Joel Goldman - Chasing The Dead

When she left the courthouse, she saw the man who’d walked into Judge West’s chambers staring up at Andrew Jackson and his horse. She was about to pass him when he turned, head still raised, and ran into her.

“Oh,” he said.

“That’s two oh s in one day,” Alex said.

“Yes, it is,” he said with a smile. “That’s my limit, I’m afraid.”

He was an inch shorter than her, his gray complexion waxy in the sunlight. She was close enough to make out the detail on his gold pin. There was a navy blue inner circle inscribed with S ervice-Valor-Sacrifice . A map occupied the center of the pin with 50th superimposed over it. The words Vietnam War appeared beneath that. A small rectangular ribbon in green, gold, and red was attached to the bottom of the pin.

Alex pointed to the pin. “You served in Vietnam?”

“Eighty-Second Airborne, 1968 to 1970.”

“Long time ago.”

“But not forgotten.”

“Nor should it be,” Alex said, hesitating for a moment. “Did you find the probate department?

“I did, but everyone was at lunch. I’ll have to try again, but next time I’ll know where I’m going.”

“Since you didn’t know your way around the courthouse, I take it you’re not a lawyer.”

He laughed. “Oh, no. I was looking into a matter for a friend, another vet, that’s all. I’m retired, so I don’t have much else to do.”

The man was so courteous and disarming that Alex warmed to him immediately, their pleasant conversation a welcome antidote to her confrontation with Judge West.

“What did you do before you retired?”

“Pretty much the same thing, helping vets, so I guess you could say I didn’t work very hard or I never retired.”

“I know a few lawyers who do probate work. I’d be happy to give you their names.”

“Then you must be a lawyer.”

“Guilty,” Alex said.

“And a good one, if I’m any judge of people.” He stuck out his hand. “Mathew Woodrell.”

“Alex Stone,” she said, shaking his hand.

“A pleasure,” he said. “Nice to know a lawyer if I ever need one.”

“Well, you won’t want it to be me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I only represent poor people accused of crimes.”

“Then I hope you’re right.”

She watched him walk away, then look back at her and give her a little wave. A westbound bus was stopped on the other side of Twelfth Street. When it left, she saw Rossi standing on the sidewalk. They stared at each other, neither of them moving, waving, or nodding, until Rossi turned his back and walked away.

Alex stopped at a phone store on her way home and bought a new phone, keeping her old number. The salesperson confirmed Rossi’s explanation that her voice mail was stored on the carrier’s server and not on the phone. She’d sync the new phone with her laptop to restore everything else that was on her old phone.

Bonnie was on her hands and knees, wrist deep in dirt, working along the edge of a flower bed that bordered their patio when Alex got home. Alex watched her from the den window that looked out on the backyard. Soil littered the patio’s redbrick pavers behind her. Alex couldn’t tell whether she was digging a trench or digging to China.

Bonnie was the gardener in the family. She delighted in choosing the plantings, putting them in, and nurturing them from one season to the next, taking Alex by the hand for a tour and explaining about annuals and perennials, irises, day lilies, impatiens, and hydrangeas, and junipers and ferns and all the rest. Alex never got past the colors, telling Bonnie she liked the purple and yellow flowers and the green bushes until Bonnie poked her in the arm and called her a moron.

Alex could judge Bonnie’s mood by how she gardened. The more time she took, the more at peace she was. The faster she moved, the harder she dug, the more riled up she was, and at the moment, she was hitting the soil like a jackhammer.

She needed Bonnie’s help dealing with Robin’s death, but she was struggling with how much to tell her, especially since it looked like Bonnie was fighting her own battle. It was the same tightrope she’d been walking for a year, and she felt like one of the Flying Wallendas teetering on a wire suspended over the Grand Canyon, the wind swirling around her.

Grabbing two beers from the refrigerator, Alex went outside. Their dog, Quincy, had been napping in the late-afternoon sun beneath a black wrought-iron table surrounded by matching chairs. He bolted toward Alex, jumping up and planting his paws on her chest, his tail wagging at warp speed, as if he hadn’t seen her in years. Alex stroked his back from head to tail.

“Hi, baby dog! Did you miss me today?”

“Don’t get excited,” Bonnie said over her shoulder. “He did the same thing to the meter reader a while ago.”

“I know. What can I say? We raised a dog that loves everyone. Where did we go wrong?”

She rested a beer bottle against Bonnie’s neck, condensation running off the bottle and mixing with Bonnie’s sweat. Bonnie sighed, stopped digging, and reached for the bottle. She stood, took a drink, and wiped her mouth.

“You always know what this girl needs,” Bonnie said.

“That’s why you’re my girl. How long have you been out here?”

“I got off at three, so I’ve been out here since about three thirty, a couple of hours.”

“That’s a whole lot of digging. You must have had a lousy day.”

They sat in wrought-iron chairs beneath an oak tree that shaded the patio. Bonnie rubbed her bottle against her cheek, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You could say that. From the hangdog look you’re wearing, I’d say yours wasn’t any better.”

“That’s for sure. I don’t know anything about your day, but mine was awful. When I walked in the office this morning, I found out that Robin Norris was killed in a car accident last night.”

Bonnie covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, dear God! What happened?”

Alex let out a sigh and shook her head. “She lost control of her car and it went off the road, hit a tree, and she was killed.”

Bonnie reached for Alex, hugging her tight, Alex resting her head on Bonnie’s shoulder. “How awful.”

“And it gets worse,” Alex said, sitting up. “She was leaving me a voice message when it happened but I didn’t hear the call come in because my phone was off.”

“Where were you?”

“At the Zoo.”

“With that asshole Rossi?”

Alex nodded. “And guess who’s investigating the case?”

“Rossi?”

“Yeah. He and another detective came to my office today because they found Robin’s phone at the scene and the call log showed that her last call was to me. They wanted to know what we talked about. I hadn’t even noticed I had a message until they asked me about the call. We listened to the message together.” She paused and gulped, choking on her memory of the recording. “She said she needed to talk to me and then she screamed and I heard the car hit the tree and then. . nothing.”

Bonnie rubbed Alex’s back. “Oh, my. I can’t imagine how awful that was. Do you have any idea why she was calling you?”

“I don’t know. She kept saying she had to talk to me, but I have no idea what about. That’s what I told Rossi, and I could tell by the look he gave me that he didn’t believe me. It’s bad enough that Robin is dead, but now I’ve got to put up with his bullshit again.”

“That’s not the only bullshit he’s shoveling at us.”

Alex’s stomach clenched. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

“Me neither, but it is what it is.”

“What’s what it is? What’s going on?”