Colder Than Death

Chapter 5

Five days passed and I hadn’t heard a word about the dead girl’s identity. Business picked up. We had two funerals and three people came in for Pre-Needs. That’s when someone makes arrangements for themselves or a loved one in advance of their passing.

Then Perry Cobb paid me a visit.

“I got some business for you,” he said as I opened the door. “Mausoleum girl’s been identified. Her family will be calling you.”

“Thanks, Perry. Come on in.”

“No time. Gotta meet with Gowen and Timerlane.”

Richard Gowen and Bennet Timerlane were the County Sheriff and District Attorney respectively.

“They’re trying to dump the entire investigation on me.” There was concern in his voice.

“You mean you don’t want it?” I stepped outside.

“Thought I did ’til I found out she was killed nine years ago. And from what I’ve learned so far, she won’t be a sympathetic victim. Your basic party girl. Liked to put the booze away. Dance on tables. You know the type. Black sheep of the family. No long-term employment. And what’s worse, hardly anyone remembers anything about her. Gowen and Timerlane aren’t saying it, but they view this as unimportant. Like big city cops not spending more than a second investigating the murder of a junkie or a prostitute. But let the Mayor of Youngstown get bumped off and they’ll call in Interpol.”

“So… who was she?”

“Name’s Susan Parker. Actually, went by the name of Brandy. I did a check on the computer. Missing person report. We had her down as a probable runaway nine years ago. I vaguely remembered the name. Got the word from the Coroner yesterday afternoon. I’ve been digging through her file, such as it is. My dad interviewed a few people back then. His notes say it was more likely that she took off, then met with foul play.”

“How old?”

“She’d be twenty-eight now.” He extended his hand, which held a wrinkled nine-by-twelve manila envelope. “Here. Has a picture of her.”

I opened the file and saw a somewhat tattered, five-by-seven color photograph of a hard-looking, but essentially pretty girl with longish red hair, an upturned nose, mischievous grin and full pouty lips. She had a feisty, defiant expression on her face. I also noticed a scar about five inches long running from her right eye to her upper lip.

“Notice anything special about that picture, Del?”

I looked at it again for a few seconds, not quite sure what Perry was wanting me to spot.

“Check out her T-shirt, genius. It’s the ‘I’m a Virgin Islander’ thing she had on when we found her body. Remember?”

“So?”

“Unless she was in the habit of wearing that T-shirt a lot, doesn’t it stand to reason that she might’ve been killed not too long after this picture was taken?”

“Maybe. Is there a date on it?”

“Nope. And her family doesn’t remember when it was taken or who took it. It was stashed in an old photo album. I asked if maybe the girl had a boyfriend back then who could’ve taken the picture, but from the answer I got knew I was heading in the wrong direction. Her sister, the person I was talking to, lowered her head like she was embarrassed and real soft said, ‘My sister had a lot of boyfriends’ which is important information because it lets me know what kind of girl she was.”

“Promiscuous women don’t deserve to be murdered.”

“Don’t go getting all liberal and moral on me, Del. Even if she were the biggest whore in town she’d have rights. But being how she was, it’s gonna make finding out who killed her even harder. And for what it’s worth, I asked her sister if the dead girl knew any cemetery buffs. She said she didn’t know much about her sister’s personal life or her friends so I let it go.”

From inside, the telephone rang. “I better get that.”

“I said what I came to say. But listen, unless I can convince Gowen and Timerlane to take more responsibility for this solving this murder, I may be needing you.”

The remark caught me off guard. “For what?”

“The only thing I have to go on so far is what you said about the killer being a cemetery buff. Who knows what other info you have locked in that Coffin Boy head of yours?”

Before I could say anything he turned away. I made a beeline for the Counseling Room where the nearest phone was located. I grabbed it on the fourth ring.

“Henderson’s Funeral Home. May I help you?”

“I need to arrange a funeral,” said a low-pitched female voice. I reached for a pen. “For my sister.”

“Could I have your name please?”

“Suzanne Worthington.”

“How soon can you come over and discuss the arrangements?” I said as I wrote down the name.

There was a hesitancy. Almost childishly, she said, “Do I have to come there? Can’t we do whatever has to be done over the phone?”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but there is the matter of choosing a coffin, deciding on a vault, picking the type of service you want… that sort of thing. And if you don’t already have a burial plot we’ll have to decide on that, as well.”

“How do you mean?”

“Ground burial or above-ground in a crypt. Or cremation. Whichever, it means a drive to the cemetery.” I paused purposely for a few seconds, then said, “Unless, of course, you already have a gravesite.”

“I don’t.”

“Then we really should talk in person. How soon can you be here?”

There was silence followed by a deep sigh, then she said, “I suppose I can come now.”

“Fine. But I’ll need a little more information, starting with where to go to claim your sister’s remains.”

“The County morgue,” she said, barely above a whisper.”

It was as I was jotting down the word ‘morgue’ beneath Suzanne Worthington’s name that I first wondered if possibly her dead sister was the woman found in the mausoleum. Most of the bodies we handle are removed from a hospital or nursing home or the deceased’s own residence. It’s not often that we claim a corpse at the Coroner’s, and only when an autopsy was required, which itself is a fairly rare occurrence in a small town. “Could I have your sister’s name?”

“Brandy Parker,” she said softly. “Actually her birth name was Susan. Brandy is the girl in the mausoleum. I’m sure you’ve read about it.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” I waited a moment, then pressed on. This was the money part of my business. The compassion and sympathy would come later. “Did Brandy have life insurance?”

“No. Actually, I should say that I don’t believe so. It’s complicated. I’ve been under the assumption that she was alive, that she had simply run away. It’s only been since last night that I found out she’s dead and… I haven’t had time to look into anything like insurance. But if you’re concerned about payment, I’ll be handling it. Can I pay by credit card?”

“Of course.”

“By the way,” she said. “Who are you? I just realized I don’t have the slightest idea to whom I’m speaking.”

“I’m Del Coltrane, the Funeral Director here. Do you know where we’re located, Ms. Worthington?”

“Yes. Mrs.”

“Then I’ll expect you shortly. Park your car in the lot and come around to the rear entrance.”

“Alright.”

I said good-bye. I immediately splashed on a dose of Royal Copenhagen. I always try to smell nice when I sit down to make funeral arrangements. It helps to cover the scent of formaldehyde that sometimes drifts from the Embalming Room throughout the Home despite the high-priced chemicals Nolan used to downplay the aroma.