“That’s it?” Adam asked with disbelief.
“My God, isn’t that enough? I killed someone. No, I did worse than kill him. I … I …” Elliot stopped to take in a couple of deep breaths.
“What about your phone call from the gas station on the way to Vegas?”
“That was to Fred Walker,” he choked out. “The friend I told you about in the FBI. I contacted him before we’d even left Denver. Once Mr. Greene was killed, he wanted us to come in. I was keeping him involved despite Lara’s objection.”
The words came out too quickly to be lies.
Despite Adam’s fresh revulsion for his brother, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Given enough leeway, Elliot would surely mutate into a selfish, egocentric despot, but he would never become a murderer. The incident that happened on that dark county road near Harvard confirmed as much. Elliot just didn’t have the stomach for death.
Yes, his brother was a manipulating jerk, but no, he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. And when it came to family, Adam had always believed you take what you can get.
He reached forward and gently took the lamp from Elliot, placing it on the table. “Come on, bro, let’s talk.”
Holding onto his brother’s arm, Adam led Elliot to a pair of nearby chairs as one might lead an elderly parent to the toilet. Elliot was near tears but seemed to be keeping it in check. It was time for Adam to do a bit of fence-mending. His brother had revealed a secret he’d held inside for a very long time, and it seemed an ideal opportunity to help free him of the burden once and for all.
“What happened after Senator Marino came to see you?” Adam asked. “Did you and Janice continue to see each other?”
“No. I saw her around school, but we never went out again. I don’t know why exactly. I just couldn’t bring myself to call her. Every time I was around her, it brought back that terrible night. It was too much for me to handle. I never spoke with her about it, but I think she felt the same way.”
“That’s why you defend the senator? You somehow feel indebted to him for what he did?”
“Wouldn’t you? I mean, I know what he did was terrible, but he also saved me that night. I might have ended up in prison. Even if not, my life would surely have been ruined.”
“Not complete and full of joy like it is now,” said Adam.
Elliot sighed, unable to offer a fight.
Adam took a seat opposite him. “I have something to tell you, and it’s going to be hard to hear.”
Elliot looked up interested. “What? I’m not the assassin if that is what you’re thinking. You’re just wrong. You can do whatever you want, but you’re just wrong.”
“I know that now, and I’m sorry. Circumstantial things … ah hell, it doesn’t matter. No, this is about what happened that night. You want to hear it?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, here goes. Lucky Joe played you, big brother.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Elliot snapped.
“Hear me out. Marino didn’t give a damn what happened to some young punk fingering his daughter. He just didn’t want himself or his precious little princess implicated in the mess. He couldn’t afford for you to create a scandal. Remember, it wasn’t too many years after that when he ran for vice president. So he threw you a few compliments along with a few threats.”
Elliot seemed distant in thought. “It’s not like I had any choice anyway.” His words held no conviction.
“I’m not going to sugarcoat it because I think you need to hear it straight. You killed that boy. No one else. You. Any way you slice it, you’ll forever be responsible for his death.”
“Thanks. I feel better now.”
“There’s more. What you did by going along with the suicide was far worse than the accident. You ruined the memory of that boy. To a Japanese family, suicide means disgrace. Such dishonor is not something you or I can fully understand. Honor of a family’s name is as sacred as the most holy religious belief a Westerner might have. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Elliot was looking at his hands, nervously twisting his fingers. “Unfortunately, I do.”
“Maybe you already knew this, and that’s why it’s ruined you the way it has.”
“Ruined me? What are you talking about?” Elliot said, his voice hard. “I’m a partner in a multimillion-dollar law firm. I draw over seven figures a year. I wouldn’t call that ruined.” His eyes flared angrily but quickly lost their fire.
“Whether you can see it or not, you’re a broken man,” Adam said. “You have been for years now. I never knew why. To be honest, I figured you’d just turned into a rich asshole. Now I know it’s more than that.”
Both men sat silent.
Finally, Elliot spoke. “It does haunt me you know. When I sleep, I see his face. That bloody face peering at me through the windshield. Sometimes his mouth is moving like if he’s trying to tell me something.” Elliot’s voice broke with his words. “I don’t think I’ll ever be free of him.”
Adam put his hand on Elliot’s shoulder. “There’s an old Chinese saying. It translates into something like ‘You can’t escape your shadow.’ The curse from that night is your shadow. It’s with you today, and it will be with you tomorrow. It’s about time to make nice with it, don’t you think?”
Adam was confident Elliot would belittle the wisdom, but to his surprise, he didn’t. Instead, his brother nodded. “Past time.”
“I don’t know how you’re going to come to terms with this. That’s something you’ll have to work out yourself. What I do know is that you need to do something. If you let this memory continue to haunt you, I’m afraid you’ll die a miserable man. I don’t want that to happen to my only brother.”
“Believe me. I’ve asked myself a thousand times how I can fix this. Each time, I come up blank. The boy is dead. His memory disgraced. It can’t be undone.”
“It’s true his death can’t be undone, but perhaps the real sin can be.” Elliot looked at Adam confused. Then his eyes suddenly came alive as he finally understood what he must do. Before he could put words to his realization, his cell phone chirped loudly.
They looked at each other with an irrational nervousness. The call could be from any number of people, but as if experiencing a shared premonition, both men seemed to know it was something important. Elliot clicked on the phone and put it to his ear.
“Hello.” After a few seconds of listening, he said, “Yes, yes, I have it. Thank you.”
He hung up the phone and turned back to Adam, his face betraying his excitement.
“What?” Adam asked.
“It was Senator Shoemaker. He’s found them.”
* * *
* * *
“Them?” Adam was astonished. Despite possessing what he considered an optimistic soul by nature, he had lost all hope that Maria could still be alive. Lara maybe, but Maria, that just didn’t seem possible.
“That’s what the senator said. You remember that detective listed in the Denver newspaper article? Shoemaker said we should contact him. Evidently Detective Carter has the two women or at least knows where they’re at.”
Adam shook his head, confused. “Why wouldn’t Lara have contacted me? Or Maria, you? There’s something not right about this.”
A smile slowly crept over Elliot’s face. “Right or not, he found them. Both of them. Just like he promised.”
Adam couldn’t share in the enthusiasm. Things didn’t add up. “So he says.”
“Look, I’ve got the detective’s number,” Elliot said, showing him the piece of paper he’d scribbled it on. “Do you want the honor or shall I?”
“Would you mind if I made the call?” Adam wanted to hear it for himself.
“Not at all.” Elliot handed him the cell phone.
Adam clicked on the phone and dialed the one man who could resolve everything, Detective Carter of the Denver Police Department.
* * *
Detective Charles Carter massaged his temples. His head was pounding with the unrelenting cadence of a high school marching band. It was what he called a “perp headache.”
“Let me get this right, Ms. … Tiffany Duboise,” he said, searching her rap sheet for a name. “You stabbed your long-time friend to death because you think she might have stolen your lighter. Do I have that much right?”
A black woman in her early twenties wearing a leopard print spandex leotard and a red tube top that barely covered her enormous cleavage shifted in the metal interrogation chair. A pack of opened cigarettes, a tinfoil ashtray, and a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm water sat in front of her.
At the end of a long drag, she said, “I don’t think she stole it. I know that bitch stole it.” As she spoke, white smoke billowed out of her mouth and nose like the belch of a fire-breathing dragon. Her words seemed to take shape in the puffs of thick smoke.
“You stabbed her fourteen times with a steak knife for taking your lighter?” Detective Carter glanced at the recording machine to be sure it was still on.
“I don’t know how many times I stabbed that whore. She quit moving after a couple pokes.” Tiffany crushed out the cigarette and immediately pulled another from the pack. Might as well enjoy the free smokes.
Detective Carter didn’t want to know the answer but had to ask it anyway. “Then why did you continue stabbing her? If she was already dead, why keep on?”
“Simple,” Tiffany snapped. “Respect. You know, like Aretha sings.” She started to belt out the familiar chorus, her head bobbing left and right as she found her groove.
The detective raised his eyebrows in a mixture of surprise and disgust. “Would you mind explaining that to a dumb flatfoot like me?”
Tiffany tugged one strap of her bra, and then used a long gold-painted fingernail to pull what looked like a pubic hair from between her teeth. “You’ve never lived on the streets, have you Mr. Policeman?”
Carter didn’t answer.
“Didn’t think so. See, if you had, you’d know you can’t let someone disrespect you. If you let one person dis you, everyone else feels like they can fuck you, too. Before long, bitches are moving in on your turf, johns are trying for freebies, and your pimp is beating the shit out of you just for fun. The street’s about respect. If they learn you don’t take no shit, they watch their step around you.”
Tiffany took another long drag on the fresh cigarette and blew a long puff in the detective’s direction. She smiled a big yellow-toothed smile. “This showed people they have to respect Ms. Tiffany.”
Carter shook his head and glanced at his wristwatch. After a moment, he looked over to a large one-way mirror on one wall of the interrogation room. “I think we have enough. Can I get the hell out of here?”
Within seconds, the door to the interrogation room opened. A man wearing freshly pressed slacks, a white shirt, and a black tie nodded to Carter. “You’re done, Detective. Appreciate it, Charlie. John will come up and take her back down to holding.”
Charlie Carter left the interrogation room and headed directly for the sanctity of his office. Seeing the piles of folders, photographs, and an assortment of snack-food wrappers burying his desk immediately raised his spirits. Home, sweet home. He plopped down in his wooden swivel chair just as the phone rang.
He snatched up the receiver. “Carter.”
An unfamiliar man’s voice said, “Yes, hi, my name’s Adam Reece. I was told you might have some information regarding Lara and Maria Sativa.”
Detective Carter’s faced turned up in a cynical smile. Whoever this guy was, he had pull. Real make-or-break-your-career kind of pull. Earlier in the day, Carter had received a call from the mayor himself. For some reason, the mayor of this fine smog-covered city was inquiring about the disappearance of a couple high-class hookers.
Carter had sure gotten the “atta boys” when he’d told the mayor he’d found both Maria and her sister just the day before. The mayor was in such a hurry he hadn’t even bothered asking how or where he’d found them. And since the mayor hadn’t asked, Carter hadn’t bothered to volunteer. No reason to spoil his moment in the spotlight. Who knows, the mayor might even write a letter of commendation or some other such nonsense.
“That’s right. I found them,” he said.
“Do you mind if I ask when?” The voice sounded unsure, as if he thought there might be some case of mistaken identity.
“Don’t mind a bit. It was yesterday evening. Found them on an anonymous tip. And if you’re thinking I might be mistaken about who they are, you’re wrong. It’s them all right.”
“I see. Do you think you could give me a number or some way to contact them?”
“Hmm. That probably wouldn’t work.”
“I know it’s not standard procedure to give out personal information like that, but this is important. I’m a close friend of Lara’s, and I really need to find her. If you know how I can reach either one of them, please tell me.”
Carter sensed urgency in the man’s voice. This guy cared about these girls. Really cared. He felt a long sour burrito burp come up from his belly. Being the bearer of bad news never sat well with his digestive system.
“All I’m saying is that a phone number won’t do you any good. I hate to be the one to break it to you, mister, but they’re dead.”
“No,” the man whispered.
“Afraid so,” Carter confirmed. “Hey look, I didn’t mean to pull your chain on this. I didn’t realize it was personal or I would’ve just told you outright.”
“Dead? Both of them? You’re sure?”
“Yep. Deader than Elvis.”
* * *
Adam Reece held open the door to the county morgue located just south of downtown Denver. Elliot entered first, his face as white as a virgin’s wedding dress.
During the brief phone call with Detective Carter the previous day, it had been agreed that the best way to resolve the matter was for Adam and Elliot to come to the morgue for positive identification of both bodies. Fingerprints and photographs had provided tentative identifications, but it never hurt to have a firsthand visual confirmation. Up to this point, no relatives had been located.
Just inside the lobby was a small waiting area. A heavyset man sat squeezed into a chair that looked as though it had been brought in from a local kindergarten. He held a large pastrami sandwich wrapped in wax paper. He’d just taken a huge bite when the two men entered. Upon seeing them, he immediately stood. The chair initially refused to let him go, but with a sharp strike of his hand, he was free.
Adam stepped forward to meet him. Elliot stayed a few paces back, not hiding his wariness of the setting. “Detective Carter, I presume.”
The detective was dressed in worn gray trousers and a wrinkled white button-up shirt. He held his hand up in a waiting gesture as he chewed furiously on the mouthful of food. After a moment, he gulped down the mother lode and said, “That’d be me. You’re Adam?”
“Yes, and this is my brother Elliot,” Adam said, gesturing behind him. “We both appreciate your taking time to meet us like this.”
“Hey, no problem. I feel bad about the big telephone surprise yesterday. Figured, what the hell, least I could do. I hate giving people bad news. Always have, always will. And believe me, I give my fair share of it.”
“We just want to put it to rest,” Elliot said in a shaky voice.
Adam turned to his brother, studying him. Ever since being told the girls were dead, he’d retreated within himself. Adam didn’t believe that it was because Elliot necessarily felt a tremendous personal loss from the death of Lara, or perhaps even Maria. Rather, he’d lost faith in the eternal system of justice. Despite promising words from all involved, things hadn’t turned out the way they were supposed to.
“Believe me, I understand,” Carter said. “I asked the doc to meet us in the examining room at noon.” He checked his watch.
Adam was surprised to see a red-and-white Mickey Mouse faceplate on the watch.
When the detective saw the look, he said, “My kid gave it to me. Kind of funny, really, it sort of keeps the evil at bay if you know what I mean. Lots of cops have their talismans. This is mine.”
Adam nodded.
“Ah, I’m a pussy. But we all got our ways of dealing, you know? Mickey here helps me remember that none of it means dick to me. I go home to my family at the end of the night, and the rest of the world can go to hell.” The detective took a bite of his sandwich. “Come on,” he garbled through a mouthful of pastrami, “the doc’s waiting.”
* * *
Doctor Chandi stood hunched over an illuminated microscope as the three men entered the examining room. Without looking up, she said, “Be with you gentlemen in a minute.” Her voice held a thick, high-pitched Indian accent.
Adam saw that the room was divided into three primary work areas. The far wall was covered with rows of square stainless steel doors. He’d watched enough reruns of Quincy to know what was stored in the long horizontal chambers behind each door. Cadavers, corpses, stiffs. However one said it, they were still dead bodies, and being in a room full of them was enough to unnerve just about anyone.
The right side of the room had several tables, microscopes, weights and measures, Bunsen burners, and tall racks stacked with a collection of pots, some standing as tall as a man’s waist. Adam didn’t want to think of what the doctor boiled in those pots.
To the left was the autopsy area. A heavy-duty scale hung over a table covered in white butcher’s paper. To both sides of the table were wheeled carts topped with instruments that would have fit perfectly in the most gruesome medieval torture chamber. Pliers, hooks, knives, clamps, drills, and saws … anything the “doc” might need.
Adam looked at Elliot to see how he was holding up. From the pasty white expression on his brother’s face, he assumed not so well. Detective Carter tore off another large bite of the mayonnaise-soaked sandwich. Evidently Mickey was doing his stuff. To Carter, visiting the house of the dead was about as disturbing as a trip to the barber.
After a few quiet moments of hearing nothing but the detective enjoy his lunch, the doctor finally stood up and turned off the microscope.
“Thank you for waiting so patiently.” She approached them, removing bloody yellow rubber gloves. Her face and hands showed a dark Middle Eastern skin, and her frame was so slender she appeared to be little more than bones.
“I’m Doctor Vaneeta Chandi,” she said, extending what was now a bare hand to Elliot.
His eyes grew wide, and his face became pained. Elliot appeared frozen in place. He stared directly at the hand she offered as if it were contaminated with some as of yet-undiagnosed plague. He was undoubtedly considering the possibilities of what she’d just finished doing with that hand. The doctor waited patiently for a moment. Then, looking confused, moved on to Adam.
Adam shook her hand, which he found to be as bony as a skeleton’s but warmer than most undead. “Nice to meet you, Doctor. I’m Adam Reece.”
The doctor turned to Detective Carter, but instead of shaking his hand, she patted him affectionately on the side of his arm. “Good to see you again, big man. Hope the family is well.”
“Yeah, Doc, everyone’s doing fine. The missus says you should come over for dinner soon.”
“Sounds wonderful.” She turned back to face Adam and Elliot. “The detective tells me you can provide visual identification of the Sativa sisters.”
“Yes, we can. My brother knew Maria, and we both knew Lara.” Adam’s voice echoed in his ears as if someone far away were speaking. In preparation for seeing Lara’s lifeless body, part of him had temporarily checked out to return on a sunnier day.
“He also told me you were friends of the deceased.” Her face took on a comforting smile. “I’m genuinely sorry for your loss. I know this must be difficult.”
The well-known “frogs in throat” syndrome kept Adam from replying.
“Well then, let’s just get it over with,” the doctor said, clapping her hands together softly. “They’re in A23 and A24.” She turned and moved toward the end of a long row of chambers.
A23 and A24, Adam thought. Ending up as a number on a refrigerated lockbox. A hell of a way to be remembered.
The group followed Doctor Chandi to the wall of stainless steel doors. Without hesitation or a drum roll, the doctor pulled one of the handles. A gust of cold sanitized “dead body” air puffed over them with a hiss. Elliot gasped loudly. Everyone looked to him for an instant then returned their attention to the dark refrigeration chamber. The doctor grabbed a molded plastic handle on one end of the tray and pulled.
Adam was grateful for Elliot’s sake that most of the body was covered in a thin paper sheet. Only the face remained exposed. Adam knew immediately, both from seeing the shape of the swollen blue face and from hearing Elliot hit the hard tile floor behind him, that they’d finally found Maria.
Doctor Chandi and Detective Carter immediately turned their attention to Elliot who groaned softly as he struggled to get back to his feet. Adam didn’t offer a helping hand. Instead, he studied the lifeless girl.
“I’m so sorry,” he heard Elliot babbling through slurred speech.
The apology was quickly followed by an assurance from the doctor that this sort of thing happens all the time. Just to take it easy for a few minutes and he would be fine. While Elliot sat in a nearby chair trying to recover both his dignity and his sea legs, Doctor Chandi and Detective Carter returned to Adam.
“He’ll be fine,” she assured him.
Adam nodded.
“What happened to her? I mean, how did she die?”
“The official cause of death was cardiac arrest. But, as you can see, she suffered a great deal of trauma before that.” Dr. Chandi pointed to several large black bruises on the girl’s once truly beautiful face. “Multiple contusions and abrasions.”
“Someone sure beat the hell out of her,” Carter said, adding his policeman’s addendum to the diagnosis.
“What about the missing teeth and fingernails?” Adam asked, gesturing to the swollen hands and a nearly toothless protruding jaw line.
“Yes, I’m very sorry. Like I said, there was a great deal of trauma.”
“How long has she been dead?” Adam asked.
“Can’t say exactly. Both of them were kept cold, so it’s tough to determine an exact time of death. My best medical guess is three weeks, give or take a day.”
“What do you mean both?” Adam asked.
“Both girls were found in a local meatpacking plant. The cold affects the rate of decomposition. But factoring that in, my examination suggests it’s been three weeks from time of death.”
Three weeks was impossible in Lara’s case. Even with his time in the hospital, it had only been two weeks since she’d disappeared.
“Have you seen enough?” the doctor asked.
“More than enough,” Adam replied. Despite the horror of what he was seeing, his heart was alive with hope. Things were again not adding up, and he was clinging to the inconsistency.
The doctor pushed in the long metal tray and closed the refrigerator door. She moved down a single row and popped the hatch. The air hissed again as it pushed its way out of the chamber.
“You ready?” the doctor asked, obviously afraid she might have a repeat performance.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The doctor pulled out the tray.
Adam looked at the girl’s swollen face and dark eyes and nodded solemnly. Everything had just become perfectly clear.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor repeated. “She is your friend?”
“No,” he replied softly. “She’s not.”