“He’s working fast. She’s still on the table. Has he made an arrangement with a funeral home yet?”
“No, and I doubt he’ll be able to. He’s not next of kin.”
“Is his name Evan Kovacic?”
The receptionist wrung her hands, though from daily contact Theresa knew that this action came as naturally to the woman as blinking. “No, Drew something. He told me he’s not the husband, but he wants the body, which of course he can’t have, but every time I tell him that, he asks more questions about her death, which of course I wouldn’t answer even if I could. Can you talk to him?”
“Me? I can’t tell him anything either. The autopsy isn’t even-”
“But the phones are ringing off their hooks and this guy just stands there, sniffling, half giving me the creeps, if you know what I mean. I need some help up there. I’ve got too much to do.” She cocked her head as if she could hear the switchboard buzzing, though of course she couldn’t, not without some sort of psychic ability.
“But I-”
“Please?” the receptionist added, then piled on more hand-wringing until Theresa relented.
“Good luck,” Don said. “I’m going to stay here and hide some more.”
Theresa folded the jeans over their hanger and shoved the whole clothes rack into the storage room, locking the door. The receptionist waited, bobbing her head in gratitude, and then led the way back to the front lobby. Theresa had to trot to keep up.
The man waiting there could have used another ten pounds and a J. Crew catalog. And a box of Kleenex. Straight brown hair hung past his shoulders. He paced the worn linoleum with fists plunged into the pockets of a jersey jacket, the outline of each finger visible beneath the taut cloth.
“Mr.-?” Theresa prompted.
“Drew Fleming. I’m here to claim Jillian’s body.” He made no move to shake hands and neither did she.
“Jillian’s not ready to be released yet.” She did not tell him that Jillian currently lay on a table in the autopsy suite with her torso flayed open for all to see. “If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Fleming, are you here on behalf of Evan Kovacic?”
“I wouldn’t cross the street on behalf of Evan Kovacic.” The man shifted from side to side and had difficulty meeting her eyes for more than a glance. She would assume the influence of some drugs, but his words were clear and his pupils weren’t dilated or jumpy. He was not under the influence but crying, lightly and without pause.
“He
“The guy she married, yeah, I know that.”
“Then I’m afraid-”
“Because I loved her! Not him! He never loved her. He probably won’t even claim her body.” His eyes welled up, making the blue irises even bluer, and a shudder ran through his body. “
Theresa considered him, balancing the discomfort of conversing with a distraught bereaved with a sudden and intense curiosity about the circumstances of Jillian Perry’s life, as well as her death. It was not Theresa’s job to talk to witnesses, but on the other hand, no rules prohibited same. “If you’d like to come upstairs, Mr. Fleming, there’s a conference room where we can talk.”
He followed her without a word.
Once they were settled in the central conference room, a musty-smelling area furnished in dingy 1950s decor, she asked, “How did you know Jillian was dead?”
“I think I’ve known for four days. Everyone said she was nowhere to be found-”
“Who’s everyone?”
“Her work, Evan-”
“You spoke to her husband?”
“Yeah. He’s in the apartment in the evenings, though I used his cell too.”
“He didn’t mind you calling?”
Drew Fleming seemed surprised by the question. “Why should he? She married him, not me. Anyway, no one knew where Jillian had gone and I knew she’d never just walk off and leave Cara. She was an excellent mother. Even if she’d had some kind of total freak-out and run away, she’d have told me.”
“But how did you find out that we’d found her body?” Theresa persisted.
“I checked in with Vangie at the agency, to see if they’d heard from Jillian, and she told me.”
“How did she know?”
“Evan called them.”
“He called Jillian’s boss? Ex-boss?” In the first few hours after learning his wife was dead? Most people would be too busy with family members and funeral arrangements. But then perhaps they didn’t have much family.
He snorted and gave a hopeless chuckle. “Yeah, but did he call me? No.”
Legal complications could no doubt ensue from questioning a witness without his lawyer or a reading of his rights, except that Theresa was not questioning a witness, she was gathering information about a victim’s history and possible state of mind. Therefore she asked without hesitation, “When did you last see Jillian?”
“Last Friday. I went to visit, she made lunch.”
“Was Evan there?”
“At work. Out in the barns, I guess.”
She left that for a moment, shuffling topics as she’d seen her cousin do. “How did Jillian seem that day?”
A burst of laughter floated up the hallway from the busy records department. Theresa’s stomach rumbled. Fleming seemed to be thinking back, and his eyes grew wet with each memory. “Fine. Cara had been spitting up a lot, Jillian worried about that, but she’d gained another pound and she had just had a checkup. Cara’s perfectly healthy, her doctor said so. She got a new pair of shoes-Jillian did-at DSW and she loved the color, but they rubbed on the back of her ankles, so she planned to take them back. She complained about not having any sunlight for so long, not that she gets that seasonal affective disorder or anything, but the gray skies get to everybody by this time of the year. Does it always smell like that in here?”
“Yes, it does. She didn’t seem upset or worried about anything in particular, then?”
“Just being married to Evan.”
“Why would that upset her?”
“Because he didn’t love her! He just wanted a piece of eye candy to show off to his clients and his friends, none of whom have matured past the age of thirteen. They play games all day, for Pete’s sake.”
“I wouldn’t think a woman with a newborn would be ideal eye candy.”
The man gave her a pitying look, as if sorry for anyone who could be that clueless. “Jillian would be eye candy if she had five newborns, if she were ninety, if she had leprosy.”
Theresa had seen Jillian’s picture, and felt he overstated the case. “You dated Jillian before she met Evan?”
His gaze dropped. His finger traced the fake wood grain on the table. “Not really, no. We were friends. We’ve been friends for four years, since we met at Tri-C.”
The local community college. His occasional lapse into the present tense when referring to Jillian didn’t surprise Theresa. Most people had trouble adjusting immediately after a death.
“Did Evan know you came by to visit his wife?”
“Sure.” Again the surprised tone.
“Jillian told him? And he didn’t mind?”
“Like I said, why should he? She married him, not me.”
Drew Fleming and Evan Kovacic, Theresa thought, were either very, very modern or very, very old- fashioned.
“You’re sure Jillian told him?”
“Yeah, always. Besides, I ran into him on my way out of the building that day.”
Drew showed up for lunch and was still there when Evan came in from work? Or did Evan pop in and out all day? “What happened?”
“Nothing. We said a few words.”
“About Jillian?”
“No, about Polizei.” At her blank look, he added, “His video game. The one that made all the money. He’s
