Heart of Ice

Clay, I got a couple of leads I need to work in goddamn Spokane. Leaving on Monday, back Wednesday night. Tell the gang to feel sorry for me. At least Nashville has Jack Daniels. Not sure what, if anything, Spokane has. LOL

—Michael

He liked the LOL—laughing out loud—to close the e-mail. It made him feel more fun. Sure, he could be fun.

Chapter Thirty-four

Cherrystone

Casper Wilhelm’s voice was unmistakable. Every word he uttered hit like a punch to the face. The Spokane County medical examiner seemed impatient and a little irritated, which pretty much was the way he always was.

“I don’t like being kept on hold, Sheriff.” Dr. Wilhelm’s smoky, deep baritone echoed in the concrete cavern of the parking garage where Emily imagined he’d gone to make the call so he could light up a Lucky Strike.

A car honked.

Yes, he was smoking in the garage.

“Sorry about that, Doctor.” Emily knew him well enough to acquiesce whenever he chided anyone. Arguing only ensured a long and painful outcome—with the good doctor always right.

“I’m sure you are. But forget it. I’m about to make your day. I think. It’s about the Crawford case. You know, the dead pregnant woman?”

As if she’d forgotten. He must have had Cherrystone mixed up with Detroit or someplace where murders could be confused. In Cherrystone they were an exceedingly rare occurrence. Emily walked to her door, and pushed it shut with her hip.

“What’s up? Tox screen back?”

“Not that. She was clean as a mother-to-be.” He took a drag. “The DNA swabs came back.”

Emily could feel the doctor play with her a little, or maybe just dragging it out so he could finish his cigarette.

“Well?”

“Well. If Amanda Crawford was alive, she’d have some explaining to do. Turns out that Mitch Crawford wasn’t her baby’s father.”

Emily could feel the air squeezed from her lungs. “You’re postive?”

“We swabbed Mitch when he came up to do his ‘cry me a river’ routine, and you know the rest. The other part of the picture was on an autopsy table in my lab. Procedure. We ask and if they give it, we call it a bonus. Saves everyone the trouble later. Never paid off like this before.”

“I’ll bet it hasn’t,” Emily said, a mixture of excitement and uneasiness taking over. They chatted a bit more and, then, apparently done with his smoke break, the coroner ended the conversation as abruptly as it had stared.

“I’ll have the reports on your desk tomorrow,” he said.

Click.

“Thank you, Dr. Wilhelm,” Emily said, knowing he’d already gone. Thank you for making my case harder than it had been before.

Jason Howard walked by as Emily was about to call prosecutor Camille Hazelton. She waved him inside her office and indicated to shut the door.

“Don’t go anywhere. You’re going to want to hear this, too.”

Jason slumped into a chair as Emily got Camille on the line.

“You’re on speaker,” she said. “Jason’s here, too. I just got off the phone with Dr. Wilhelm.”

“How was Spokane County’s favorite old cuss? Wilhelm. Not Jason, of course.”

Everyone laughed.

Emily’s eyes met Jason’s. “He’s fine. He had a bit of news. Turns out that Mandy’s baby wasn’t Mitch’s.”

Jason mouthed, “Whoa.”

There was a beat of silence before Camille spoke. “Oh, really? That does make things even more fascinating.”

Emily glanced at Jason, then back at the speakerphone. “I know. I was thinking of springing it on Mitch this afternoon.”

“Let me think on that for a second,” Camille said. The wheels were turning. “Do we use it to shake him loose? Or do we spring it on him later, when we have no other options? It’s pretty hot, so I’m sure we don’t have the luxury of time. You know McConnell is a bear when it comes to discovery.”

“I’m sure.” Emily hated the reminder that Cary McConnell was involved.

“OK. Thought about it. Spring it on him. Also, go back to the scrapbooking girls and anyone else who was close to them. If we tell them what we know, maybe they’ll feel free to share something.”

“People hate sharing the secrets of the dead.”

“True. But they hate letting a murderer go free even more so.”

Emily set down her phone and looked at Jason, who’d done an expert job of pulling in both sides of the conversation.

“Let me guess. I get the scrapbook girls.”

Emily nodded. “I’ll take Samantha Phillips.”

“Who gets Mitch?”

Emily managed a smile, the first one of the day. “We’ll make a party of it. Let’s do it together.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. I’ll do my best. I won’t let you down.”

“You never have, Jason.”

Emily had one more call to make. She knew that the information about the baby’s paternity would leak from the ME’s office. She dialed the number for Amanda’s parents. Hillary Layton answered.

“Mrs. Layton, I mean Hillary, I have some news.”

“You arrested Mitch for Mandy’s murder?”

“No. This is upsetting news, but not that. I’m afraid that the baby that your daughter was carrying wasn’t Mitch’s baby.”

Hillary Layton started to cry very loudly into the phone.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know that this is hard to hear.”

“It isn’t that at all,” Hillary said, calming herself. “I’m so happy that Mandy had found someone to love other than Mitch Crawford. I only wish I knew who it was.”

Emily didn’t say so, but she was thinking the very same thing.

Samantha Phillips was filling boxes with clothing and household utensils in the garage when Emily arrived later that afternoon.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to help,” she asked, looking up from the pile of odds and ends that she was sorting.

“You’re not moving, are you?”

“Oh no. I could never leave here. Bad memories will fade soon, and I’ll focus on the good times with my family. And Mandy. This stuff is going to the Goodwill. The kids get so much crap at Christmas if I don’t clear things out of here, I’ll be featured on TV as one of those crazy hoarders.”