He wasn’t comfortable with this deduction, either. It radiated from him as clearly as heat radiated from the fire. “When did you become aware that there was a problem?”
Maxwell dropped his gaze, clearly remembering her opposition to Adam’s being beaten and not getting prompt medical attention. “The smoke detector went off,” Maxwell said. “I was called to help break up an altercation between the Heavies. They’re a group-”
“I’m aware of who the Heavies are, Sergeant.”
“Yes, ma’am, I guess you would be.” He rubbed at his neck. “I locked them down and then checked out the alarm. Truthfully, ma’am, I figured it was a drill. We’ve been having them all day, so I didn’t ignore it, but I didn’t panic. A fire drill has low priority when the Heavies are trying to carve out a fellow prisoner’s guts.”
Maxwell was clearly looking for absolution, and Tracy gave it to him. “I agree.” She toed her sneaker tip into the fine blades of grass. Even at this distanced good two hundred feet from the building-heat had scorched the grass, and a thin dusting of gray ash blanketed it. “So you locked down the Heavies and then investigated the alarm?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s when I saw the flames. I notified the head of Security. We called it in right away and then evacuated the entire facility.” He nodded to the prisoners standing in rows near the garden. “That’s risky, but under the circumstances, we didn’t have any choice.”
Likely uncomfortable, standing there for hours, but at least the other prisoners were out of danger. “Seems prudent.
“It’s standard procedure in potentially dangerous situations, ma’am.”
Maxwell stared down at the ground, and his eyes glazed. “Burke’s cell block was under heavy smoke. The heat was incredible. I had an extinguisher but no protective gear. I tried, but I couldn’t get to him, ma’am. I really tried.”
She believed that he had. “No one is faulting you, Sergeant. I’m just trying to discern the facts for my final report so I can close out his file.” And hopefully find a way to live with the guilt of not protecting him. I didn’t have to believe him to protect him.
Maxwell’s expression was mixed, as if he wanted to say something but knew it was wisest to keep quiet. Did his reluctance have anything to do with, the fire chief standing only six feet away from them?
“I couldn’t get to him.” Maxwell’s gaze drifted and lost focus. “No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get to him. He burned bad, ma’am.”
Tracy locked her knees to keep them from buckling. The note-It’s arranged. Burke and you die-and Janet’s words-The man’s crashed and burned, Tracy. He’s going to fry-ripped through Tracy’s mind, and both took on a whole new meaning. Adam had crashed and burned and died. And she, the Intel novice, had gotten him killed.
The only man in her life who had protected her-or had tried to-with no strings attached, and she’d gotten him killed. Remorse swelled like a sponge in her throat.
When she could, she swallowed it down. “I’ll need to see his body, Sergeant. To positively ID him.”
“It’s been transported to the morgue to avoid exposure.” Maxwell shifted from foot to foot, clearly uneasy. “But I’ve gotta warn you. Burke burned beyond recognition, ma’am. Dr. Moxley had to request dental records to do the positive ID.”
Randall? Surprise spiked up Tracy’s spine. This swift movement through the system’s required actions rated atypical, and from the worry in Maxwell’s eyes, he knew it as well as she did. “Thanks, Sergeant. If you think of anything else, please call me. Day or night.” She turned to walk back to her car.
“Ma’am, wait.” Maxwell reached for the back pocket of his pants. “This isn’t a good time, but I have I the feeling there won’t be one any time soon.” He passed her a white envelope marred by his soot-smudged fingerprints.
“What’s this?” Burke asked me to give it to you.” Maxwell shrugged. “Seemed weird at the time. I figured he could give it to you himself Now, though, I’m thinking maybe he knew. People do that sometimes-know they’re gonna die, I mean. I swore I’d put it in your hands, so here it is.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Having no idea what was in the envelope, she nodded.
“Ma’am?” Maxwell’s gaze grew intense and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Something here don’t feel right.” .
” I know, Sergeant,” she whispered back, feeling it down to her soul.
She walked back to her car, an empty, sick feeling squeezing her stomach. Innately, she knew Maxwell was right.
Seated in the Caprice, she broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out a fistful of documents. She clicked on the dome light. A warranty deed on Adam’s house, his car title, a hundred-thousand-dollar insurance policy, and a last will and testament.
She skimmed over them. The hair on her arms lifted. Her breath left her body. “Oh, Adam, why? Why did you do this?” How could he leave everything in the world he owned to her? Stunned, furious with him and with herself, she stuffed the papers back into the envelope-and saw a scribbled note.
Counselor, If you’re reading this, then I’m dead and you’ve gotten the envelope I left with Maxwell.
For the record, I haven’t gone insane and it’s okay that you didn’t believe me. Sometimes I have trouble believing myself. I’ve left everything to you because you might need it. Convert all of it into cash right away. I mean it, counselor. Right away.
Unless I’m one-eighty out on this, you’re going to have to disappear. This way, I know you’ve got the means to do it. Janet knows how to make it happen.
She’ll help you. Trust no one else, and he careful, counselor. I’m banking on you to survive and find the truth.
Adam P.S. Don’t waste time feeling guilty about me dying.
You can’t afford the luxury.
An affordable luxury or not, guilt buried her. While driving to the hospital, she reasoned through everything she could think of, speculated on more, and still the only thing in his note that made sense was Janet. She would know how to make a disappearance happen, and having worked Intel with her, Adam would know it.
Tracy pulled into the hospital parking lot, reluctant to go inside. It had been five long years since her own accident and Matthew’s death, since she’d given birth to Abby only to have Paul tell her she couldn’t hold her baby because she too was dead. And Tracy had struggled through them. She had accepted her loss, determined to build herself a new life. But Adam’s death made all those memories fresh, ripped opened the wounds and left them raw.
Back then, Paul had stepped in like a loving brother and protected her, sparing her from having to identify the bodies of her husband and daughter. But there was no one to spare her from identifying Adam. She didn’t love him or believe him, though something odd was happening in his case, but he had cared about her enough to worry and to leave her everything he had, trying to protect her. That changed her attorney/client perception of him. His caring made this personal.
She’d never get through this. Not feeling this way.
Taking in three deep breaths, she gave herself a short, firm lecture. You have to do this. It goes with the job. You owe him. It’s the right thing.
Repeating that litany to herself, Tracy headed toward the basement morgue. Her heart chugged in her chest and her blood beat at her temples. She might have to, but she didn’t want to do this. To be haunted by memories of Matthew and Abby, of Adam. But the flood kept coming, crushing down on her. Why did Adam’s death bring all of this back? Why had he had to bring up her past when she’d finally buried her ghosts and managed to remember more often than not only the good times?
Why, after all this time, did she have to suffer the pain of loving and losing Matthew and Abby again? Why again, when God knew it had nearly destroyed her the first time?
In the hallway, a brass-framed sign read Anatomical Pathology. It was the morgue, identified by a diluted term that spared the uninitiated from recognition and sent shivers scattering up her back because she wasn’t one of them. A numerical key-code lock bolted the blue metal door. Angrily swiping at her damp cheeks, she knocked.
When Steven Kane opened the door, she stepped inside. “I’ve come to identify Adam Burke’s body.” Her voice shook. She hated it, but seemed helpless to steady it. “For my file.”
He clasped her upper an-ii. “Tracy, you don’t have to do that. Randall has already identified him by his dental records. It’s definitely Adam Burke.”
Relieved and yet suspicious, she insisted. “Thank you for trying to spare me, but I have to see Adam myself.”
Dr. Kane’s compassionate eyes softened even more. “Why?”
Because I might have killed him. Because this could be my fault. Because I heard him, but I didn’t listen to him. “It’s my job,” she said lamely. She could tak6 the forensics expert’s or the pathologist’s word. Either was permissible, but neither was acceptable. Not in Adam’s case.
“For closure?”
“Yes.” It was as good a reason as any, and better than any other she’d care to admit. “For closure.”
Seeing far more than she wanted him to see, he moved to the row of silver door coolers recessed in the wall. He opened the second door from the left, reached in, and then pulled out the tray holding the white-sheet-draped body of Adam Burke.
“He’s badly burned, Tracy.” Clasping the corner of the sheet, Dr. Kane cast a worried look her way. “Are you sure about this?”
She wasn’t sure about anything. Not anymore. Bracing herself, she curtly nodded, and Dr. Kane drew back the sheet.
All of her muscles clenched at once. Her heart throbbed, her stomach threatened to revolt, and she locked her knees to, stay upright. A scream echoed through the chambers of her mind, sought release in her throat. She bit her lips until she tasted blood to keep it locked inside.
Unable to bear the horrific sight of Adam’s charred flesh another second, she looked away. “That’s.. ‘. fine,” she finally managed on a wisp of breath.
Dr. Kane closed the cooler, and clasped Tracy’s arm. Clammy and short of breath, she shamelessly leaned against him, needing his support. He led her into an adjoining room, an office filled with two desks and paintings of sailboats. A wooden-framed photograph of someone’s kids sat on the desk nearest the door.
“Here.” He held out a chair for her. “Sit down for a minute.”
She collapsed on the chair and inhaled deeply, swearing she’d never forgive herself if she fainted. “I’m not fluff,” she shakily insisted, having no idea why.
“No, you aren’t.” Dr. Kane’s lips curved into a sympathetic smile. “Identifying a body is hard enough when it isn’t mutilated. When it is, it’s even more difficult.”
“Yes, it is … difficult.” It was hell. Sheer, unadulterated hell. As long as she lived, she’d never forget the horrific image, the burned smell.
When her heartbeat slowed to a gallop, she risked glancing up at Dr. Kane. No hint of condescension shone in his eyes, and she felt grateful for that. “When will you do the autopsy?”
“I won’t.” He held her gaze. “Command hasn’t requested one.”
Obviously, the fire could have killed Adam. But what if someone had put a bullet in his head or a knife through his heart prior to the fire? He could have burned posthumously.
And why that thought gave her comfort when it should scare the hell out of her, she had no inkling.
That was a lie. She knew exactly. Burning was a cruel way to die. Excruciatingly painful. Merciless. And she hated with passion the idea of Adam Burke . dying that death. With that grain of truth nagging at her and her doubts about her responsibility in his death, she had to hate it. His warning and bequest had given her a rare glimpse of the real-man. Of course she had to hate it.
“Are you okay?” Dr. Kane leaned away from her.
Certain she’d never be fine again, she nodded and then asked a question of her own. “Did you autopsy the men on Burke’s team?”
“I’m under a gag order, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “But I’m now looking at a dead client who might, or might not, have been set up to take a fall. That’s confidential. I’m telling you because I want you to understand the significance of your answers. If I don’t determine the truth about Adam Burke, he’s going to be condemned as guilty forever.”
“The evidence of that is overwhelming.”
“It’s not.”
:“He did it, Tracy,” Dr. Kane insisted. “Look’it’s common to feel guilty in situations like this, but dying doesn’t make him a saint or exonerate him. Adam Burke committed those crimes.”
Don’t feel guilty. It’s a luxury you can’t afford. “But what if he wasn’t guilty? What if it were you toe-tagged in that freezer? Wouldn’t you want someone to ask the hard questions and find out the truth? If it were me, I would.”
Dr. Kane looked away. A long moment later, he lifted a pencil from the desk. Twirling it, he avoided her gaze. “I’m not talking to you. In fact, you’re not here. I’m alone, talking to this pencil. It’s an antistress technique.”
A bubble of anticipation burst in her stomach.
“The families refused to agree to have the bodies autopsied.”
Yet another oddity.,“What were the men’s official causes of death?”
The doctor tossed down the pencil and glared at her. “For Christ’s sake, Tracy, Burke led them onto an active bombing range.”
So the men had been blown up-at least, they had been before they had gotten to Dr. Kane. They couldn’t have been blown up before Adam had seen them or he wouldn’t have told her to chock out their eyes.
Trust no one else … Dr. Kane could be paying her lip service. Tracy didn’t push. There were other ways to find her answers about the team. “I want an autopsy done on Adam Burke.”
“I can’t do it.” Regret filled Dr. Kane’s voice. “If I could, I would. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Command hasn’t requested one.”
“I’m requesting one.”
“You can’t.” The doctor shoved the pencil back into a cup on the desk. “The order has to come from Colonel Hackett.
Terrific. Hemmed in by red tape again. “Why?”
“Because he was Burke’s commanding officer and we already know what killed the man. An autopsy would be-”
“An unnecessary expense?”
“Frankly, yes. We’re on a budget just like everyone else.”