Peter Clement - Mortal Remains

Braden moved on to less-weathered volumes. “The study of how our profession has strayed into evil is a pursuit of mine,” he said. “We should all be forced to read the obscenities of science, in order that none of us drift into a similar arrogance.”

Mark picked up the top sheet of a printout that had obviously been taken off the Internet. It reported on recent war crime prosecutions in Tokyo. Included were photos of a vivisection being done on an unanesthetized pregnant woman in a notorious torture camp during Japan’s occupation of Manchuria. The woman had screamed entreaties that her baby be saved as they cut out the womb, read the caption quoting one of the witnesses. He shuddered, and returned it to its place. “Strong stuff.”

“We have our local brand of monsters.” Braden reached up a few shelves and handed Mark a pamphlet written in the early thirties by a Dr. Brown from a town not twenty miles north of Hampton Junction. It argued for the smothering of babies at birth if they have obvious physical defects.

The back of Mark’s throat closed as he tossed the paper onto the nearest shelf. “That’s hideous!”

“Don’t think this guy was that far off the thinking of the time, at least in small places like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was the depression. The good Dr. Brown and every other GP in impoverished, isolated parts of the land would look at a severely deformed baby they’d just delivered and think, What about the family? Barely able to survive now, how will trying to care for this hapless creature sap the little energy and money they have for the healthy siblings? Most doctors might just despair, but some might act – think the right thing to do would be protect the other children from even more abject poverty than they already suffered. Haven’t you ever wondered why there are so few older adults with severe disabilities in the little villages of rural America?”

“You’re kidding. You don’t believe doctors actually smothered infants.”

“And you don’t believe it ever happened.”

Mark felt too startled to speak. He’d heard stories from long ago about midwives doing that kind of thing, but not doctors. “Surely that’s the stuff of rural legends.”

“I think you’re hopelessly naive.”

“Hopelessly naive to say most doctors draw the line at murder.”

“Yes, it is about drawing lines. Except those lines – between right and wrong, life and death – change with the circumstances and the times. Look how blurred it’s getting these days in ICUs with all the high-tech advances we have in keeping people alive.”

Even though Braden’s tone was quiet and polite, almost professorial, Mark felt uncomfortable. Why was the man going on about this? It certainly wasn’t what he’d brought him into the library for. And right now, that was all Mark had an interest in. “Why did you want to see me, sir?” The question sounded more impertinent than he intended, but it got to the point.

The landscape of Braden’s features shifted slightly, from pensive to thoughtful. Not different in a way he could describe, but different.

“I wanted to thank you for the discreet way you’ve been handling your investigation into Kelly’s murder,” he said.

The compliment caught him by surprise. “I haven’t done anything special.”

“That can’t be true, not for Mark Roper. You’re too much like your father. Best damn mind. Inquisitive as hell. That’s what made him such a great doctor. Could have been a leading specialist in any field he chose.”

“He was. He chose to be a country doctor, and was the best at it.”

“Well, yes…”

“Dr. Braden, why did you invite me here?”

“Who do you think killed my daughter-in-law?” he answered without missing a beat.

Mark didn’t reply, beginning to feel all the digressions in their conversation were deliberate, meant to throw him off.

Charles looked him right in the eye. “Your asking around after the memorial service, did it give you any idea who the mystery man was?”

“No.”

“You looking for him?”

“I’m looking at all the possibilities of who her killer might have been.”

“Including my son?”

“To be frank, yes.”

“Who else?”

“That’s not something I’d discuss-”

“The mother?”

“As I said-”

“Any other leads?”

Mark sighed. “No.”

“No? My sources at the hospital tell me you’ve recruited a former classmate of Kelly’s to snoop around for you. Earl Garnet. I looked up his record. Pretty smart. But he seems to be asking the same stale questions you are.”

“As I said, all possibilities-”

“I’m disappointed, Mark. Going after my son is an old idea already pursued to a dead end by the police. And having had Samantha thoroughly investigated by private detectives without results, even I have to admit that going after her is an old idea, too.”

So much for putting Braden on the defensive about Chaz, Mark thought, irritated he hadn’t managed his host the way he’d planned. He could either walk out, or stand here and defend himself. “It’s fresh ideas about old suspects that I’m after,” he finally said, and started for the door.

“What if I told you I had a fresh lead?” Braden called after him.

“Yeah, yeah.”

An insinuating silence worked on Mark’s back until, halfway to the exit, he turned and asked. “Okay, what is it?”

“I might be able to give you a new suspect, somebody who no one else has thought of.”

“Who?”

“I can’t tell you right now. But I’m working on a promising idea. Just give me a few days to verify what I’ve found. All I’m asking in the meantime is that you hold off on any move against Chaz.”

Mark slowed. He finally had the opening he needed to put Braden on the defensive. Wheeling around, he jabbed his forefinger at him. “So your privileged, fifty-something brat can take another shot at me? There’s a fresh idea for you!”

Braden frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah? Monday night someone fired a bullet through the window of my Jeep, remember? Dan Evans questioned you about it.”

“Why, yes. I knew that. It was a terrible incident. But you can’t be suggesting Chaz had anything to do with it.”

Mark said nothing.

The pleasantness on Braden’s face withered a shade. “Of course you know the penalty for libel, defamation of character, and unprofessional conduct.”

“Are you threatening me, Charles? You did tell me to call you Charles, didn’t you? Well, Charles, some people might construe that kind of language as an attempt to intimidate me while I’m doing my duty as coroner.”

The older man’s eyes seemed sad. “What I’m doing is trying to tell a young hothead whose father used to be a guest here, at Kelly’s insistence, by the way, that if he picks too much at a scab, he’s liable to find unexpected pus.”

“And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means sometimes we’re forced to face unpleasant truths, aren’t we?”

“Oh?”

“Did you ever wonder why, when your family visited here your mother looked so unhappy? Of course, maybe you were too young to notice that sort of thing. But she used to hang around in the background, scowling, all while your father laughed and enjoyed Kelly’s company.”

Mark felt as if a snake that had long lay sleeping deep in his subconscious suddenly stirred. “If you must know, she despised how you and your friends treated my father.” His throat tightened on his words as he spoke.

“But that’s the reason she’d give, isn’t it?”

A terrible coldness formed in his chest. “What are you getting at?”