Peter Clement - Mortal Remains

“Jesus, Dan, can you hear yourself?”

“It’s what Braden would say, or at least the army of lawyers he’ll hire would. What do you expect? I repeat, there’ll be no accusations against the likes of that family with nothing but your word against his. At least not by me!” Dan’s voice held rock steady despite the anger in it.

“Okay, so what are you going to do?”

“I’ll get two men out there tonight and make sure what’s left of your Jeep stays a secure crime scene. We’ll also take a look at the tracks you and he left, but just along the highway. I still have to consider the possibility it isn’t Chaz Braden we’re after, and won’t risk anyone else’s life by asking them to go into the woods after an armed drunken maniac who’s bored with deer and wants a crack at two-legged prey-”

“You’re not telling me you really believe this could be anyone but Chaz-”

“I’m telling you it’s my job to take into account every possible scenario just as you do when making a differential diagnosis as a doctor. What’s more, if you were thinking clearly, you wouldn’t want me to act rashly about Chaz Braden. I don’t know what it is between you and him, but you’re not exactly rational about the guy.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re always on the edge of losing it around him. I thought you were nearly going to go at him in my office.”

Mark said nothing, but felt his own face grow warm. He fought off the urge to tell him he was full of shit.

“We nail him, it’s got to be done by the book, understand? It’s not fear that makes me more careful around the likes of him. It’s a fact of life you need a better case against Braden-type money. Otherwise, those lawyers will have Chaz free in a heartbeat, even if we do get evidence he’s the one. That’s American justice, bucko, so get used to it. Cool your jets, Mark, and let me do my job. You got no cause to think I won’t. And in the meantime, I suggest you take care of your own hangups about that family. They’re clouding your judgment.”

The burn in Mark’s face increased. “I just want a crack at him, to tell the son of a bitch that I know it was him. That ought to make him think twice before any other anonymous ‘hunters’ take a shot at me.”

“Will you listen to yourself ? I’ve never seen you so readily jump to conclusions on a case before.”

His cheeks felt on fire. He didn’t often have disagreements with Dan, but when he did, the man could be a frustrating, stubborn opponent, especially when what he said had the sting of truth. He had to admit, the Bradens brought out the worst in him. He couldn’t just pin it on their preoccupation with the business and political side of medicine, though that did grate. But similarly inclined doctors elsewhere didn’t skewer his professional objectivity and make him run around “half-cocked.” No, this ran deeper. Just being around them got him on edge, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Nevertheless, he’d have to rein in those feelings if he was going to do his job as coroner. “Sorry, Dan. You’re right. I was out of line.”

The man’s broad face relaxed a little, but the pained darkness in his gaze remained. “Hey, we all have our peccadilloes-”

“Wow, you two look serious,” interrupted Lucy, sweeping into the kitchen dressed in jeans and a white shirt untucked at the waist. “Hope you’ve at least put the kettle on.” Before they could answer, she opened one of the cupboards and came up with a canister of tea leaves that Mark didn’t even know was there. In seconds she had them steeping, then continued to poke through the cupboards.

Fifteen minutes later they were refilling their cups and sitting down to a late supper of omelettes that she had whipped up from remnants of food she’d found in his refrigerator. “Only a month past the best before date,” she said of the ingredients, eating with the quick efficiency most doctors learn from having to grab a meal between calls. “And whatever kind of cheese you once had, it’s turned to a Roquefort look-alike. But I think we’ll live.”

“Mark keeps the take-out food industry going in this town,” Dan teased. “Even has his own table at The Four Aces.”

“Four Aces? Sounds like fun.”

“It’s Hampton Junction’s combination bar, home-cooking restaurant, and dance hall,” he added, giving Mark a wink. “I’m sure your host here will be glad to show you around.”

Lucy flashed that brilliant smile again. “That’d be fine. But my being here is bound to generate enough rumors as it is, so I’ll tell you right now, and everyone else in town, I’m strictly an aboveboard kind of woman. So you can assure folks their doctor will be safe with me. Besides, I’m engaged. My fiancé lives in New York.”

Dan blushed, his forkful of eggs halfway into his mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insinuate-”

“No offense,” Lucy said, waving off his apology and never missing a bite.

It didn’t make any difference to Mark. He’d no more think of dating a resident than his sister, if he had one.

That same evening

The Braden Country Home,

South of Hampton Junction

“What did I do to warrant such a moron of a son!”

Chaz Braden felt his head spin. The scotch he’d been nursing all afternoon had hit him hard as soon as he came in from the cold to the warmth of the house. Outside he’d kept himself just nicely topped off. “I only meant to scare the son of a bitch,” he said, trying not to sway in front of his father, loathing himself for feeling so beholden to him.

“Beware a father of spectacular ability,” Kelly had once told him in their early days together. “They never let you fail, always stepping in to take over, and that leaves you weak.”

He’d scoffed at the warning, having always relished growing up in privilege and figuring he deserved an edge in life.

He caught a glance of his hangdog face in a nearby gilded mirror. It reminded him of putty, and he immediately looked away. Yet he continued to stand there, fifty-five years old and pathetic as a fucking teenager being chewed out for screwing up again.

“You idiot. A bonehead play like that is so obvious. Who else will he think did it but you?”

It took all his concentration to come up with a reply. “Roper didn’t see me. And I had no car to spot. One of your men dropped me off – told him I just wanted to take a crack at the deer that hang around the ridge out there. On my way back to the highway afterward, I called him on my cellular to pick me up again, but closer to town. That way I made sure he didn’t see Roper’s wrecked Jeep.” Despite his best effort, he slurred his words.

“You’ll have left boot prints, tire tracks-”

“The woods are full of hunters with boots, and by morning the plows should have cleared the road-”

“It was stupid-”

“I know! But do you have any idea what I’m going through? The whispers at the hospital again. The other doctors shunning me again. Patients transferring out of my practice again. Secretaries and nurses afraid to be alone in a room with me. So to hell with you and your sanctimonious crap about what I should and shouldn’t do. Why shouldn’t I send the little fuck scurrying down the other side of the ridge with bullets at his heels?” The room pitched to one side, and he sat down on the nearest sofa. Christ, I shouldn’t have drunk so much, he thought, gripping his head between his hands and trying to stay the terrible swirling in his brain. In a few seconds it steadied. Without looking up, he could feel his father looming over him and sensed the man’s disgust. A wave of defeat swept through him as tangible as the effect of the alcohol. And as familiar. He’d mostly given up the latter, but had been succumbing to the former for years. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, defiance draining out of him. There was no point in fighting the man. Never had been, never would be. Nor of fighting to be free of Kelly. In the world’s eyes he’d always be her killer.