The Evidence Room: A Mystery (3 page)

Mike checked his watch. “Let me at least get you a refill.”

“Sure.”

Aurora tipped back in her chair and caught sight of her reflection in one of the cloudy mirrors that lined the bar. She’d tried to coax her curls into a twist, but they were escaping over her shoulder.
Mermaid hair,
Nana used to call it when Aurora was a kid and she’d fussed as Nana tamed it into braids before school. She’d teased her about it with a sad smile, and Aurora knew without asking that her hair, along with her lanky frame and her green eyes, were all reminders of her mother.

Mike was cute. She let this thought nudge all the other ones out of the way. They’d struck up a conversation in one of the break rooms last week, and there was something about him that had put her right at ease. He waited at the bar, Mama commanding his attention, probably interrogating him. It had been a while since Aurora had brought a date here. She had met Mike at work—where else? She spent most of her time there. A nice guy. Maybe there was a chance she could be his girlfriend. But she couldn’t hide her past forever.

Mike returned with the drinks. “Is Mama always so—chatty?”

“She likes you,” Aurora said with a laugh. “What did she say?”

“Oh, the usual twenty questions,” he joked. “I thought I was getting to be a local, but the first thing she asked me which hick state I came from.”

“And what hick state is that?” This was always the part of dates that made her nervous, the exchange of personal information that led to the inevitable family questions. Aurora took a swig of her soda.

“Indiana. Been here two months, and I’m never going back.”

“So you like it out here.”

“It’s cool.” His smile was like a little kid’s, part smirk. “I’ve still got a bunch of family back there, though. I miss them.” Aurora imagined a mom and dad, an SUV, a golden retriever. “What about you? Where are you from?”

“Connecticut.” It was only partly true. She didn’t have many memories of the bayou, but it would always be her birthplace, rooted deep in her bones in a way she couldn’t explain.

“So you stayed close to home, then. Is your family still there?”

“I don’t go back too often.” She knew there was something awkward in her tone, some note of warning. She was willing to bet he could see it too. Danger—seriously fucked-up family shit ahead.

In her lap, Aurora’s cell phone buzzed.
Play ball!
the text said. She would have to hustle to be there in time for the first pitch.

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I have to go.”

“Hey, that’s what I get for going out with the team’s big slugger.”

“And pitcher,” Aurora added. “Double threat.”

She stood and he reached for her hand. “I hope we can do this again,” he said. What could she say to that? Maybe this was the beginning of something. Maybe Mike was the one who could handle the whole story, if she could summon the strength to tell it.

“Sure.”

“And next time tell me to shut up so I can learn more about you. Aurora Atchison, international woman of mystery.”

“Sounds good,” she said, and in her mind she added,
You have no idea
.

*   *   *

Outside, darkness was beginning to fall, the lights of the Williamsburg Bridge reflected in the iridescent slice of the East River. Aurora loved that no matter when her shift in the ER ended, the city was always waiting for her outside the door, a living, breathing thing. Two blocks away, she could see the lights on the baseball diamond, casting an otherworldly glow on the trampled grass. Aurora broke into a jog.

Behind home plate, Dr. Tusharkanti, a pediatric doc and the self-appointed coach of the Public Enemas hospital softball team, gave instructions that were lost on an unexpected twist of breeze that wound through East River Park.

“Aurora! Hey! Over here!” Nicky, another ER nurse and Aurora’s closest friend on staff, bellowed from behind home plate, where she was struggling with her spikes. Nicky had rolled the cuffs and twisted the sleeves of the softball uniform. It reminded Aurora of the way she’d tailored her scrubs at work; always a fashionista.

“Hey, Nic!”

Nicky gave Aurora the once-over. “You wore your softball uniform on the date? It’s a good thing you’re so cute. How’d it go?”

“I had fun.”

“Really. Don’t spare any details.” Nicky rolled her eyes.

“I had fun,” Aurora repeated. “But we’ll see what happens.” She fit her fingers inside the baseball glove.

“You know what I think?” Nicky planted a hand on her hip.

“Please tell me. I’m dying to know.”

“He’s just not your type. You have to find someone who is.”

“I guess.” Aurora wanted someone strong. Strong enough that she could lay down all her weapons for a change and stop fighting everything alone.

“So it isn’t Matt. So what? On to the next.”

“Mike.”

“Whatever. All those blond techs look the same to me. Good genetic material for a baby, but about as interesting as unflavored oatmeal.” She turned towards the dugout and cupped her hands around her mouth to yell at Dr. Tushy. “Where do you want us, Coach? Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Aurora, you take shortstop tonight,” Dr. Tushy hollered from the bench. “Nicky, you’re at third base.” He slapped an unenthused-looking resident on the back. “Dr. K, let’s see if you can pitch!”

“Shit,” Nicky muttered. “I hope nobody hits it this way.”

“I’ve got your back.”

“So anyway,” Nicky continued, “my friend’s band is playing at this festival out on the Island on Friday. It’s at the beach, so there’s gonna be food, drinks, all kinds of summer fun. And I checked your schedule, and I know you’re off, so no excuses. Are you in?”

“I’m supposed to see the lawyer on Friday about Papa.” She had been putting off the appointment with Luna Riley for weeks.

“Oh, I’m sorry, hon. I forgot.”

“I can probably reschedule.” What was one more time?

Nicky linked her arm in Aurora’s. She had been witness to Aurora’s grandfather’s slow decline from lung cancer. Papa had loved Nicky. She had shown him a thousand tiny kindnesses that Aurora would never forget—played cards with him, slipped him an extra pudding cup, got the maintenance guys to bring him one of the TVs with the good channels. She’d even helped Aurora compose his obituary for the funeral home. Loving husband of Laurel. Adoring father of Raylene. Beloved grandfather of Aurora. A life expressed in terms of connections to other people. What Nicky might not realize was that Aurora was the end of the line.
Make sure somebody loves you
. But what if nobody was left?

The first baseman caught a pop fly for the third out, and Nicky and Aurora jogged together to the dugout. “Did you scatter his ashes?”

“Not yet.” Aurora ignored the tightness that gripped her throat. Papa’s remains were still tucked under her bed. She knew he wanted to be on the bayou for all eternity, but she just couldn’t take him there. Not yet. It was funny how Aurora could bear witness to other people’s tragedies, could be the one to make the death notification, to rub the back of the crumbling family member while she delivered the news—but when it came to dealing with her own tragedies, she was useless.

“He’s at peace,” Nicky told her. It was the kind of thing they were supposed to say to patients’ family members, a clich
é
that rang hollow to Aurora at work but, coming from Nicky at this moment, seemed oddly comforting. The idea that Papa now looked down upon her from paradise, all of his questions answered and his fears soothed, fortified her. Aurora gave Nicky’s hand a squeeze.

“Aurora! You’re up!” Dr. Tushy held out a batting helmet.

Aurora stood in the batter’s box. Had her mother played sports? She herself had been a decent athlete in high school; Nana and Papa had attended all of her games, pushed her feverishly into any and all after-school activities in their campaign to give her a normal life.

“Come on, Aurora! You got this.” Dr. Tushy was growing hoarse. “We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!” His spirit, even in the face of the team’s consistently terrible record, was what made Aurora keep signing up to play.

She settled into her stance, pictured her swing, fluid and easy. She connected on the first pitch, the ball carrying over the second baseman’s head and into center field. Aurora sprinted to first base and smiled at her teammates’ applause. Nothing to it …

Something buzzed in her pocket. Probably the hospital. Well, she’d had a good run of it so far this evening. Aurora made a time-out signal and took the call without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Aurora! I’m so glad I caught you. This is Luna Riley.” A tiny surge of anxiety shot through Aurora. Papa’s attorney.

“Hi.”

“I just wanted to make sure that our appointment on Friday at eleven thirty still works for you.” Luna’s voice was friendly, but something in her voice told Aurora the lawyer was onto her, knew she was ducking the appointments.

“Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Luna said brightly. “We can go over all the issues related to the estate, and I can answer any questions that you might have. We’re working under a deadline here, so—”

“Issues?” Papa had held the same job at the bank for forty years, and his military upbringing had made him a meticulous man, tidy about everything from his sock drawer to his bank account. The luxuries in his life were in his relationships with other people, not in material possessions.
Live simply,
he’d always told her,
so that others may simply live.
What possible issues could there be?

“Oh, we’ll discuss all of that in person on Friday,” Luna replied. “I’ll let you get back to your evening.” In the background, Aurora could hear the hum of chatter amidst the thin strains of orchestra music. So Luna was calling after hours, from her cell phone, to confirm their appointment? What could be so urgent?

“Can you just give me an idea of—”Aurora began to formulate the question, but Luna had already ended the call. She slipped the phone back in her pocket and walked back onto the baseball diamond.

“Everything okay, hon?” Nicky said with a frown. “You didn’t get called in, did you?”

“No, no, everything’s fine.” Aurora gave Dr. Tushy the thumbs-up, and the batter stepped back into the box. Luna’s words burned a trail through her mind. Estate issues could mean anything, she told herself. Maybe a bank account that hadn’t been closed, or a bill that hadn’t been paid. But something told her it was more than that, something related to what had happened a thousand miles away from here, on the violet shores of a bayou, a tragedy she had survived but could never outrun.

And Friday morning, like it or not, she was going to have to find out.

CHAPTER FOUR

Josh stood in line for his coffee at the Java Jive Caf
é
and tried to shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He glanced around the caf
é
. A man in his forties sitting at the booth in the corner folded his newspaper, met Josh’s eyes, and then returned to the sports section. Just a regular guy enjoying breakfast, Josh told himself. Not everyone was a suspect. Everything was fine. The day that he’d crossed paths with the Shadow Man was a lifetime ago; it had happened to a different person. He was a cop now. Not a victim.

Josh focused on the case at hand. Niney Crumpler was safe and sound, passed out in a beery slumber on his front porch after being hauled out from behind a Dumpster at the local watering hole. And now Josh was here to refuel. At his side, Beau was alert, his ears perked. Did he sense something too?

Josh’s right hand closed around the printout in his pocket, the results of the previous night’s search of the missing persons database.
She was eighteen the last time you saw her
, the first detective he’d ever visited back in Tennessee had told him.
She had the right to go missing
. As though Liana’s disappearance from his life had been some kind of expression of civil disobedience. During downtime at work, he searched property records and DMV files, but only at night in front of his laptop did he log on to the national database of unidentified victims and allow himself to consider the darker possibilities. There were so many girls who were beyond saving in those nameless profiles. Josh tried to remember each one. Sometimes the details made it easy to tell the girl was not his sister; the dead girls were the wrong age, or height, or ethnicity. But then there were the other details:
Healed fracture of the left elbow
.
Tattoo of a sunburst, right ankle
.
Evidence of childbirth
. Each one was a reminder that so much time had passed, a reminder that there were things about Liana he could not know and might never know.

But he would never stop looking.

A little boy in a red-sleeved baseball jersey nudged past Josh, and the man in front of him in line scooped the boy up in an easy motion, so that Josh could see the kid’s face, flushed with delight, against the man’s shoulder. Something black flapped its wings in Josh’s chest. He saw the Shadow Man, Jesse unconscious against his shoulder, carrying him away. Now, at thirty, the desire to be a father had begun to take root inside of Josh. But how could you bring children into this world when there were no guarantees that you could protect them?

Over beers last week at Crabby Jim’s, he’d confided in Boone about the Shadow Man. Boone had asked about the Shadow Man’s record, and Josh had rattled off the information. He had a name, of course, and an inmate number. But in Josh’s memory he would always be the shadow on the bathroom wall, a faceless shape that bloomed and shrank in the light.
Sometimes I think I see him now,
he’d said.
Even though it’s impossible
. To Boone’s credit, he hadn’t blinked an eye, just drained his glass and leaned forward.
We all got something that haunts us, Josh. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.
Boone had leaned close to him, spoken with a fervor Josh had never heard in his voice before.
You can have that crazy voice in your head,
Boone had said.
You just can’t let him drive.
He hoped that somewhere Liana was finding a way to heed that advice.