Caulfield struck me to be, like the vast majority of us, a human being of middle distances.
'Did you suspect Clair was going to give you the helm?'
'No. My eye started twitching I was so scared. This is Dr. Clair Peltier watching, you know? I'd read every one of her articles, attended three symposia where she presented. I found out later that handing over the autopsy is her way of indicating confidence in the new hire's abilities.'
'How did you find out about the job?'
'A board at med school listed openings by specialty. I saw the one for Mobile and applied. I met with Dr. Peltier twice before I was hired.
I take it I was in a close race with another applicant.'
'You came to Mobile?'
'I spent two days the first visit, two weeks later I spent three. The last day was when I was offered the position.'
'Where did you spend your time during the mating dance?'
'Virtually all at the morgue. I took the grand tour, met the staff, watched several procedures. About the only time I wasn't at the morgue proper was meals with Dr. Peltier, and when I went back to my motel at night.' He ran his fingers through his hair. 'I need a sip of something. Get you a lemonade?'
'A quick one. I've got to head back, start digging again.'
I blew out a long, disappointed breath when Caulfield left the room.
Jeremy had definitely drawn the wrong card on Caulfield. It was a long shot, but since Jeremy had failed, long shots were the only shots remaining. Problem was, I had run out of targets.
Caulfield returned with two glasses of lemonade carried one-handedly on a tray, un steadied by his wounded hand, as if he were unaware of its potential for support. I drank mine in a couple of long cool drafts and secured his permission to call if I had any other questions. As we walked out on his porch I noticed several bushes in the front yard cut back to allow full view of the distant, official-looking building.
'What's that big brick place over there, Doctor?' I asked, pointing.
'County hospital,' he replied without looking.
'You ever go over there, look around, introduce yourself?'
He managed a thin smile and flapped his empty cuff at me.
I said, 'Might be a place where a smart man might do a lot of good.'
His eyes flashed, then averted. 'Look, Detective Ryder, I've thought about going over there ' He stopped himself, as if he'd been working on the sentence but didn't know how to end it, words in progress, subject to revisions.
I stepped from the porch. 'Hell, Doc, half the time I'm unsure of my own name, but I do know that one good brain and one good hand are a lot more than many people have.'
Caulfield glanced at the building and took a deep breath. 'Yeah. Maybe one of these days I'll show up on their doorstep. See what's what.'
I walked to my truck and dug through my traveling bag until I found a cotton shirt. It was white, it was clean, and it was short sleeved. I tossed it up to Caulfield and he trapped it against his chest.
'Maybe it's time to shed the mourning shirts,' I said. I climbed into the truck and started the engine. I put the truck in reverse and flipped a wave. He hadn't thrown the shirt on the ground, that was something.
'Detective Ryder,' he called as I started to back away.
I stopped and leaned out the window. He said, 'I was just wondering, does that one guy still work at the morgue? The angry man?'
I nodded. 'Walter Huddleston. Yes. He'll probably be there until he dies. I imagine he'll be a hundred and twenty.'
Confusion furrowed Caulfield's brow. 'Walt Huddleston the diener?
Angry? Not that I ever saw; a charming man, we got on famously. He took me to lunch one day and we discussed opera; I'm a buff, but he shamed me with his knowledge. No, I'm talking about the viscerally angry guy, short fellow, kind of stubby body, thinning hair…'
My turn for confusion. 'Will Lindy?'
Caulfield's eyes darkened at the name. 'Lindy, that's it. He was friendly and businesslike when Dr. Peltier introduced us, but when we were alone he wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't look at me, just skulked and muttered. Gave me hard looks from a distance. I'm positive I saw him spying on me a couple times.'
'Are you sure you mean Willet Lindy, the administrator?' It didn't make sense.
For the first time during my visit Caulfield looked truly unsettled.
'The only thing about working there that gave me pause was him. Scary guy.'
I nodded vaguely, but inside my head was a windstorm of shifting conceptions. Will Lindy, scary guy. The words didn't go together, were nonsense. Scary Lindy guy Will. Guy Lindy Will scary.
But Caulfield had come up with: Will Lindy = Scary guy. A equation I had never thought possible for anyone to make.
Willet Lindy?
CHAPTER 31
Suddenly, I had no idea who Will Lindy was.
Was he the quiet, reserved Will Lindy I'd known for a year? Or Caulfield's Will Lindy: sullen and angry? My Will Lindy was unwaveringly polite, Caulfield's was a spy in the shadows. Mine was consummately pleasant; Caulfield's stared daggers from a distance.
Which was the real Will Lindy?
Willet Lindy. Will Lindy… The name echoed in my head. Willet. Will.
Willy. On Burlew's broad back: Willy-Nilly, and Will it be big Boston or Little Indy?
I heard the sound assert itself in my head.
Will it… Willet. Oh, Jesus.
Maybe it's not the meaning of the word, but the sounds.
Will it be big Boston or Little Indy? Will it. Willet. Then cut the itt from little and you had… l'indy. Willet Lindy, hidden in the mad scrawlings on Burlew's back. My heart raced in my throat as I weighed the possibility of coincidence, of my need to make sense of something, anything.
But what if… What if Will Lindy doesn't want Caulfield at the morgue, for some reason hates him so much he can't conceal it. Hates him so much he wants to harm him. But he can't get to Caulfield: the man's with Clair most of the day and in an expensive and secure motel at night.
So he waits. After the hiring Lindy attacks Caulfield's hands. He knows Mueller, or simply selects him at random. Through his work at the morgue Lindy knows several chemicals can mimic a coronary. Plus he's demonstrated skills with everything from plumbing to electronics.
A basic explosive device with a spring-loaded trigger and powder from a shotgun shell would be simple, the materials at any hardware store, directions rampant on the Internet. Clair is scheduled for the morning autopsy, but Lindy knows she traditionally offers the new hire the procedure. Lindy waylays Mueller, inserts the bomb, administers the chemical, and calls 911. Mueller ends up at the morgue, where Caulfield opens the body and triggers the device.
My God, this makes sense Why does Lindy want Caulfield out of the way? Why doesn't he want him to have the job? Because he either hates Caulfield for some unknown reason, or he wants someone else to have the position.
There's only one other contender.
Ava.
I jabbed at the phone, missing the numbers, nearly swerving off the road into blue sky over treetops. I pulled to the side of the road, took a deep breath, and tried the phone again.
Nothing. An electronic dead zone, cellular limbo. I jammed the truck into gear and fishtailed down the mountain, scaring hell out of a two guys in a truck coming the other way. They honked and cursed and stabbed their
