Peter Clement - Mortal Remains

The tapping passed down the corridor and out of earshot.

He went back to his diagram, this time focusing only on the NYCH half of things. He first considered the three suspects again. Beside their names he printed the word GHOST .

If it was either Chaz Braden or Charles, he couldn’t see how either one of them could get close enough to him and pull it off themselves. But again the idea of accomplices grated.

A solitary physician working for Samantha? That would be the only way she could pull it off.

There was also another scenario, yet he was reluctant to consider it because it opened up so many unknowns. But to be complete in assessing all the options, as he was always telling Mark, he had no choice. The disparities in “risk tolerance” that he’d noted between what had happened in NYCH and the more blatant violence of Hampton Junction, demanded he look at it.

What if there were two separate processes going on, each with its own players, those players each having his or her own motives, but both people connected to Kelly and her murder?

Or had he missed someone in lining up the suspects?

Mark sat at the kitchen table, halfheartedly spooning down a bowl of chicken and barley soup as Earl’s words ate at him. Of course the man didn’t know Lucy, so naturally would be suspicious of the way she’d shown up in the middle of everything. Yet as coroner, Mark himself should have been more questioning and checked out her credentials a bit better before taking her so much into his confidence.

As for leaving everything to Dan in the morning, that also would be the smart thing to do. Mark had even spoken briefly with him from the pay phone, but only about Nell and her prognosis. The prospect of slipping out to the home for unwed mothers, grabbing some soil samples from under Braden’s nose, and possibly hitting a home run against the man before anyone else got hurt still seemed awfully tempting. But now he wondered if it wasn’t too tempting. For starters, why would Braden have talked so openly of smotherings if he had something to hide? It didn’t add up.

“You go get the shovels, flashlights, whatever. I’ll make the soup,” Lucy had said when they’d arrived home. Twenty minutes later he’d loaded the Jeep, changed into warm clothing, and dug out some caving headlamps so they could work with their hands free. As she quickly emptied her bowl and helped herself to seconds, he even started to second-guess her willingness to go out there. Shit! I have to stop thinking this way. But once released, his doubts roamed free.

“Why so moody?” she asked.

He filled his spoon and took a small sip. “Like you, I’m drained.” He hoped he sounded casual enough. “And I’m beginning to think we must have been crazy to consider doing this tonight. Tomorrow I’ll call Dan, he’ll provide the men, and we’ll do the search properly.”

She stopped midway through taking another mouthful. “Are you serious? Somebody will spot us, call Braden, then watch the injunctions fly. Believe me, I’ve been in court against the kind of legal might Charles can wield. They’re masters at delays and stalling. The warrant you arranged for tonight will be shredded. Mark, we could be in and out, get the samples, and maybe it’s case closed.”

“That’s what bothers me, Lucy. Everything points us in that direction. Well, I don’t feel like going where I’m pointed anymore. I mean, we almost got killed tonight. Victor’s dead. Nell’s hanging by a thread. It’s time to pause and reflect, wouldn’t you say?”

Her expression turned stony.

He immediately regretted the outburst. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take your head off.”

She surprised him by removing the spoon from his hand and entwining her fingers in his. “Come with me,” she said, and led him to the front room, where she sat him down beside him on the couch.

“What’s up-”

She silenced him with a pair of fingers to his lips. “Remember I said you could do worse than talk to me about how the past can bite you in the butt. Well, now’s as good a time as any.”

“Lucy, what are you-”

Her fingers pressed against his lips again. “Tell me what seeing Nell brought back.”

“What’s the point-”

“I’m as horrified at what happened to Victor and Nell as you are. It’s horrific. Tragic. Shocking. But what you’re feeling goes beyond that.”

“Now wait a minute-”

“The point is you’re obsessed with discovering the secret of Kelly’s murder.”

“No-”

“I’ve watched you, Mark. Even when you’re not working the case you get a faraway stare in your eyes, and I can tell you’re thinking about it. Believe me, I know the look. I’ve seen it in men on a battlefield who get trapped in what they’ve seen and can’t escape reliving the violence even when everything’s over. Except you were a kid-”

“That’s nonsense. You’re talking about post-traumatic stress – it’s something soldiers get-”

“You’ve never been this wrapped up in a coroner’s inquiry before, have you?”

“Well, no-”

“I think you’re tangled up in 1974, both chained and drawn to whatever happened back then. I also get the feeling you don’t know if you’re stuck in this place, mired in some compulsion, or it’s really where you want to be, doing what you do so well.”

He tried to pull his hand away from hers, but she tightened her grip. Its strength surprised him.

“No, you don’t. I’m the best friend you could have right now, Mark Roper, because I’m not afraid to say what you need to hear. Face it! After all these years, you can’t afford to let much more time slide before you shake off whatever has sunk its teeth into you.”

He felt himself grow sweaty, and the images he’d fought against for a lifetime began to reappear.

He’d jumped off his bike, run up to those people standing in the circle, and pushed through their legs – No he wouldn’t do this. He pulled his hand away. “What do you want to hear, Lucy? That I cried, that I felt terrified, that since then I’ve never stopped feeling there’s this cavity inside me I can’t fill, and the only way to numb the hurt is to keep busy. Holding hands isn’t going to help. There, I’ve talked about it. You want to know how this let-it-all-hang-out crap makes me feel? Angry as hell!”

She grabbed his hand again, her grip even stronger than before. “Fine. Of course you’re angry. Now tell me your nightmare.”

Jesus, is there no stopping her? “You really want to hear this? Fine!” Let her have the story with both barrels, he thought, then watch her run for the hills. “I was riding my bike around town one evening, when there was a big explosion. I raced toward the sound, and saw smoke and flames from his office-”

She silenced him with a finger again. “Lose the anger, Mark.” Her pupils pulsed wide, filling her gaze with a soft darkness that sucked the fight right out of him.

He took a breath and continued. “I skidded to a stop, jumped off, and ran toward a crowd standing in a circle. They were looking at something. No one saw me or barred the way, and I managed to push between somebody’s legs. At first I didn’t even realize the black thing in front of me was a body. But then his eyes opened, and they looked right at me. At that instant someone grabbed me, tried to put their arms around me so I couldn’t see, and kept saying it would be all right. I think they started to take me away, and I don’t know what else I actually saw or only thought I did. But I could still hear. The sounds coming out his throat were the same high-pitched squeaks we heard tonight, except they went on and on, and no one did anything about it. I kept looking around for my dad, expecting him to run up and help. It was only when he didn’t come that I realized who…” He felt his throat constrict.