Fatal Hearts (10 page)

“Josh, apparently.” He stopped fiddling with the can and put it on the coffee table. “I thought the whole desire to go into journalism was because of his affinity for the people who never really fit in. You know, championing the underdog, fighting injustice, showing people the other side. I swear, if there was a weird, ostracized kid on the playground, Josh would find them and befriend them. I had a full-time job keeping the bullies off his back.”

“See? You were already playing your roles.”

It made so much sense now, Boyd’s worldview as compared with Josh’s. Oh, personality accounted for a big part of it; she was sure. Just because they were genetic duplicates didn’t mean their personalities should be identical, or even alike. But she could see so clearly how that traumatic event would have shaped them differently. Being on the inside and knowing he’d be free by morning, Josh had had it easier. His family would have thought the worst. She could see how Boyd would have emerged with a conviction that the world was a dangerous place, while Josh took something entirely different away from the experience.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Time for a subject change. Hopefully something not so heavy.

“He used to talk about your parents a lot too. I gather he spoke to them every day. I was there once when he Skyped with them. After that, your mother would always tell him to say hi to me.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” he drawled. “I expect she was hoping Josh would present her with a daughter-in-law and eventually some grandchildren.”

At his words, Hayden felt a hollow space open up in her gut. If anyone deserved to have children, to be a parent, it was Josh. Not with
her
, obviously, but with someone he was crazy about. He’d have been so good at it. What a waste. What a tragic, senseless waste.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Boyd’s voice was a low throb. “I did it again. I’ll just shut up now.”

“Don’t be silly.” She tipped her head back and blinked rapidly. “We have to be able to talk about him or this won’t work.”

“True.”

“Besides, it’s hard . . . but it’s also good. Does that make sense?”

He nodded gravely and held her gaze. “I know.”

They stayed that way for a few intense moments. Breaking eye contact, she picked up the DVR remote control. “Let’s watch the show now. It’ll make us feel better.”

It did. They ate their pizza, and Hayden drank her beer. Partway through, she paused the program so Boyd could get himself two more slices—the thin crust might be tasty, but he declared it not very filling, especially with no Italian sausage—and two more cans of beer for them. Afterward, Hayden clicked the TV off.

“This is where our night would typically end,” she said. “Well, not this early, because we’d do the catch-up and just veg a little before watching the show. But that’s basically it.”

“And he’d just go home?”

“Uh-huh. Straight back to his room at Dr. Stratton’s. He’d always text me when he got there, so I could stop worrying about him.”

“Worrying about him?” That left eyebrow rose again and he laughed. “Hayden, from here to Dr. Stratton’s would be . . . what? . . . eight or nine kilometers? In city traffic?”

“You sound like Josh now,” she said. “He thought it was pretty funny too when I asked him to do that. Yet when I was at his place watching a show, he always insisted
I
call or text
him
to let him know when I got home.”

“But that’s different.”

“Because I’m a woman, you mean?”

Boyd shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

“That’s what Josh said too.” She sighed. “And, yes, it’s true. It’s grossly unfair and completely deplorable, but, yes, because I’m a woman, I stand a much greater chance of being assaulted when I’m minding my own damned business than you do. But when it comes to an impaired driver blowing through a red light and T-boning your car, in my experience, it doesn’t matter what sex you are. And as for accidents at city intersections, just two weeks ago we had multiple trauma—”

“Whoa, whoa.” He held up a hand to stop her. “I get it. You don’t have to convince me. I’ve attended my fair share of urban MVAs. And I’m sorry for laughing. I just wasn’t thinking of how your front-row seat to all that trauma would affect the way you look at everything, including a crosstown commute. Josh could’ve told you I’m not sensitive that way.” He smiled, but it looked sad. “Not particularly empathetic.”

She wanted to put her hand on his where it rested on his leg and squeeze it. She wanted to see the sorrow chased from those golden eyes. A little freaked out at the impulse, she picked up her empty beer can and fiddled with it.

“No big deal,” she said. “It’s not like I look for things to worry about.” She pretended to drink a last swig from the can and put it back on the table. “It really wouldn’t have driven me crazy with anxiety if Josh hadn’t agreed to check in. It’s not like I’d have lost sleep or anything. I don’t know how to describe it. I guess you could liken it to some kind of little program running in the background of my brain. It’s just
there
. When he checked in to say he was home, it could shut off, you know?”

He rubbed his jaw, and the distinctly masculine rasping sound of a calloused hand running over beard stubble sent a shiver through her.

“I can’t say I do,” he admitted. “I guess we don’t have the same software.”

She laughed. “I think that’s a safe bet, Detective.”

His answering grin was her reward. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth, and she stopped smiling. So did he.

“Well, I should shove off and let you get your rest,” he said, pushing to his feet.

She jumped up too, busying herself by picking up the plates and napkins. Boyd collected the four empty cans and followed her to the kitchen with them.

A moment later, she walked him to the door. He had his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, when he turned back. Hayden’s heart took a bounding leap, then fell to hammering in her chest. Was he going to kiss her?

“I almost forgot to ask,” he said. “Do you recall ever seeing Josh with a leather-bound notebook? It would have been camel-colored.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s a very specific description.”

“One of his coworkers, Grace Morgan, confirmed he carried one like that sometimes. I figure that’s gotta be the journal he was keeping about his investigation into our birth parents.”

She frowned. “I was going to say I hadn’t seen it, but actually I might have. It was fairly compact and definitely leather-bound. Soft leather. Although the one I saw I would have described as more buttery yellow than camel. Of course, it was night . . .”

“That sounds like the one,” he said, his expression tightening with eagerness.
Not such a poker face after all. At least not when it comes to Josh.
“Where’d you see it?”

“In the glove compartment of his car. We were coming back from supper on a holiday weekend and got stopped at one of those routine checkpoints. You know, where they look for impaired drivers, seat belt infractions, inspection stickers, and the like. Anyway, he asked me to dig the registration out of the glove box. That’s where I saw it. I hauled it out along with road maps and the car’s manual and napkins and everything else that was in there.”

“Have you seen it since?”

“No, I never saw it again.” She hated to have to say it, watching that new hope fade from his eyes. “Odd that the cops didn’t find it.” She didn’t add, “Since he died in that car.” She didn’t have to.

“He wouldn’t have stored it there permanently,” he said. “Too easy to break into a car. Or steal the whole car, for that matter.”

She blinked. “Someone would steal a
notebook
out of a car?”

“These are usually addicts. Typically, a ‘car shopper’ will grab whatever they can—loose change or anything small enough to shove in their pockets or put in a backpack. Stuff they can sell quickly. If it’s small enough, they’ll grab it, then evaluate it when they’ve put a little distance between themselves and the crime. We always tell people to search the immediate neighborhood when their car gets broken into. The bag the thief thought might contain something they can sell for drug money turns out to have a wet bathing suit and a soggy towel, or diapers and baby wipes. Or the stuff they scooped out of the glove box or console turns out to be a leather-bound notebook, not a wallet. The thief often dumps the unwanted stuff within a few blocks.” He sighed. “Guess I’ll go back to looking at Dr. Stratton’s.”

“You’ve checked his room?”

“As thoroughly as I know how,” he said. “If Josh hid it there, he did a damned good job of it.”

“You know, Josh might have locked it in his glove compartment that day, especially since he was only going for a short jog. And if he did, maybe his car got broken into while he was off jogging. That would account for the missing phone. You said there was a market for stolen phones, right? And maybe they thought the notebook was one of those wallets that hold a passport and wads of money or something. I know it’s a stretch to think something like that happened at just the right time before his death, but I’ve heard of weirder things.”

“There was no evidence of a break-in, though, and we know Josh always locked his car. While that probably rules out straight theft, it doesn’t rule out foul play. Someone could still have killed him just as he got back inside his car, then made off with his phone and journal.”

Hayden’s heart contracted painfully. “Do you believe that?”

“That’s what my gut is telling me.”

“But how?”

Boyd sighed. “They could have come upon him when he’d unlocked the car and got in, but hadn’t yet turned the ignition on or engaged the locks.”

“Oh, God.” She put her hand to her mouth.

“He probably reached for a bottle of water and a towel to mop his sweaty face. That would give them some time.”

“To what? How could they cause him to arrest on the spot?”

His lips thinned. “Stun gun.”

She flinched.

“Sorry,” he said. “This is gruesome, I know. But I’ve been racking my brain and that’s what I keep coming back to.”

“They’re considered a prohibited weapon here, aren’t they?”

“Absolutely. But we seize more and more of them every year. They’re easy to order online, and if they’re not properly marked on the customs declaration, they can slip past the border.”

Hayden blinked. “Wait . . . if they Tasered him, wouldn’t it have left marks to be found on autopsy? I’ve seen exactly two Tasered patients come through, and they always have puncture wounds from the darts.”

“Police incidents?”

She nodded.

“Most people who go in for these things tend to carry small, easily concealed stun guns, not police-type TASERs. Some are as small as a cell phone. None of them use darts. They’re for close-up self-defense. You pull the trigger to make electricity arc between the metal prongs, then apply it directly to the attacker’s skin or clothing. That kind of contact stun doesn’t leave puncture wounds or bruises, and unless it’s applied directly to the skin, it probably wouldn’t even leave a mark.”

“What kind of mark? A burn, I suppose?”

“Yeah, when it’s used directly on the skin, it can leave a minor burn the same width as the space between the prongs.”

“Because the electricity arcs between the two prongs.”

“Exactly.”

“But not if it was applied through clothing?”

He nodded. “I suppose there might be a bit of a red mark, but not necessarily. And unlike the TASER, it doesn’t make the muscles seize up and immobilize the target, but rather relies on overwhelming pain.”

“Omigod.” She placed her hand on her chest, wondering what that kind of shock would feel like. If Josh were sitting in his car and someone opened his door and applied that shock to his chest . . . “Could the stun gun be fired repeatedly?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I know the literature is inconclusive on electroshock weapons, but I would think that a jolt like that, especially if delivered close to the heart, could easily cause a fatal arrhythmia in someone with LQTS or some other kind of electrical problem. Maybe even someone with a perfectly
normal
heart, especially if they’d been jogging. Josh would have been hot and tired after his run, needing to replace electrolytes . . .” She looked up at him, horrified. “That could really have happened.”

“Yeah.” He raked a hand through his close-cropped hair, leaving it standing up. “It’s getting harder and harder to believe anything other than foul play. The missing phone is really troubling. And now there’s been definite confirmation of the existence of a journal, which we’ve yet to be able to locate.”

“Have you raised the stun gun possibility with Detective Morgan?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Nor have I told him that both his wife and you can attest to having seen that journal. But I’ve got a call in to him.”

“I’d so much prefer to think it was natural causes, and that someone stole that stuff out of his car. I know that can’t be, because he’d have locked—” Hayden’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“The back door on the passenger side—the lock wasn’t working consistently. We noticed it not long ago when I opened the back door and threw my gear in the backseat before he clicked the locks open. He said he’d make an appointment to get that fixed, but I don’t know whether he ever got it done.”

“I’ll have Morgan look into that, whether the lock works. The car is still at the impound lot.”

She looked up at him, trying to decipher his expression, but she couldn’t tell whether he thought that was good or bad news. “If it’s still on the fritz, doesn’t that mean someone could have stolen his things while he was running?”

“Or someone might have slipped into his backseat.”

Her heart jumped. Oh, God, he was right.

“But it does raise the possibility that it was a simple theft,” he said. “And if so, once the thief realized it was a notebook and not a wallet, they’d probably dump it before they got too far away. When Morgan calls me back, I’ll see what they can do. They already used the police K-9 to search the trails for his phone in case he dropped it during his run, but they wouldn’t have searched the park exits or treed perimeters. Maybe they’ll agree to do another search to see if the notebook turns up.”