21

The next day Emily holed herself up at home to take a much-needed break from the world. She ignored her emails and turned off her phone. And she slept. Emily couldn’t remember when she had slept so much and for so long. A full ten hours. With a catnap in the afternoon. It felt delicious. The fogginess lifted and her brain cleared. She no longer felt so overwhelmed when thoughts about the future drifted in. The shock of her father’s death had dissipated into a numbing reality. She allowed herself a few overdue sobbing sessions. Everything about her little retreat was restorative.

She spent time going through her father’s estate and researching the U of M’s anthropology department. From everything she could find in her search, she concluded that it seemed well-funded. Advanced. Multicultural. And respected worldwide. Since there was no forensic anthropology focus in place yet, Emily wondered who would be heading up the program and what exactly she would be expected to bring to the table. On the surface it seemed a bit daunting, seeing as she had neither the training nor the experience. She wasn’t afraid to forge new paths, but she had a lot of questions welling up in her mind about the position. And why Dr. Payton had asked her, of all people.

Yes, she was suspicious, as any good investigator would be. Why her? Why now? These were core questions in any criminal investigation.

By the following day, after lunch, Emily finally pried herself from her laptop to take a long walk around the property, soaking up the last autumn smells and sun. Seeing her father’s apple tree, she decided on the spot to spend the rest of the afternoon resurrecting her mom’s apple pie recipe. She’d never had time in Chicago to make pies, and Aunt Laura wasn’t exactly the culinary type. She plucked a dozen apples off Dad’s apple tree, went inside, and dug through her mom’s old recipe box, shoved in the back of a cupboard with cooking sheets and baking tins layered in dust. She found what she was after. The prized apple pie recipe.

But first, coffee. She brewed a pot and was pouring herself a mug when her doorbell rang.

“Hey, look at you! No more dark circles under your eyes,” Nick blurted out when she opened the door.

“Nice greeting,” She swung the door open so he could enter.

“It was a compliment. You look good. Rested.”

She just waved him in. “Coffee?”

“Always.” He followed her into the kitchen.

“To what do I own the honor of your visit?” she said with a chirpy voice.

“Just some updates on the Parkman case,” Nick said, scooping a full two teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. “I have a lead on something, and I was wondering if you wanted to take a drive with me.”

“I was going to make a pie today,” she said, proudly spreading her hands like a game show hostess over the apples and prepared baking supplies lined up on the counter.

He nodded. “Those are big plans, Betty Crocker. But I think you’ll find my idea more appetizing.”

“Oh? What did you have in mind?”

“I found Sandi’s stepdad, Gordon Ghetts. Landed himself back in prison three years ago for breaking and entering and attempted robbery. I’m heading over to question him. Come with me.”

Emily’s eyebrows raised as she took a sip of her coffee. She glanced down at her mother’s grease-stained, handwritten recipe card and felt a familiar twinge in her memory. She was fourteen and in the kitchen with her mom, who was peeling a large bowl of fresh apples. Emily held the recipe card in one hand and was gathering ingredients from the cupboards with the other when her father entered and announced there had been a boating fatality on the lake. Did she want to join him or stay with her mother making pie? Of course she had wanted to tear off her apron and rush out the door. But she had promised her mother she would help her make pies to freeze for Thanksgiving. She was about to say no when her mother interjected, giving her permission to go with her father. Emily didn’t have to be told twice. Off came the apron. She slapped the recipe card down next to the apple bowl and gave her mom a quick hug.

“So what’s the verdict? Coming or not?” said Nick.

Emily glanced up at him as he pulled her from her thoughts.

Mom would understand. And the pie would taste just as good tomorrow.

“I’ll grab my jacket.”

*   *   *

The scrunched-up expression on Gordon Ghetts’s pockmarked face told Emily that a cop and a blonde woman in a red jacket were not the visitors he had been expecting. They took seats across from him. After introductions had been made, Ghetts, whose charcoal-gray eyes kept shifting from Emily to Nick and back, belched out one question.

“So you think I did it, don’t you?”

“Did what?” Nick asked. Emily gulped inside. They hadn’t said a single word about Sandi Parkman or her being dead or murdered.

“Why the hell else would you two be up here? I hear things. This ain’t Antarctica. I get the news. I know Sandi’s bones been found.”

“Her remains have been recovered,” said Nick in an unflinching, professional tone.

“Well, I didn’t do it.”

“Why would you lead with that?”

“Because I know this ain’t no social call. You both cops?”

Emily had agreed that Nick would lead the questioning and she would be there strictly to answer anything that came up related to the medical forensic facts.

“I’m Dr. Emily Hartford. Medical examiner.”

“I understand your defensiveness, but I’m not accusing you or anything, Mr. Ghetts.” Nick was so calm. “I just wanted to come down here to ask you a few questions, as we’re trying to piece together some details of the day she disappeared. Where were you the day Sandi disappeared?”

“Nowhere near her,” Ghetts sputtered.

“Then where?” Nick pressed.

“Work.”

“Working where?”

“The sand mold factory.”

“From when to when?”

“I started at eight and we got out around five.”

Nick nodded. Emily knew those times correlated with his time card. Nick had gone back through old factory records.

“What did you do after work, Mr. Ghetts?”

“What I always did. Went for a drink with the guys.”

“Where?”

“Local bar.”

“Which one?”

“Silver Slipper.”

That was using the term bar loosely. Emily held back a grimace.

“You sure you went to work the day Sandi disappeared?”

“Yes. I’m sure. Do I need my attorney?” He folded his arms across his chest.

“You know your rights. You want me to call him? I will. We’ll get him here and I’ll wait all day if I have to. All weekend and all week, if that’s what it takes. And we’ll just pick up where we left off.”

This gave Ghetts pause. Emily held in her breath, waiting to see what he would do next.

“That won’t be necessary. I ain’t got nothing to hide, ’cause I ain’t done nothing.”

“Except sexually abuse an innocent young girl.” Emily betrayed her cool. Nick shot her a look.

Ghetts lurched forward in his chair. “I didn’t lay a hand on that girl!”

A guard stepped over, and Ghetts leaned back.

“She made all that shit up because she wanted attention. She was messed up in the head,” he growled.

“You must have been really angry at Sandi for turning you in.”

“She lies really good.” His voice bled with sarcasm.

“I don’t think Sandi was lying about what you did to her,” said Emily.

“Did you even know her?” Ghetts barked back.

“Some people say they saw you were hanging around the school a lot after you got out of prison,” said Nick.

“Yeah. I did. And you wanna know why? Because Sandi didn’t know how to choose guys and she didn’t know how to keep her legs closed.”

“Are you saying you were trying to protect her?” Emily’s voice took on an incredulous tone.

“Sandi always had a boyfriend. Or two. She liked to play the field. She liked those jock types.”

Emily and Nick shared a quick glance. Was he telling the truth? Was there a side to Sandi Nick hadn’t seen? Or didn’t want to admit?

“Do you remember any names?” Nick asked.

“Shit, no. There was too many. But I know faces. Don’t think I don’t recognize you, Officer Larson,” Ghetts sneered.

“I never dated Sandi. We were friends. Neighbors.” Nick was laser focused, but Emily could see he was getting hot under the collar.

“Sandi had a lot of ‘just friends,’ if you know what I mean.”

“Who?” asked Nick.

Ghetts sat back, thinking. “She was always yapping about this one guy. They would talk for hours on the phone.”

“You remember his name?” asked Emily.

Ghetts shook his head. “The guy was a carrot top.”

“He had red hair?” Emily wanted to clarify.

“Yeah,” said Ghetts.

“What was this guy like?” asked Nick.

“I dunno. Never came around the house. None of them did.”

Nick shook his head. Emily knew he wasn’t buying this.

“Did you ever violate your restraining order?”

“I never went near her.”

“You were seen at the high school.”

“I never went near her,” he repeated, louder.

“You sure? ’Cause I’m finding it hard to believe you were just stalking her for the sake of watching her.”

Ghetts clenched his teeth like he was biting back some response. Emily could see Nick’s frustration growing as he tapped his heel against the chair leg. She discreetly reached her hand under the table and placed it on his leg to get him to stop.

“Did you ever videotape the stuff you did to Sandi?” Nick went in heavy.

“I never laid a hand on that girl,” he laughed, but Emily noticed that his eyes drifted to the wall left of them. And then to the floor. After a second, he looked through them.

“I never taped anything. You got that?”

“You already served your time for what you did to Sandi. I’m not here about that. I don’t care about that now,” said Nick. “But she turned up missing shortly after you were released. So, I’m just putting two and two together.”

Ghetts’s breathing shallowed, and he turned back to Nick with a grim face.

“How’d she die?”

Nick turned to Emily, who inhaled and looked Ghetts in the eye.

Ghetts pressed. “What happened to her?”

“She was beaten and strangled.”

Ghetts’s gaze bounced to the ceiling, and he let out a long sigh.

“You damaged her. You sent her down this path,” said Nick.

“I wasn’t in my right mind,” he said after a moment, his gaze drifting inside himself. “Booze. Meth. Takes a man and guts the humanity right out of him.”

“That’s a cowardly excuse for destroying a young lady and her family.”

“I always wanted the chance to … tell her … that I was sorry for what happened.”

Emily froze. Was he for real? Nick kept his eyes trained on Ghetts.

“What did happen?” said Nick in a steady, hushed tone.

Ghetts waved his hand at the guard to signal he wanted to leave. The guard came over and led him away. Nick and Emily watched as he trudged out of the visiting area. At one point, he reached his shoulder up to his face and wiped something from his eye. Was it tears? Or just a ruse?

*   *   *

“Who’s he talking about? The carrot top?” said Emily as soon as they stepped out the prison doors.

“Ross Geldon,” said Nick with his eyes locked ahead on the parking lot. “Rosy Ross, we used to call him.”

“I don’t get it,” said Emily.

“Roses are red. Ross had red hair, and his face would get all beet red when he was embarrassed or mad.”

“Rosy Ross. That’s kinda mean.”

“Nah. Everyone had a nickname. It was a badge of honor.”

“Guys are weird.”

“You had a name, too.”

“What? No. I never had a nickname.”

Nick laughed. “Oh yes, you did.”

“What was it?”

Nick nodded. “You honestly never knew?”

“Tell me. Come on.” She punched him playfully in the arm.

“Doctor Death.”

“That’s so demeaning!”

“No, it makes sense, ’cause you wanted to be a doctor. And you worked with your dad on dead bodies.” He grinned.

“Ridiculous. People actually called me that?”

“Yes. People liked you.”

“No, they didn’t. Only Jo.” Emily was secretly pleased. She had a nickname! “Who started calling me that?”

Nick grinned and opened the passenger door for her. Emily crawled into his squad car.

“I’ll never tell.”

“Spill it, mister.” She propped the door open with her leg so he couldn’t close it on her.

“I did.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, releasing her leg. “And kinda mean.” He smiled and closed the door. She couldn’t help but giggle. Doctor Death. She had to admit it was a good fit and had an intimidating ring to it.

Nick joined her in the car, and they took off as the sun was setting.

“Do you believe Ghetts?” she asked.

“I believe he’s guilty of the sex crimes. The murder? I don’t know. You?”

“His time card is pretty solid evidence. If you could find some coworkers who remember seeing him that day, then maybe I’d be willing to clear his slate.”

“I’m already on it. But it hasn’t been easy to find these old-timers. A lot of them have passed away.”

“Did you know Sandi and Ross were so close?” asked Emily.

“I did not. And I’m rather suspicious about that claim. I don’t remember seeing any statement from him in Sandi’s original case file.”

“I don’t remember you having a nickname in high school.”

“I got it junior year. You were gone.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll just ask Jo.” She shrugged and picked up her phone to call her best friend.

“Settle down, Doctor Death.” Nick put his hand over the face of her phone.

“I think it’s time to retire that name.”

“I birthed it. I’ll decide when it needs to die.”

Emily laughed. They drove for a moment in silence.

“It was … Nick the Prick.”

“That was your nickname? That doesn’t sound endearing.”

Nick shrugged. “I was always standing up for the underdog. And that pissed off the bullies. And now, this uniform now pretty much guarantees my nickname for life.”

“Well, you’re not. Just so you know.” Emily regretted that she had pushed the issue. Confident, popular Nick. She would never have guessed this to be his sore spot.

“I’m starving.” It was a two-hour drive back to Freeport.

“We’ll have to settle for fast food because we have one more errand to run.” Nick turned into the drive of a burger joint.

“We do?” said Emily, noticing a rumble in her belly. “Where?”

“Lyndon.”

Lyndon was a half hour east of the penitentiary. “What’s there?”

“You’ll see.”