Authors: T. K. Leigh
She wished that
he
was there at that moment, strength and vindication enveloping her body. She wanted to scream and yell at him, telling him all the things that she never had the courage to say. Tell him that she was done living in fear of him. That she was taking back control of her life. That she had a future apart from him. That he didn’t break her. That she was strong. That she would survive.
Collapsing on the couch, she sobbed, knowing that no matter how many times she repeated those exact words, they weren’t true. She would inevitably crumble under the gaze of his ice-cold eyes. He told her time and time again that she would never be free of him. That he would always be in the back of her mind, wondering if he was looking for her. The realization washed over her like a tidal wave. The damage he caused was beyond repair. She would always choose fear.
I
T
WAS
A
RAINY
June day in Houston when Greg drove up to the county morgue, about to officially identify the remains of the woman who had raised his daughter while he was too busy getting drunk. He had never been on this side of things before. Normally, he was the one telling the victim’s next of kin that they had found a body and would need them to positively identify it so that the department could move on with the case. He always offered a kind and sympathetic word, sometimes a friendly pat on the back. Now, as he stood on the other side, he realized that his compassion was completely inadequate for the task that faced them…that faced him.
“Well, if it isn’t Detective Matsen!” a cheery receptionist called out when he walked through the front doors. “I’m so sorry that you haven’t returned under better circumstances.”
“Thanks, Maggie. But it’s sergeant now. I was demoted, more or less.” He shrugged, not wanting anyone to know how hurt he was when he found out that he wouldn’t be a detective upon his return to Chicago. Hell, he wasn’t even allowed to work any cases. He was stuck behind a desk in an administrative capacity, regardless of the fact that quite a few of his previous partners from Houston and Chicago vouched that he was sober and could handle the job. It didn’t matter. He was stuck.
“So sorry to hear that.” The young blonde gave him a meaningful look. “Well, Dr. Woodall is expecting you. He’ll be out in just a little bit so that you can make the identification.”
“Thanks, Mags. How’s the baby?”
“Great! Although I hate having to leave him. He’s starting to walk already.”
“Man. You and Darren must have your hands full.”
“We sure do. He’ll be a little heartbreaker one of these days. If you’re staying in town for a bit, why don’t you stop on by? He’d love to see you.”
Greg hesitated. “I don’t know. I already got my ass chewed out for leaving my job for one day, even though I had plenty of personal time. The boss said it was a waste of time to head down here on a decade old missing person case.”
She shook her head. “It’s a bit odd, isn’t it? The chief here ordered our M.E. to step away from this, too. Normally, they’d be all over something like this, searching the databases to see if there was a connection to another case, but this time? Nothing. Like they want to hide what happened to poor Holly.”
“Were you here when the body came in?”
“Yeah. I was assisting in autopsy. Dr. Woodall determined cause of death pretty quickly once he saw the deep wounds on her wrists and the slash to her throat. He delayed examining the rest of the body and, by that time, orders came down to simply determine immediate cause of death and move on to the next case.”
“Hmmm… Isn’t it standard operating procedure to do a thorough exam, no matter what?”
She met his eyes and slowly nodded. “Yup. It is.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “But, between you and me, he didn’t listen. I’m sure he’ll fill you in on what he found…unofficially of course.”
Greg winked. “Of course.”
The sound of a door opening and closing startled both of them. Greg turned to see the towering frame of his former colleague, Dr. William Woodall, standing in the corner, wiping his hands with a cloth.
“Greg!” he bellowed. “So sorry to keep you waiting. I was just finishing up with another autopsy.” He walked up and gave him a quick hug, patting him on the back. “It’s great to see you again, buddy. I’m just sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“I am, too.” He gave his old friend a reassuring nod, trying to make it seem as if he wasn’t about to crack at the thought that not only Holly, but also Jolene were dead. “How’s your drive shaping up this year?”
Will laughed. “It’s total and complete crap. I’ve been golfing at least once a week and I’m in a slump. How about you?”
“I gave up the game when I moved to Chicago. I’m more into running now. I’m training for the Chicago Marathon this November.”
His dark eyes grew wide in surprise. “Really? Wow. This Laney must be good for you! Who would have thought that you’d be dating a forensics gal? She was quite persistent when she reached out to my office to alert her if anything relating to Holly or Jolene came through. Come on. Let’s get this hairy business over with and then we’ll talk a bit more about the bureaucratic bullshit I’ve been dealing with.”
Greg followed him down a stark white corridor leading to two stainless steel swinging doors. “Mmm… Formaldehyde. Love that smell,” he remarked as he rolled his eyes. “I have no idea how you work around this stuff.”
Will swung the doors open, shrugging. “You get used to it.” He walked across the large, sterile-looking room, past several metal tables, and headed to the far wall that housed hundreds of small cold chambers. Finding the number he was searching for, he glanced at Greg, a sincere expression on his face. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
He gave him a small nod before turning his attention to the chamber, pulling the door open and sliding the metal tray out a few feet. Meeting Greg’s eyes, he pulled back the light blue sheet, exposing the cadaver to his friend.
A feeling of satisfaction and rage settled over Greg as he peered down at the cold, lifeless body of the woman with whom he had spent over a decade. Her face was sunken and there was a deep gash on her throat.
“Jesus,” he exhaled.
“I know. Whoever’s behind this is one sick bastard. Slashed her throat and pulled her tongue through the opening.”
“Fuck. Columbian necktie,” Greg commented under his breath. “Do you think there’s a mob connection here?”
Will shrugged. “Perhaps, or just some prick wanting to send a rather clear message.” He paused, gauging his friend’s reaction. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Is it or isn’t it?”
Greg was happy to close this chapter in his life but, at the same time, knew that this was going to start a whole new set of what-ifs. “It is.”
“I’m so sorry, Greg. Is there anything…?”
“There weren’t any other bodies found, were there?”
“No. But I did find this.” He handed him a vial containing a small bullet fragment.
“Nine millimeter?”
“Yeah. It was found lodged in her tibia. Hard to say how or why it got there, but what I
can
say is that it was inflicted prior to her death. Based on the condition of the wound, it wasn’t too far prior to death. Whoever killed her may be the same one who owns the gun that shot this bullet.”
“Have you run ballistics on it and checked to see if it’s in any database?”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, and this needs to stay between us.” He sighed, running his fingers through his blond hair in frustration. “My hands are fucking tied, Greg. I can’t do anything. They’re not pursuing this case and don’t want to run the bullet through. Hell, I’ll probably lose my job if they found out I examined the body after they told me to walk away. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but it’s all a bit shady, if you ask me. Holly was reported missing over twelve years ago and now we have her body. I estimated that she was killed less than a month ago. This is any police department’s wet dream, but they want to brush it under the rug and focus their attention on what they consider to be more pressing cases.”
“Who’s making that call?”
“You know who…” He raised his eyebrows at him in a knowing manner.
“The chief, huh?”
“You didn’t hear it from me.”
“How the fuck can he still be in charge? He hasn’t done jack shit for years now!”
“I know. But until we can somehow connect this to another current case, there’s nothing I can do. I know it sounds terrible, but the best we can hope for is that this fucker is responsible for another death and another body is found in the exact same condition.”
Greg nodded, feeling the walls closing in on him. He was so close to finding out who was responsible for all of it, only to be met with resistance from the very man who ruined his chance at being a detective again in Chicago.
“I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly, turning to head out of the morgue.
“Wait!” Will called out. “Are you okay? You’re not…?”
“No, Will. I have no desire to drink. I
do
want to put a bullet in that chief’s head, but I won’t pick up the bottle. Don’t worry.”
“I hate to say it, but there’s quite a few people who would support you in that.”
“Good. I may need it if I ever grow enough balls to follow through. Nice to see you again. Call me if you learn anything else? Or at least call Laney if you don’t want to raise any suspicion.”
“You got it. And Greg?”
He spun around to face him.
“You look good. Laney looks good on you.”
He smiled. “I think so, too.”
~~~~~~~~~~
A
FTER
MAKING
THE
POSITIVE
identification of Holly’s body, Greg sat in the living room of the house in Houston he had yet to sell. He could feel the ghosts of Jolene’s childhood in every room, the sound of her laughter echoing through the emptiness of the house that was no longer a home. He still remembered the expression on Holly’s face when she left that day. Little did he know that it would be the last time he would ever see her.
“Greg, please. You need to start acting like a father to Jolene. She’s fifteen, for crying out loud! Going to blow off steam with your old partner is not the way to cope with this day. Remember Angie as the woman you loved and spend it with your daughter. Not your beer drinking, cigar smoking friend.”
“Who the hell do you think you are, Holly?” he slurred, the stench of alcohol permeating the small kitchen. “You don’t know what I’m going through. No one does…except Mark. He’s been here for me through thick and thin. He doesn’t judge me.”
Holly glanced over the breakfast bar and saw Mark playing a game of cards with Jolene, a girlish laugh sounding through the house followed by a loud “BLACKJACK!”
“See, Holly,” Greg continued. “She’s happy. She’s doing fine. I’ll be back on Monday. I promise.”
She shook her head in disagreement, but nothing ever worked. They had the same exact conversation once a week, but he refused to admit that he had a problem. “I know that no matter what I say, you won’t listen, so go. Have fun with your friend and keep ignoring your daughter.” She spun on her heels and walked into the living room. “Come on, Jolene, baby. Want to practice driving?” She plastered a fake smile on her face, hoping to hide her obvious irritation with Greg from his daughter.
“You mean it, Mom?”
“Of course. Let’s go. You may as well start learning now.” She turned her attention to Mark, giving him an icy stare. “Make sure he’s back by Monday.” She nodded toward Jolene and they left the house.
“Now that we’re alone, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” Mark said, heading toward the refrigerator and handing another beer to Greg. “People are starting to talk, buddy. I have it on good authority that you could lose your job if you don’t get your act together. I know that this weekend is difficult for you, but if it wasn’t this weekend, it would be something else. I love you like a brother, but when I’m hearing about your drinking problem all the way back in Chicago, it must be getting bad.”
Greg glowered at his friend. He had never questioned his drinking before. He was the only one who actually sympathized with him. He was there when it all happened. Mark was a victim of that senseless tragedy just as much as Angie was…as much as he was.
“Please, Greg. Do me a favor. I already made a few calls and the department is willing to agree to a one-year sabbatical with pay as long as you check in to a rehab facility at the end of the month and begin a three-month treatment program. It’s one of the top facilities in the country.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a file, showing his friend all the paperwork.
“You’ll lose your job if you don’t agree. There have been too many fuck-ups. They can’t even put you on cases anymore because all it takes is a defense attorney to question your sobriety for evidence and statements to get thrown out.”
Greg attempted to process his words, his brain fuzzy from the liquor. He knew he had to get his life back on track. He couldn’t lose his job. Besides the alcohol, that was all he had left. Reluctantly, he grabbed the file and sorted through it, his eyes trying to focus on a legal document with bright red signature tabs.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a condition of them granting you the paid leave. You have to sign here. This is the intake form for the rehabilitation center.”
Greg’s shoulders fell in defeat. “Fine. I’ll sign, but I want to get roaring drunk until I have to check in. Got it?”
A smile crossed Mark’s face as he watched his friend scribble his signature on the sheet of paper. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Greg pushed the file into Mark’s hands, wondering what he had just agreed to.
“Come on,” Mark said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Greg nodded and followed him out of the house.
“I just have to drop this off first. Hope you don’t mind.”