John Lutz - Hot

Carver pounded on the door with the crook of his cane.

“Place feels unoccupied,” Beth said.

But it wasn’t. The door opened about six inches and Katia Marsh peered out. There were deep crescents of grief beneath her eyes; she’d been crying and it hadn’t helped much.

“We’re closed,” she said. “Dr. Sam-”

“I know,” Carver told her. “We heard about it on the news. This is my associate, Beth Jackson. Can we come inside, Katia?”

She hesitated a moment, then stepped back and opened the door wider so they could enter. Before closing the door, she glanced around outside, as if suspecting they might be the advance guard for an army of interlopers. Maybe she feared the news media. Or the police converging on her again.

It was blessedly cool in the research center. The only sound was an air-conditioning unit, or possibly a filtering system, humming away somewhere.

“I was cleaning some of the displays,” Katia said, “trying to keep busy.” With a weak smile she turned and walked to the door leading to the live exhibits. Carver and Beth followed her through the door and down the steel steps. Beth looked at the circling shark behind the glass wall. It looked back at her. She shivered.

Katia picked up some kind of instrument, a screened scoop on the end of a wooden handle, and began listlessly skimming the surface of the shallow water in which a small sea turtle was displayed.

“Is this where you found Dr. Sam?” Carver asked.

The sifter jerked, causing ripples in the shallow water. Beth looked hard at Carver, somewhat the way the shark had looked at her.

“I’m told you were close to the doctor,” she said to Katia. “We’re sorry about what happened. Really.”

Katia dropped the sifter and rubbed her eyes with knuckles still wet from the tank. Carver felt guilty for being cynical enough to wonder if there’d been anything beyond business going on between the late doctor and his attractive young assistant. He said, “I’m sorry about Dr. Sam, and sorry to have to ask you these questions.”

“Why do you have to?” Katia asked, staring at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Because Dr. Sam’s death might be linked to Henry Tiller’s.”

“Henry Tiller was struck by a hit-and-run driver, and Dr. Sam committed suicide.”

“Henry was murdered,” Carver said.

“Maybe. But I still don’t see the relevance.” The skeptical scientist in her.

“I don’t know that there actually is any,” Carver admitted. “But I’m asking you to understand I need to make sure.”

Katia shrugged, apparently not understanding, but also not wanting to argue. “I found him in there,” she said, motioning with her head toward a closed door. “It’s a storeroom. I unlocked and opened that door to get something, and there-I mean, the first thing that happened was I smelled the stench.” She bowed her head. Carver distinctly saw a glittering tear fall from her cheek to the floor, where it seemed to shatter like crystal. Beth moved close to her and wrapped a long brown arm around her. Carver had seen hangings. He knew the doctor’s sphincter had relaxed during death and his bowels had released. “Then I saw his legs, one stockinged foot, a black silk sock. He’d kicked off one of his shoes when he shoved away the boxes he’d been standing on. He was suspended by a rope around his neck, hanging from one of the steel beams up near the ceiling. I saw his face and backed away. Got out of there.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed for a minute while Carver and Beth said nothing. Carver felt like hugging the girl himself, assuring her that grief would pass, or at least become tolerable with time. But he knew he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Felt helpless. He truly hated moments like this. Beth held her tighter, patting her gently and rhythmically on the back.

Finally Katia composed herself, lowering her hands and standing up straight, managing a kind of tear-streaked dignity Carver admired.

“You mentioned the door was locked,” he said.

“It usually is locked, but it must not have been this morning. When I turned my key in the lock, it must have already been unlocked and I didn’t notice. Or maybe it was locked; Dr. Sam might have locked the door from the inside.” She clenched her teeth, making her jaw muscles dance. “God, does it really make any difference? This is like some sick game!”

“Can I have a look at the room?”

Katia nodded, walked to the door and unlocked it with a brass key on a ring of at least half a dozen keys. Instead of opening the door, she shied away from it, returning to her work at the tide pool displays. Beth stood near her, watching her, not looking at Carver.

Carver opened the door. The room wasn’t much larger than a closet, and the smell of human feces still permeated the warm, motionless air. The hum of whatever was running was louder in here. He found the light switch and flipped it upward. A fluorescent ceiling fixture fought through its birth pangs and winked on.

The police were finished with the death scene, and the rope Dr. Sam had used was removed from the steel girder supporting the concrete ceiling. The small room was lined with metal shelving that held cardboard boxes. Two boxes that contained computer paper sat on the concrete floor, probably the boxes Dr. Sam had stood on, then kicked away after slipping the noose over his head.

Carver examined the door and saw that the only way to lock it from the inside was with a key. Interesting. Maybe meaningful. He switched off the light, stepped outside and closed the door, glad to be out of the close, oppressive room. Here the air was cooler and didn’t smell of death.

Carver limped over to where Katia was now sprinkling flakes of food into one of the trays, balanced nutrient, read the label on the otherwise plain white box. “How’s Millicent Bing taking her husband’s death?” he asked, watching the irregular flakes float like debris on the surface, glad he wasn’t a fish.

Katia didn’t look up. “I think she’s still in shock. I offered to go over and stay with her, but she said she’d rather be alone. Said that was how she handled grief.”

“Did Dr. Sam leave a suicide note?” Carver asked.

Katia shook her head no.

Carver thanked her for talking with him, then said, “You gonna be okay here?”

She put down the balanced nutrient and forced a smile. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll stay busy. That’s how I handle my grief.”

“What’ll happen to the research center now?” Beth asked.

“I don’t know,” Katia said. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“If you change your mind about how you want to handle your grief,” Beth said, “phone me and I’ll come over.”

This time Katia’s smile was genuine even if fleeting. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“We’ll find our way out,” Carver told her. Beth followed him as he limped up the steel stairs to the ground-level exhibit.

Outside in the brilliant sun, Beth said, “The girl thought a lot about her employer.”

“More than she should have?” Carver asked.

“Think there was more than something fishy going on there?” Beth said.

“It was a serious question.”

“Okay, Fred. Bad joke. I didn’t pick up that Katia and the doctor were romantically involved, but it’s not impossible. Might not mean anything even if they did have something going.”

“Far too many mights in this world,” Carver said. He lowered himself into the Olds as Beth walked around and got in on the passenger side.

As soon as he started the engine, he switched the air conditioner on High.

Beth crossed her long bare legs, then stretched the front of her shirt to pat perspiration from her forehead. “Think Dr. Sam really committed suicide?” she asked.