Grave Reservations by Cherie Priest
22.
Grady Merritt watched Leda carefully, ready to pull the plug on this little experiment at a moment’s notice despite his frazzled frame of mind. He felt like garbage, and it wasn’t just the hour or the lack of coffee; it was the way he’d leaped without looking when he’d called the travel agent, then texted her, and then dragged her out of the house before the sun was up—all for the privilege of poking a dead body in case it gave her a flash of insightful horror that he could use to help solve the case. She was a civilian who had no experience with this kind of thing, and she’d never even set eyes on a dead body that wasn’t in a funeral home—by her own admission. When he laid it all out like that in his head, he felt even worse.
He deserved nothing less than for Leda to turn on her heels and walk away, blocking his number as she went.
But he really hoped she wouldn’t.
While Grady kept watch, using his body to block her from the view of others when he could, Leda slowly approached the sheet and circled. The forensics folks stayed out of her way. They might have thought she was a blood-spatter expert, or a consulting physician who specialized in violent demises—anything was possible. Different experts and consultants came and went from the police department all the time.
Dammit, he should’ve given her gloves. Dammit, he should have thought of a story before they’d arrived. He wouldn’t lie to Carter, but he’d lie to most of these other people if he needed to.
But it was so early, and this was so far removed from standard procedure. He hadn’t thought of anything, and it made him angry—because he usually thought of everything. It was his job to think of everything.
Leda crouched down beside the exposed hand with the tasteful nude polish on the nails.
His throat was dry.
Leda’s knees wobbled as she leaned forward and touched the dead woman’s fingertips with the back of her own hand. She jerked back quickly and almost fell—but caught herself. Steadying herself, she tried again, and this time, she let the touch linger. She didn’t close her eyes or touch her temple with her free hand, like the psychics on TV, but she did stare thoughtfully into space.
No performative woo-woo stuff with that one—just pure, random, minimally predictable and marginally helpful talent.
He’d take it. It was all he could get.
Then she rose to her feet and clapped her hands together. “All right,” she said. “I’ve seen enough.”
He all but leaped to her side. What did that mean? Had she seen anything useful, or nothing at all? He couldn’t ask her yet. Not with so many people around. “Are you good? Everything okay? Are you ready to go?”
She only answered that last one. “I’m ready to go.”
Grady ushered her back the way they’d come, out of the mezzanine area, down the stationary escalator, past the guys from the medical examiner’s office who’d finally gotten their gurney situation sorted out, and back down the street to his car. Neither one of them spoke until the doors were shut and the engine was running.
With his hands on the wheel, and Leda’s hands rubbing together in front of the heating vents, he stared through the windshield and asked, “I hope that wasn’t too bad.”
“It… wasn’t that bad. I mean, it was bad—she’s dead, and I’ve never touched a dead person before. But we’re all going to be dead eventually, right? I don’t think I’d be upset if people touched me when I’m dead, so I figured she wouldn’t care if I gave her a little tap. That’s what I told myself, and it worked.”
He looked at her, with his eyebrows wrinkled in a frown. “That’s what you were worried about? Offending the dead woman?”
“Kind of? It’s like I told you a long time ago, I don’t see ghosts or talk to dead people, but sometimes I get a sense of them, hanging about. I have enough crappy luck as it is; I don’t need to run around peeving any phantoms. For all I know, the dead are petty.”
He laughed, even though it felt rude. “No, I get it. It’s bad karma. But did you learn anything, or was this a bust?”
She nodded and slid down in her seat, pulling up her knees until they were resting on the dash. “It was disjointed, yeah. At first it almost knocked me over, it was so vivid, but then I got a handle on it. Janette was getting ready to leave. She took her coat off the back of her office chair.” Leda stopped rubbing her hands together in order to mime the act. “She locked up behind herself and left. She was down at the bottom landing of the mezzanine when she realized she’d forgotten something. I don’t know what, but I think it was her purse. You’ll have to ask if they found it.”
“I’ll do that.”
“The escalator was out—as you saw—so she had to hike up that real tall one to get back to the office. Or… or she chose to? Unless the elevators weren’t working, either. I thought they were stopped because of the investigation, but maybe they turn them off at night.”
“That’s not typical, but you never know. Good to check.”
“My point is, she used the escalator stairs. It took her a minute to get back up there, and when she did, someone was in her office. The door was jimmied, and someone was moving around in there. That’s where it gets fuzzy. It might be because… look, I’m not saying I talk to ghosts.”
“As you’ve made quite clear.”
“But what if some bit of her essence was hanging around, helping me? Feeding me information? For the first time, honestly, it felt like I was getting directions from somebody else.”
“You think you were talking to a ghost.”
“No,” she said. “But I think there’s a chance that a ghost was talking to me. And the last thing she really remembered clearly was how annoyed she was with herself, when she realized she’d left her purse behind. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what it was,” she said, more to herself than to Grady. “She surprised the guy in her office. They fought, and he pushed past her. I think he just wanted to get away, but she followed him. She grabbed him,” she said, miming that, too.
“You’re sure it was a man, not a woman?”
“He was wearing a ski mask, but yes.”
Grady grunted, amused. “A ski mask? That’s so… 1985, isn’t it?”
“Fashion is slow to catch on in the criminal world, or something.”
“Can you tell me anything about him?” he asked. “Tall, short, fat, thin?”
She shook her head. “He’s a dark-colored streak, moving jerkily around. Trying to get away. He wrestled free… he made a run for the escalator, and she caught him there. They struggled, and that’s it. That’s all I see.”
“Hm.” Grady wasn’t exactly disappointed, but he wished she had something more concrete to offer. “You don’t think this was a premeditated murder.”
“No, it was more like manslaughter. For all the good it does Janette.”
“It did Sheila Beckmeyer some good, since hers was only attempted. If the guy intended to kill her outright, he probably would have.” He was starting to get a picture of the perpetrator. Not a physical picture, but the guy’s type. “We’re dealing with a guy who’s bad at murder and not very committed to it. His first killing might have been an accident. But once you’ve killed one person… in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.”
It was Leda’s turn to frown. “I don’t get it.”
“Our perp is bad at murder,” he told her. “That’s the point. He’s backtracking, trying to clean up any evidence he might’ve left behind connecting him to the Gilman murders, or any other murders he may have committed. But he’s willing to defend himself with violence if he needs to.”
“You’re making him sound like a serial killer.”
He shook his head. “No, he’s not a serial killer. He’s just a regular killer, caught in a loop of his own devising. He’s killing now to cover his tracks—even though he’s obviously making himself a bigger target. But something triggered him. Something tipped him off, and he feels cornered. He’s swinging at shadows.”
For a few seconds, neither one of them said what they both were surely thinking.
Leda was staring up at the rearview mirror, pretending she was looking for an opening in traffic to pull into. She wasn’t making eye contact, and it was just as well. “We did it. We tipped him off,” she said.
“Nobody knows that for certain.” Grady put the car into gear and took the next opening, sliding back into the downtown, early-morning-rush traffic so he had something else to pretend to pay attention to also.
“It’d been more than a year since he’d hurt anybody, and then we showed up. We started asking questions, talking to the old witnesses…”
“Could be a coincidence.”
She said, “It isn’t, though.”
“Here’s the thing, okay?” He hit a stoplight, so he had a few seconds to tell her the most important part, before they were back on the road again. He turned in his seat so he could face her. “Even if it’s not a coincidence, that’s not on you. It’s not on me, either. The bad things that happened to Sheila Beckmeyer and Janette Gilman are not your fault.”
“They kind of are…?”
“No. They are absolutely not. Whoever this guy is, all the blame is squarely on his shoulders, not yours. Not mine. He’s the one out there, wreaking havoc. You and me… we’re just trying to rein him in.” Grady sat back again and glared through the windshield like he could force the light to change with the power of his mind.
It worked. The light changed. He turned his attention to driving again, just in time to not run over a jogger who darted into the crosswalk against the light. He slammed the brakes and swore, then pulled out into the intersection.
Leda put her knees back up on the dashboard and settled in, looking tired and unhappy. “Then we really need to get moving. Who knows how many more people he plans to attack.”
“I don’t think he planned to attack any of them. He’s a murderous free radical, that’s all. He’s bouncing from victim to victim, from scene to scene…” Grady lost track of his train of thought. “Hey, you want some coffee? It’s…” He checked the dash. “Almost seven. Coffee places are open by now. Can I buy you a cup?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Got any ideas? Anything in Columbia City?” he pushed, wanting to distract her from the thought that she had had a hand in getting people hurt.
“Yeah, I’ve got a place.”
Half an hour later, they were free of morning traffic and wending through the south-end neighborhoods that would take them back to Leda’s home turf. They pulled up to the curb near the travel agency office and walked around the corner to a small, bustling establishment that was more of a corridor than a shop. People stood in a tight line that doubled back on itself and almost out the door.
“At least it isn’t raining,” Leda said as she took up a position at the end.
“Small blessings. This place is pretty popular, huh?”
“They do a waffle bar, for breakfast people who want more than a bagel or Danish.”
He said, “Ooh!” because that sounded great, actually.
But Leda didn’t look hungry. She looked wrung out.
So he said, “Maybe I’ll try that next time I’m out here.”
When they reached the counter, Leda left to grab the last table while Grady ordered. He joined her shortly, with two tall cups of black coffee in tow. Without a word, Leda reached into the sweetener tub and grabbed every yellow packet present. She tore them all with one rip and dumped the contents into her cup.
He sipped his coffee straight, the way God intended.
When Leda had stirred everything to her liking and downed about half the resulting brew, she finally said, “I needed this. The coffee I mean. Not the guilt of having contributed to the misfortune of others.”
“I told you—”
She cut him off there. “I know. Rationally, I know you’re right. But it’s hard not to feel some culpability here.”
“I understand, but there’s only one thing that’ll make you feel better about that.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
He said, “You help me catch the bad guy and hold him accountable. Once we catch him, he can’t hurt anybody else. Accidentally, or on purpose.”
“I’m doing what I can. I touched the dead lady and everything!” She took another long swig of her coffee, even though it had to be hot. She grimaced and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. The sun was finally up, but the light was watery and gray, and Leda clearly had no intention of rising or shining. “That’s weak, man. That’s really weak. Even if we do catch the guy and send him to jail for life, it won’t do Janette Gilman any good.”
“No, but it’ll save whoever’s next on his list. Look, that’s the nature of this business—there’s a billion variables, and you’re never going to see the whole picture because you’re not God, and you have to get okay with that. You can’t let it get in the way of doing your job.”
“My job is to book travel for people who don’t know how to make phone calls or compare fares online,” she snapped. “If I’d stuck to that job, Janette would still be here. She’d be getting ready for work, or rolling into the office right about now. She wouldn’t be rolling into the morgue.”
He sighed down into his coffee, and steam blew back into his face. “That’s true, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Just like there was nothing we could do about losing your fiancé, and nothing Janette could do about losing Christopher or Kevin. The world is full of things we can’t control. All we can do is keep trying, keep working. Keep investigating until we finally dig down to the truth.”
She snorted softly. “You called this a business. Is that what it really is? A business?”
“It’s a figure of speech, that’s all.”
“If you say so.”
He wanted to throw up his hands, but he only lifted his cup. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what to tell you. I appreciate your help—and it is help. I know it’s not easy for you, and I know I’ve asked a lot. You’re free to bail at any time, and you always have been. If you need to cut loose now, I understand. What else can I say?”
“I’m not trying to cut loose,” she said, but her body language said she was thinking about it. She was hunkered over the table, her head hanging low over her coffee, her hands fidgeting with the paper sleeve that kept her fingers from burning.
“Maybe we should take a break from this. It seems like maybe you need some time.”
“Or maybe I’m just not a morning person, did you ever think of that?”
He knew good and well that it wasn’t so simple, but she obviously wanted an excuse, so he shrugged. “Sure, okay. I’m not a morning guy, either.”
“Good. We’re both sad dirtbags before noon. So who are we talking to next?” she asked. “Who’s still alive, and uninjured?”
“Me and you,” he said, a little too quickly, and a little too flippantly. He caught himself before she could finish fashioning a frown that was sure to be positively withering. “And Kim, though I might touch base with her, considering. Maybe she’ll want a police detail at her house.”
“That would be nice. You think she’ll be the next target?”
“No idea. But there’s me, you, Kim, and the employees from Probable Outcomes who came on board at Digital Scaffolding. There were several of them, I forget how many exactly.”
“You said they all alibied out.”
“They did, but alibis are only as good as the investigation at the time—and this is the only hard, tangible connection between the death of your fiancé and the Gilmans. That should be our next angle, if you’re still on board.”
She relaxed her stance and stared past her obscenely sweet coffee instead of down into its depths. “Okay. That’s a good idea. I got distracted by the Beckmeyer break-in, and then this whole thing with Janette—may she rest in peace.” She looked up at him and nodded. “Don’t worry, man. I’m still in. The caffeine is working, and I’m starting to wake up. Let’s get back to work.”
“Whoa there. You’ve got to give me a day or two, okay? Hell, give yourself a day or two.” It wouldn’t take him more than twenty minutes to pull the names together, and maybe another half hour to track down current contact information for all of them. But he had a feeling that he’d pushed too hard, too far, and that Leda needed some breathing room—whether she’d admit it or not.
“A day or two? Time is of the essence! This guy is really getting around.”
“Yes, a day or two, and that’s all, I swear. Things take as long as they take, okay? So let’s say Thursday. That’ll give me a couple of days to round up the suspects and arrange at least one meeting.”
“It feels like starting over at square one,” she complained.
“Nuh-uh,” he said. “We’ve found a promising connection between your case and mine, and now we just have to massage it until a good suspect falls out. This is police work, Leda. Sometimes it’s tedious and time-consuming. But if you do it right, and you do it long enough, you can usually find your way to an answer.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in the process, don’t you?”
“I do.” He nodded. “Furthermore, I have a lot of faith in you. But we can only go so fast here. We don’t want to screw up the case for prosecutors down the road.” He didn’t want to screw up Leda, either. She wouldn’t want to hear that part, and if he said it out loud, she’d argue with him.
She took a deep breath that was half coffee steam, sneezed, and wiped her nose again. “All right, I trust you.” She glanced down at the Fitbit she seemed to use as a watch. “Shouldn’t you be heading into the office yourself, right about now?”
“Sooner rather than later, yeah.” He gathered up the napkins, empty sweetener packets, and plastic stirrers they’d used between them and stood up to bus the table. “And tomorrow afternoon, I’ll give you a call and let you know what’s up. I’ll try to arrange something for Thursday.”
Leda lifted her half-empty cup and toasted him with it. “Right on. I’d better…” She looked around, like she was seeking some direction to escape. Any direction. “I’d better throw on some makeup and get to work myself.”