. I used low enough degrees to completely stop his decomposition.”

  Lawson stopped in a big, open room with a sea of silver metal cabinets spanning one wall, almost from floor to ceiling. There were three metal tables lined in a row in the center of the room. Instruments that did not look appealing were placed precise and neat on two of the tables.

  This is where they kept, identified, and examined the bodies, Marxie recognized. Bodies of those that someone had once loved and cherished, just as she had Evan. How did they react when their loved one died? More, how did they react when they had to view their once lively companion, dead, never to live or move, breathe or smile, or say “I love you” again? How would she?

  Some part of her may have been numb, but she was aware enough to be anxious about what was coming. A little numb, she realized, a lot petrified. What was she thinking, coming here without support, friends, family? How could she deal with this? Here in this hollow, dim, sterile room, she was about to see her Evan for the first time in over two years. And she was alone.

  Forcing herself to breathe, she opened her mouth, sucked in a mountain of air, and immediately regretted it as the action intensified the smell she’d learned to loathe in the few short minutes they’d been in this hell.

  Grant came and stood beside her while Lawson changed gloves and tapped keys on a noisy keyboard over a bright computer screen. “You’re not alone,” he murmured.

  “What?” Had she said h
er earlier fears out loud and not realized it? Was the gripping dread written all over her? Probably. She didn’t care right now. All she knew was that he was right; she needed someone and was grateful he’d been able to foresee that.

  He leaned his head close to her ear. “I know you’re nervous. But I’m right beside you. Remember, he won’t look like you want him to. He’s not the same.”

  She nodded, but had begun to tune him out. Lawson was walking toward a bin in the middle of the wall of cabinets. He reached for the curved handle and pulled swiftly. The metal canister rolled out with a dull clatter.

  She stood directly in front of the slab, too scared or shocked to move to the side for a complete viewing. It hovered about an inch above her line of sight and she had to force herself to raise her eyes, to focus on what she knew was in front of her.

  It was quiet in the room; still, lonely, and dark. Like the dead that occupied the sea of bins. She didn’t want to see the dead. Didn’t want to have to face this again.

  And then she did see it, and she couldn’t move or think at all. A handful of blonde hair. Only it wasn’t bright and sunny like her memory said it should be. It was dull and grayish, and looked old and withered. It seared her vision, invaded her senses. Her breath hitched. Tears stung at her eyes, spilled over. The smell shot up her nostrils, too much this time, and she almost gagged. It was all too much.

  Unable to tear her eyes away, she glimpsed an arm through the holes of a navy shirt—Evan’s uniform—and it was swollen with hints of purple staining the pasty white. She followed the trail of tattered shirt and bruised arm to fat, stubby fingers, blue and purple with sick, putrid brown blotching on paper-thin skin.

  Then the face, the once handsome face, water-logged, lifeless, doll-like in its frozen and fixed state.

  “No!” She screamed. Its screeching echo bounced in the metallic atmosphere making the room seem endless, like an eternity of bottomless sorrow she couldn’t escape. Sobbing, she let herself slump to the ground below, the only place she felt she couldn’t see the terror that was only a glance away.