Debra Webb - Dying To Play

“I really did think you were a good cop.”

Outrage charged through her. She stared hard at him. He stared back, a challenge in his eyes. What the hell did he want from her? “You know what?”

He angled his head in question.

She smiled sweetly. “I don’t care what you think. This is my investigation and we’ll do things my way. End of story.”

“And I’m not supposed to make any waves. Is that it?”

He was somehow closer now. She refused to back off. “That’s it in a nutshell, partner.”

“Well, at least I know where I stand,” he allowed in a tone so low, so lethal that it made her shiver.

She met his intense gaze with lead in her own. Opening the door wider still, she said, “Glad we had this little talk, Callahan.”

Two more tense beats passed before he moved. “Right.”

He walked out.

Elaine slammed the door behind him.

They were surely off on the right foot now.

Elaine would never get used to the smell of chilled flesh. No matter how many autopsies she attended or corpses she viewed for identification purposes. It was always the same. Her gut wrenched, and it was all she could do to keep down the Starbucks special house blend she’d inhaled en route to the morgue this morning.

Good thing she hadn’t eaten anything solid.

“What’s the bottom line, Walt?”

Walt Damron surveyed his handiwork a moment before responding. Elaine automatically did the same. She knew the routine. As the chief medical examiner he got to pick and choose his cases, leaving the routine work to those under his dominion. And when he did elect to take on a case personally, he did so with much pomp and circumstance. He was the best and he wanted some acknowledgment of that station.

Elaine couldn’t help thinking how sad Brad Matthews looked lying there. Dead. Naked. His sins bared for all to see. Still young by anyone’s standards, his career taking off, a wife and two kids. What went wrong?

A frown furrowed its way across her forehead. He looked healthy in spite of the hideous marbling effect death had left on his skin. Well, and discounting the damage the .38 had done in the vicinity of his brain.

Walt heaved a sigh and started to flip through the pages of his preliminary report. “Toxicology is clean.” He shrugged and set the report aside. “There are a few tests that won’t be back for a day or so, but all in all I don’t expect to find anything useful.” He shook his head and made a tsking sound. “If only I had such a strong heart. Either the man led an exceedingly healthy lifestyle or he was blessed with good DNA.”

Damn. Nothing. “So he just went off the deep end and killed a business associate and that security guard for no reason,” she said, more to herself than to Walt.

“Just like that young woman last week,” the distinguished medical examiner noted quietly.

Elaine shifted, frustrated. The reminder hadn’t been necessary…but there it was. “Thanks, Walt. I appreciate your doing this one personally.”

“Dr. Damron.”

Elaine started at the deep, husky sound of the male voice. She’d forgotten about Callahan. Man, she had to be off this morning to have let him slip her mind. Especially considering he’d hitched a ride with her from the station. She shouldn’t have had that fourth wine cooler before hitting the sack last night. But she’d needed to relax. After Callahan’s visit the feat had been nearly impossible.

Walt stared expectantly across the dissected body of Brad Matthews, waiting for Callahan to continue.

“Any indication of extreme fatigue?”

Walt’s shaggy gray eyebrows knitted thoughtfully. “Nothing out of the ordinary. It would be more speculation than anything for me to suggest that the heavy bags under his eyes or any other outward indication generally associated with stress or fatigue were more than lifestyle or genetics.”

Callahan inclined his inordinately handsome head without a single perfect hair falling out of place. “But you said his general state of health likely indicated an unusually healthy lifestyle.”

“True. But that doesn’t mean that he hadn’t started working too hard or carrying too heavy a stress load more recently.” Walt shrugged. “For that matter, anything’s possible where his mental state was concerned. There was no visible or chemical indication of disease, but he could very well have developed some sort of phobia or mental disorder recently. I can only tell you what I see, what toxicology suggests.”

“Thank you.” Callahan walked out of the room.

Elaine stared after him, bewildered.

“I can’t read the man,” Walt said quietly, his attention focused on the door Callahan had exited. “What do you make of him, Detective?”

“I’m still working on that one,” she admitted. “I’ll let you know.”

Walt made a sound that broadcast his doubt. “I won’t hold my breath.”

Elaine wasn’t holding hers, either. She thanked Walt once more and took her time catching up with Callahan.

This morning when she’d arrived at her office he’d been waiting for her. He’d looked as spit and polished as ever. Charcoal-gray suit jacket over a white shirt and navy slacks. Clean shaven, hair looking as if he’d just stepped out of a salon. He’d shone like a freshly minted silver dollar. That is, if one didn’t look too closely. It had taken only one glance into those unnerving blue eyes to see the truth before he banished the telltale indication.

Callahan was clinging to that edge he’d reportedly gone over two years ago, by the very tips of his fingers. Maybe he wanted or needed to get his professional life back together. His participation in this case might very well be about that more than anything else. Who knew? But one thing was astonishingly clear. He was barely hanging on. One wrong move could send him plummeting back into that private hell he’d apparently climbed out of far too recently for her comfort.

Like Walt said, he was hard as hell to read, so her conclusions were more speculation than anything else. She needed the truth. She needed Callahan to come clean with her. But she didn’t see that happening in this lifetime.

“Detective Jentzen!”

Elaine hesitated at the main entry of the ME’s office and glanced back in the direction from which she’d come. Kathleen, Walt’s secretary, hurried along the corridor toward her.

The smile that pushed into place was genuine. Kathleen was a truly nice lady. Elaine couldn’t help wondering again if the gossip about her and Walt was true. “Good morning,” she offered, having missed the loyal secretary when she first arrived that morning.

Kathleen beamed. “You’re looking well,” she said to Elaine.

It wasn’t until that precise moment that yesterday’s reality slammed into Elaine all over again. It was like waking from a nightmare only to realize the dream had been real. Endometriosis. Surgery. Probably no children. Who wanted a woman incapable of bearing children?

Forty-eight hours ago a husband and children had been the farthest goals from her mind. Why was it that the abrupt idea that she might not be able to achieve either was suddenly so devastating?

Elaine blinked. Reminded herself she had to call Dr. Bramm’s office today. “Thanks. You look terrific yourself.” Clearing her mind of the too personal, too unpleasant thoughts, Elaine focused on the older woman. She did look good. Damn good for a lady closer to seventy than sixty.

Kathleen adopted a knowing expression. “Your mother called. Said she’d been trying to track you down all morning. Your office told her you were over here.”

Elaine had set her cell to vibrate that morning so as not to be disturbed. “Thanks, Kathleen. I’ll call her right away.”