CHAPTER 47

“There is no way that Bones was the one who stuck a knife in Steve Darby.”

The next morning, I was in the morgue with Dr. Livingston and we were standing around one of those life-sized skeleton models that you sometimes see hanging from a pole in doctors’ offices. The skeleton, sitting on the rigged stool, was playing the part of Stevie. The doc had used tape to approximate the angle of Stevie’s knife wound passing through the skeleton’s back.

This time, I played the part of Stevie’s killer, plunging the knife in from behind as the murderer would have done it from behind Stevie. I did it with the skeleton sitting erect and the skeleton leaning forward, resting its bony arms on the counter. I did it left handed and right handed, palm up and palm down.

“See?” Doc Livingston continued. “No matter how you do it, the trajectory of the blade through the skeleton only makes sense if the killer was like you determined--probably between five foot ten and six foot?”

“Well, I’m about the same size as Bones. How about if he did this?” I said, taking the knife from him. I squatted down as Bones might have and put the knife through the skeleton so it lined up with the tape.

Unfortunately, Newton’s Third Law of Physics--namely, that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction--came into play and the stabbing forward motion caused me to rock onto my heels and then fall backward onto my ass.

Doc Livingston looked down at me skeptically. “Um...why would he do that? It seems a bit...um...awk-ward,” he said.

“Maybe he wanted to duck down so he wouldn’t be seen,” I answered, looking sheepishly up at him.

“Well--and this is just my opinion--I believe there’s a greater likelihood that someone who just stabbed a fella is gonna be noticed a bit more if he’s sitting on his rear end holding a knife behind a bleeding body than if he’d just stayed upright and headed on out the door after sticking a guy.”

“But it’s got to be Bones,” I said, sitting there and knowing that Doc Livingston was right, but just not wanting to let it go. “I mean, it all makes so much sense--except for the fact that he didn’t do it. I mean, there were the three of them, all working together at the warehouse. I worked out a motive for him to do it--the blackmail. Bones definitely had the means. He owned a knife and as good as admitted to me that he stabbed Tina, so why not Stevie? And he had the opportunity, in that he could have done it unnoticed in that dark bar.”

“Kinda frustrating when the facts don’t back up the story, heh?” he replied.

I tried to ignore the sarcasm and got up onto my knees. Now I was about Puddy’s height.

“It couldn’t have been Puddy. He might have wanted to kill Stevie for taking advantage of what he told him about the car theft ring, but he was too short. See?” I said, pushing the knife into the skeleton palm up from an angle that Puddy would take. The trajectory of the angle was too sharp upward. I raised my arm and plunged the knife in overhand, but that resulted in a downward angle for a wound.

I stood up and put the knife on the counter. “The only one left who could possibly be a suspect is Tina, and I just don’t see that. I mean she might be about the right height, maybe a little short, but dark or not, I can’t see a woman not being noticed in that bar. Besides, what motive did she have? There’s nothing connecting her and Stevie.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it seems the police share your theory about Bones. They’ve pretty much closed the case on Steve Darby’s murder.”

“I suppose Bones is here,” I said, indicating a wall of doors behind which bodies were kept on sliding platforms for examination. “Anything interesting you can tell me about him?”

“No, nothing more than what the police already released. His tongue was cut out, probably while he was still alive, and he was beaten pretty severely before his throat was slashed. Terrible way to go,” he answered.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard for me to draw up much sympathy,” I said, as I picked the skeleton up off the stool, carried it across the room, and hung it back up on its stand in a corner. I couldn’t help thinking that I was never going to find out the truth here, and Hoppy would have me covering flower shows and boring borough meetings the rest of my life. My cell phone rang. I recognized the number. It was Sue Ellen.

Damn, I was so sure I would be calling her with good news this morning, and now I was back at square one with nothing.

“Hi, Sue Ellen,” I said.

Doc Livingston shrugged his shoulders and began putting the books and magazines back where they had come from.

“Hi, Wes. Where are you?” she asked.

“Um, I’m with Doc Livingston at the morgue, just pursuing a few theories,” I answered.

“Listen, I want to apologize for yesterday,” she began.

“What do you mean?” I answered. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I was, well, very rude. I know you’re doing your best and probably right on the verge of some big breakthrough, and it doesn’t help to have my laying any kind of guilt trip on you,” she said.

“Hey, I understand. I wish I did have more,” I answered, looking over at the skeleton, the piece of tape still showing the wound trajectory. “I...um...just don’t want you to get your hopes up too high, is all.”

“Hey, I believe in you. And to make up for yesterday, I made a reservation at Chez Maurice for tonight, seven o’clock.”

“Sue Ellen, you don’t have to do that,” I answered. “It’s enough giving me a place to stay and sending around Ronald to help with keeping an eye on things.”

“No. I insist. So let me give you Jackie’s number, and you can tell her what time you’ll be picking her up.”

“Jackie? You made a date for me with Jackie?” I asked.

“Of course. I’m a married woman. How would it look if I was seen out having a romantic dinner with an attractive man?” she answered.

I felt the heat around my neck and ears and knew I was probably blushing a bit.

I looked over and noticed that Doc Livingston was absently shuffling papers and looking at files in an attempt to do his best to not let me see that he was listening to my end of the conversation.

“This sounds like a nice restaurant and I don’t have anything to wear,” I said, digging around for any excuse I could find.

“I know, that’s why I wanted to find out where you were. I’m buying you a suit and I’ve asked Ronald to meet up with you. There’s a Big and Tall Men’s Shop in the mall and he has a real nice sense of style. There’s no way I’d leave it up to you,” she answered.

“Sue Ellen, I can’t let you do that,” I said.

“You really don’t have a choice. I can’t have you showing up to one of the nicest restaurants in East Hastings wearing khakis and a polo shirt.”

“Yeah, but--”

“You don’t like Jackie? Is that it?” Sue Ellen said, more of an accusation than a question.

“Well, no--of course I do, what’s not to like? But--”

“Then what’s the big deal? You’re a grown, unattached man with a car that finally is safe and clean enough to drive someone around in, and you’ve been spending way too much time just hanging out with Stacey and the other guys. A night out with a smart, pretty woman will do you good.”

“It’s just that--”

“Look, I know you’re still missing your wife,” she said, seriously. “All I’m doing is giving you a night away from everything.” She waited a few beats. “It’s not like I’m expecting you to sleep with her or even kiss her good night. Just be your charming self,” she said with a sweet laugh to lighten the mood.

I laughed. The woman was formidable. “Are you sure she wants to go out with me?” I asked.

“What is this, eighth grade? She’s asked me about you and I said the best way to get answers is to ask him yourself. Relax. It will be fun,” Sue Ellen answered.

“You’re sure?”

“Call her.” It was a demand.

“Okay, but I’m paying you back for the dinner and the suit--when I have the money,” I said.

“Fine, whatever. Just go out and have a good time. Ronald will meet you at the mall in one hour. And Wes?”

“Yes?”

“Just breathe. It’ll be okay.” She hung up.

I looked over and noticed that Doc Livingston had dropped all pretense of not eavesdropping and was looking at me with a bemused smile on his face.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing. It’s just that, well, since I’ve met you you’ve seemed a little...um...”

“Scared?” I said, finishing the sentence. “Well, considering I’ve found two dead bodies, been threatened by the police, received several death threats, and actually been bound and almost killed, I think I have the right to a little fear.”

“Sure, sure, of course, you do, but it seems the prospect of a date with a very lovely lady has you more shook up then all that other stuff.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a while. Damn Sue Ellen and her matchmaking.”

Doc Livingston closed the book, that he wasn’t reading anyway, and wheeled around on his stool to face me. “Son, you have any idea why you’re here?” he asked, very directly.

“Here?” I said, looking around the morgue. “Yeah, I was hoping to solve Stevie’s murder so I can get on my merry little way.”

“Well, yeah, here and in East Hastings, it’s all the same thing,” he answered. “I’ll tell you why--and you better not repeat a single word of this. It’s because Sue Ellen wants you here. She needs you. You think Hoppy couldn’t find another reporter? You think I let anyone in my morgue? You think Jackie would even consider having dinner with you if she’d just met you on the street, if Sue Ellen hadn’t told her all kinds of nice things about you?”

“Well, she wants me to find Stevie’s killer,” I said.

“It’s more than that. Let me tell you a story. Sue Ellen--well, the dry cleaners--sponsored my youngest grandson’s baseball team. That boy has a lot of great qualities, but being a ball player isn’t one of them. Still, his older brothers and all his friends played, so he insisted on playing too. So the season starts, and Micah, that’s my grandson, he’s not playing much, can’t hit or catch worth a lick. After a few games, when he didn’t get to play at all, I think he was about to give it all up. Sue Ellen notices how sad he is, not playing and all, so she starts staying late after games and practices and plays catch with him and shows him how to hold the bat just so and stand at the plate. She actually gets on the mound and throws pitch after pitch to him, always encouraging him.”

“Yeah, well she was a bit of a tomboy growing up,” I said.

“So this goes on all through the season, and we all saw the improvement Micah was making--not so much that he was going to set the league on fire, even play that much more--but it was his confidence. He carried himself like a ballplayer. And you’re probably not going to believe this, but the last game of the season, Micah not only got a hit but he drove in the winning run. I’ve never seen a boy so happy. And it was all because of Sue Ellen.”

“Nice story, but what’s it got to do with me?” I said.

“Wes, I think Sue Ellen just wants you to not give up and for you to get yourself back in the game, and, son, let me tell you--that woman’s going to keep pitching until her arm falls off.”