D. Gilles - Colder Than Death

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

I opened the door and stepped outside. At least half a minute passed and she still hadn’t come out. I looked in through the window and saw her moving away from Greg, but still talking. She shrugged her shoulders towards him, he gave her a thumbs up sign, then she waved goodbye with a big grin and strolled out the door.

“Why were you so rude to Greg?” she snapped.

“You told him, didn’t you?”

“Told him what?”

“Everything we’ve been talking about. Gretchen’s mother. Alyssa. The whole thing.”

“Just some that we think whoever killed my Aunt probably killed Gretchen’s Mom and Alyssa.”

“That was stupid.”

“Greg’s a good guy.”

“You’re really naive if you think that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I almost told her that Greg was spying on her and her friends, but again I forced myself to keep what I knew to myself. “I just don’t like him. And he doesn’t like me.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?”

I should have just ignored her question or given some innocuous answer, but I couldn’t help myself, even though I knew it would complicate things even more.

“Maybe instead of wondering why he doesn’t like me, you should start asking yourself why he likes you.” She gave me an angry stare. “Isn’t it kind of odd that a cop would spend time with your crowd? I mean, you guys aren’t exactly candidates for the Pep Club. And it’s not like you’re bucking for election to the Student Council. The perception is that you’re all wild, dope-crazed, slacker metalheads looking for trouble.”

“What’s your point?”

“My guess is that a cop would have a motive — other than friendship — to spend time with kids like you.”

She stared coolly at me, thinking. Finally, she shook her head and said, “Are you saying that Greg is some kind of spy for Cobb?”

I didn’t want to alienate her, so I said, “I’m not saying anything. I’m only asking you to question his motives. Let’s drop the subject now. Get in the car. I’ll take you home.” I started walking.

“Wait a minute! What did you and Cobb talk about after he kicked me out of his office?”

“All kinds of things. I got him to concede that there might be a connection between your Aunt and her Mom, but Alyssa he’s not so convinced about. Can’t say that I blame him. Compared to Brandy and Gretchen’s mother, the facts are pretty slim.”

“So now what? I talked to Cobb. What do we do next?”

“He’ll go through your Aunt’s things. Let’s hope he finds something to help the investigation or that he’ll

re-open the Virginia Thistle case.”

“What if he doesn’t find anything?”

I hesitated, then said, “We go back to our lives and try to put this all behind us.”

“I can’t believe you said that!”

“What else can we do?”

“We can try to find the killer ourselves! It really pisses me off that you’d give up.”

“I’m not giving up. I’ve done everything I can do to this point. Let’s give Perry a shot now.”

“It’s like you suddenly don’t care anymore! About Gretchen’s mom or even Alyssa. I really thought you had it going on…that you were different…but you’re no different than my mother or Cobb or…shit! I should’ve started my own investigation right from the start. I knew I shouldn’t have wasted my time listening to you. I wanted to hire a detective from the get-go. Goddamnit! I should’ve known better than to trust a fucking undertaker who’s afraid of his own shadow!”

Without warning, she turned and ran across the street, narrowly missing being hit by a car.

“Quilla!” She didn’t stop. “Quilla, come back here!” She kept running. I thought about jumping in my car and going after her, but Greg Hoxey’s voice stopped me.

“What the hell’s the story, man?” He was standing in the doorway leading into the police station. “Keep shouting like that and I’ll have to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

I ignored him. Instead of looking at Greg I continued to watch Quilla as she ran to the corner and took a left. Greg turned to see what I was looking at.

“What did you say to her?” he said harshly.

“Mind your own business, Greg.” I walked to my car. He followed me. Before I could get inside he grabbed my arm.

“I was watching you two talk from inside. She looked ticked off and hurt. I want to know what you said to her.”

“She’s angry because nothing’s happening in her Aunt’s murder case.” I pulled my arm out of his grasp and slid behind the steering wheel. “She wants instant answers and they aren’t there.”

“She told me about the connection with that case from twenty-four years ago and some girlfriend of yours. Weird.”

“Right, Greg. Weird .”

“Perry hasn’t been giving up much info.”

“There isn’t much to give.”

“It pains me to see Quilla hurting so much.”

“Why would you care?”

“She means a lot to me. So do the kids she hangs with.”

“That’s surprising, considering you’re spying on them.”

Shock was in his eyes. “How’d you know?”

“Perry told me.”

“That’s how it was supposed to be, but… I ended up liking ’em too much to spy on ’em. And they like me. When I’m around them I get treated like I’m somebody. They all look like punks, but it’s all a costume and a pose. The worst thing they do is drink beer on weekends and get drunk once in a while. Maybe they have a little weed sometimes. So what? I let Perry think I’m controlling them.”

I knew Greg long enough to know he was being truthful.

“Quilla said you’ve been helping her,” Greg said. “That’s good.”

“If you really care about her, Greg, do what you can to motivate Perry. He’s sinking fast.”

“What can I do, Del?”

“I’d say there’s a connection with Virginia Thistle. Maybe not my girlfriend, but if this is ever gonna be solved I’d look backwards.” I started the engine, waved good-bye to Greg and headed back to the Home, hoping that Quilla wouldn’t stay angry at me for long.

Burial services are draining on a Funeral Director, especially large scale affairs like Alphonse’s. As I drove through town, I looked forward to the three hours in-between the afternoon and evening viewings. If there weren’t any interruptions, I could catch a couple hours of sleep.

It was a few minutes before two when I got back to the Home. There were already three cars in the lot. Turnouts for afternoon viewings were always hard to predict. People who didn’t know the deceased that well tended to come in the afternoon of the second day of viewing. I suspected that they felt it was easier to make an appearance, then leave quickly, the excuse being that they had to get back to work. And when an elderly person died it seemed that the afternoon viewing was far more popular than the evening.

I snuck in the rear entrance, ran upstairs to my apartment, washed up, put on a fresh shirt, slipped into a suit and tie, then went downstairs expecting to join Clint who would be at the front entrance greeting people. But as I reached the bottom step on the stairway that led to my quarters, I heard voices coming from behind the door under the stairs that was a private entrance to the lower level of the Home. It was the stairway that Nolan, Clint and I used as a shortcut to the Embalming Room

I walked to the door, opened it and heard Nolan talking.

“Like I told you,” he was saying. “It’s not like being an accountant or a bank teller. It’s not like any kind of job in the world except maybe a coroner or pathologist.”