L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

Marcy tapped her desk. “Bob can let them in. He has masters to everything.”

“Okay. I’ll go down to the police station now. Have a good flight.” Sula turned to leave.

“Wait. Bob is so hard to track down sometimes. I’d better give you the key.” Marcy opened her desk drawer and took out a small key, then used it to open the main filing cabinet behind her desk. Sula held her breath. She kept expecting the woman to change her mind again, but Marcy extracted a gold-colored key from a large ring and handed it to her

“Keep me posted. Oh, and please let Mr. Rudker know what’s going on. He’s been in Seattle, but he should be back this evening.” Marcy gave a small laugh. “We’ll probably pass each other in the air.”

“I’ll go see him in the morning.” Sula squeezed the key in her hand. Not a chance in hell she would walk into Rudker’s office voluntarily. She gave Marcy a small wave and left.

She could not believe her luck. She wanted to run directly to the R amp;D building and begin her search, but she had to talk to the police first. After that, Marcy would be gone, and she would have a perfect opportunity. She stopped in her office for her sweater and her purse, then headed out to the parking lot. As she drove downtown, she felt guilty about how little work she’d accomplished in the past few days. Warner’s disappearance had thrown everything out of whack.

The Eugene police department shared a building with the city court and city council. The white-brick structure formed an L-shape around a large round fountain and took up an entire block. Sula got lucky again and found a parking spot right across the street. She locked the Dakota and headed up the wide stairs. The department’s entrance was a small dark lobby with two chairs. A deck officer sat behind a plexi-glass window with a speaker mounted in the middle. Sula stated her name and business and said Officer Rice was expecting her. The desk officer made a call. Sula couldn’t hear the conversation, but in a few minutes, a solid metal door to the right opened and a woman with cropped blond hair stepped out into the lobby. She held the door open with her body.

“I’m Officer Rice.” She was so buff, she seemed to be bursting out of her uniform.

Sula felt puny next to her. She held out her hand anyway. “I’m Sula Moreno.” The cop’s grip was as firm as expected. Sula vowed to start exercising more.

She followed the buff cop down a short hallway, where she made a left into a small office. It had no windows, and Sula hoped she wouldn’t be there long. Step by step, she retraced her thoughts and actions during the past two days concerning Dr. Warner. She didn’t mention her wild thoughts about Rudker or the argument she’d overheard. It probably had nothing to do with Warner’s absence, and Sula didn’t want to seem like a crazy person.

Rice’s pale blue eyes registered a connection and she stopped in the middle of another question to ask, “How old is Diane Warner?”

“Somewhere in her fifties.”

“What does she look like?”

“She’s small. With shoulder-length grayish blond hair. I think she has blue eyes, but they could be gray or green. I’m sorry to say that I don’t know for sure.”

“That’s okay. Does she have family that you know of?”

“A son named Jeff, but he’s in Somalia.”

“I think I know where she is. Do you have a few minutes?”

Puzzled, Sula said, “Sure,” without thinking.

“Come with me.” Detective Rice stood and held the door for her. Sula started to head back the way they came, but Rice said, “No, this way.”

They exited the building through the basement and headed for a black-and-white squad car. Rice unlocked the passenger side and waited for Sula to get in. She stared at the vehicle, legs trembling with fear.

“You okay?” Rice watched her closely.

“Uh. Yes.” Sula willed herself to step forward and get into the car. The smell of sweat and fear and vomit wafted out of the seat and triggered a powerful memory of the last time she’d been in a cop car. Her mother was dead. Her beautiful sister Calix was dead. Sula, covered in blood, wailed and rocked back and forth as they drove to the hospital. She wanted to die. As they crossed the bridge over the Willamette River, she tried to open the door and throw herself out, but it was locked.

Sula fought to bring herself out of it. She used her stomach muscles to pull in air and recited her mantra: I’m okay now. Life is good. I’m okay now. Life is good.

“Buckle up please.” Rice’s voice broke though. They hadn’t even left the parking structure. Sula did as she was told and Rice backed the car out. As they pulled into the street, Sula looked around for something to focus on. The sky was gray and all she could see were government buildings. She searched for something that would make her feel peaceful. Nothing came to mind. Out of desperation, she focused on Aaron, the cute guy she’d run into the other day.

Rice cut into her thoughts. “You know we’re going to the morgue, right?”

“Oh shit.” Sula began to shake. She reached for purse and dug out a small pill bottle. In it she kept Excedrin for headaches and a few Xanax for emergencies like this. She popped the tiny white pill into her mouth, worked up some spit and swallowed. She could feel it stick in her throat. She worked up another round of spit and kept swallowing.

“What was that?”

“A mild tranquilizer. I have a prescription.”

“I’m sorry to spring that on you. I thought you understood when I said I knew where she was.”

“I’m all right.” It was a lie, but Sula willed herself to be okay. “What do I have to do?”

“Look at a body.” Rice glanced over as she drove. “Some kids found her by the river near the Rose Garden a couple days ago. She was dressed in jogging clothes and didn’t have any ID.”

“How did she die?”

“Blunt trauma to the head.”

Sula felt sick. She rolled down her window for air.

“Were you close to Warner?”

“I didn’t really know her. But she was a scientist. She was trying to make the world a better place.”

“Let’s wait and see if it’s her.”

Rice pulled into a no parking area in front of Northwest McKenzie, which was only ten blocks from city hall. They entered through the emergency area and took the elevator to the basement.

“We call this Surgery 10,” Rice said as she pushed open the door. Sula didn’t let herself look at the room, registering only stainless steel and the smell of chemicals. It was better not to see the details, less likely to haunt her dreams. The Xanax hadn’t had a chance to work, so she tried to think about a long hike in the woods on a warm summer day.

Rice handed her a thick white mask for her nose and mouth, and Sula put it on. She waited with her eyes closed. After a minute, she sensed movement and opened her eyes. A man in a blue scrub suit had pushed a gurney up next to her. The outline of a body was clearly visible under a white sheet-like cloth. The guy in the scrub suit pulled the sheet away from the face.

It was Dr. Warner. Yet it wasn’t. Her color was wrong and part of her head was flattened and crusted with dried blood. Sula nodded and fled the room. Out in the hallway, she pulled off her mask and leaned over with her hands on her knees. She took long slow breaths until she could stand back up. Rice came out and touched her arm. “Thanks for helping us.”

“Can we go now?”

“Sure.”

On the drive back to city hall, Rice told her they had arrested a homeless man in connection with the murder and were questioning him. She said she would be in touch if she needed more information. She handed Sula a business card and told her to take the afternoon off.