Under Suspicion. Mallory Kane

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the recovery.”

      “I need this information, Dr. Bookman.”

      Dr. Bookman fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. “Do you have ID?”

      Zach groaned but pulled his badge holder and ID out of his back pocket and handed it to the doctor and waited. The doctor discreetly glanced at it, looked at it again for a beat longer and then handed it back.

      “You might want to meet me at the parish morgue after the service,” he said quietly.

      “No,” Zach said. “I need to know now.” He looked over at the groundskeeper, who was standing behind the cart that held Tristan’s casket. “After the service could be too late.”

      Bookman followed his gaze. “I’m not comfortable with this. We should talk in my office.”

      Zach shook his head.

      “Okay, but please remember that you are at the funeral of your best friend, and don’t create a scene.”

      The medical examiner took a step away from the crowd. Zach followed him, his scalp burning at the doctor’s statement. Don’t create a scene.

      “We don’t have a cause of death,” Bookman said.

      “You what?”

      “Lower your voice, Mr.—or is it Agent—Winter? You don’t want to upset Sandy.”

      “Why don’t you?” Zach asked quietly, afraid he knew the answer.

      “Because we don’t have a body.”

      Zach stared at him, then darted a glance at the casket.

      “That’s right. That casket contains no human remains.”

      “Son of a—” Zach stopped himself and rubbed his face. “You didn’t recover the body?”

      Bookman sighed. “I have remains.”

      “I don’t understand,” Zach persisted.

      Bookman looked across the crowd at Sandy. Zach followed his gaze. “It’s pretty simple. There’s not enough of Tristan DuChaud to put in a casket.”

      “Not enough—” Zach felt queasy. He’d known that was the answer, but to hear it stated like that, in no uncertain terms, stripped him raw. “What do you mean, not enough?” he growled.

      Dr. Bookman searched his face for a moment. “A rather substantial piece of calf muscle, a piece of scalp with hair intact and...that’s about it. Barely enough to provide identification. I can’t afford to waste any of it by burying it in the ground. Now understand, I haven’t positively identified these remains with DNA. I’ve sent the samples off, but it generally takes weeks, if not months, to get DNA back.”

      The doctor might as well have sucker punched him. The idea that all that was left of Tristan was a little muscle and a bit of hair. The back of his throat burned with nausea. “What about the other man?”

      Bookman nodded. “He was pretty chewed up. There were several schools of sharks in the area.”

      Several schools of sharks. Zach tried to erase that phrase from his mind. “But you can identify the difference between him and Tristan, right?”

      “On a superficial level, yes. I can. From physical attributes mostly. The Vietnamese man, according to his employment records, was five inches shorter than DuChaud. I would expect his torso, parts of which we recovered, to be smaller than DuChaud’s. I would also expect the typical Asian features, whereas DuChaud was Caucasian. I’m relatively sure that the calf muscle tissue and the scalp with light brown hair belong to DuChaud.”

      “What’s your conclusion? Any sign of foul play?”

      “I can’t answer that question. Right now, what I can say with relative certainty is that I have the remains of two men, one Caucasian, one Asian. There is enough of the Asian’s torso present to be certain that he perished. The meager remains we collected for DuChaud are not conclusive at all, but judging from the damage to the Vietnamese man’s body, it would be difficult to imagine that DuChaud could have survived.”

      Zach swallowed hard. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You said difficult, not impossible. Are you saying there’s a chance he could be alive?”

      Bookman shook his head. “No. I’m not. The remains we have are not conclusive, but the men went overboard in a place and a situation that doesn’t support survival. Not only was the drill mechanism and a large diesel motor right there, practically beneath them, but as I mentioned, there were sharks, too.”

      Behind Zach, the groundskeeper pushed the cart that held Tristan’s casket. One wheel was rickety and it creaked with every inch of movement. He turned.

      Sandy, who was standing next to Duff, started to turn around as well, but the priest kept his hand on her shoulder. With his eyes, he beckoned Zach.

      “The Coast Guard has captured several of the sharks,” Dr. Bookman went on. “They’re sending me the stomach contents to see what additional remains I might be able to recover.”

      The queasiness rose in the back of Zach’s throat again.

      “Sorry about your friend,” Dr. Bookman said.

      Zach thanked him. He stepped quickly over to Sandy’s side. He wanted to watch until the groundskeeper slammed the stone door and locked the bolt.

      Actually, that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to run over to the casket and rip it open. He wanted to see with his own eyes just exactly what was inside, if it wasn’t his friend’s body. But of course, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Sandy was there and he’d rather die than let her know that her husband’s body was never recovered.

      “Sandy,” Duff said, “wasn’t Zach one of Tristan’s best friends?”

      She glanced at him, not fooled for a moment, but allowing him to distract her from the sight of her husband’s casket being pushed into the vault. “His best friend,” she corrected, smiling at Zach.

      He smiled back at her, and his conscious brain picked up on what he’d been aware of subconsciously since he’d first seen her. Sandy had always been slender, but the black dress she wore was formfitting and hugged a small but obvious baby bump. Tristan’s widow was pregnant. His eyes burned and his heart felt broken into pieces. Tristan had a child.

      Sandy’s hand moved to rest on her belly protectively, and Zach realized he was staring. He looked up to see her smiling sadly at him. He opened his mouth to apologize or console her or something, but she shook her head. “It’s okay, Zach,” she murmured. “I’m doing okay. I’m about three and a half months along,” she said, her voice quivering. “Tristan knew. He was sure it’s a boy.”

      As he struggled for the right thing to say, he felt a presence behind him.

      “Sandy,” a voice said. It was the woman. “We need to get back to the house.” She sounded exactly as he’d figured she would. She had a city accent. Maybe New Orleans, maybe another large metropolitan area. But one thing was for sure, it was certainly not a south Louisiana–bayou СКАЧАТЬ