Working Stiff

of intimacy.

Heidi’s predicted five-minute arrival time for Larry turns out to be closer to ten and I’m feeling a little hungry. So I kill time by rummaging around in the station refrigerator, where I find several canned sodas, a brown bag covered with grease spots, a moldy orange, half a dozen containers from the local Chinese restaurant, and a partially used tube of Preparation H.

Larry arrives as I’m sniffing the congealed mass in one of the Chinese containers. “I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,” he warns. I toss it back in the fridge and greet him with a hug. “You look great,” he says, holding me at arm’s length. “How have you been?”

“Been good. Up and down.”

“I’m very sorry about you and David. It’s never easy when a marriage hits the rocks and I guess it’s even harder when you find out your husband’s a murder suspect, huh?”

That’s Larry: blunt and to the point. Back in high school he was chosen Most Likely to Not Go Into Public Relations or Politics. His honesty is a trait that annoyed his wife to no end, a factor that contributed heavily to the divorce. But it is one of the things about Larry I happen to like best. I never have to worry about whether he is holding something back or saying one thing and thinking another. In Sorenson, where most people thrive on gossiped half-truths and vague innuendo, Larry’s candor is refreshing.

“It hasn’t been easy,” I admit. “But I’m holding my own.”

“I bet you are,” he says with a smile. “You’re a survivor.”

“Thanks, Lar. Listen, I could use a favor.”

“Name it.”

“I need some info from the file on the Owenby case.” I see him wince and quickly add, “It’s for Izzy, for our investigation.”

“You should really talk to Hurley,” Larry says, shaking his head. “It’s his case and he tends to be a bit, uh, territorial about such things.”

“Okay,” I say, thinking fast. “How about if I just ask you a few questions and see if I can get what I need that way?”

He considers this a moment, then says, “Okay. Fire away.”

“What can you tell me about Karen Owenby’s roommate?”

“Not a whole lot. Her name is Susan McNally and she works as a teller at Community Bank.”

“She’s the one who found Karen, right?”

Larry nods. “She was out on a date and returned to find Karen already dead on the living room floor. She was pretty hysterical. We had the paramedics take her over to the ER.”

“Did anyone question her first?”

“A little, but she didn’t know much. Frankly, she was in too much shock to be of much use to us. I understand Hurley interviewed her later on.”

I’d love to know what Hurley found out, but judging from what I’ve seen of him so far, I suspect he won’t be too willing to share. I make a mental note to track down Susan McNally and talk with her myself.

“About the only thing worthwhile we got out of the roomy,” Larry goes on, “is that she and Karen were both pretty fanatical about locking their doors. Given that there was no sign of a forced entry, it’s certainly possible, maybe even likely that Karen knew her killer.”

Another nail in David’s coffin. “One other thing, Larry. Hurley told me there is an eyewitness who saw David leaving Karen’s house on the night of the murder around the time she was killed. Was it the roommate?”

“Actually, we don’t know who the eyewitness is.”

“What?”

“Hurley isn’t being totally up-front with you. We’re not sure there even is an eyewitness. All we have is an anonymous woman who called to say she saw a man leaving Karen’s house between eleven and twelve that night. She identified him as David, said she was a patient of his and that’s how she recognized him. But she didn’t leave her name and the call was placed from a public phone, so we have no way of knowing who she is.”

I’m beginning to see what a master manipulator Hurley is. “Thanks, Larry. You’ve been a huge help.”

“Glad to be of assistance. Anything, anytime. You know that.”

“You’re too sweet.”

He blushes and his eyes sparkle. “Hey, listen. Why don’t we get together some night for dinner or something? Catch up on old times.”

The invitation sounds innocent enough, but given my history with Larry, I figure it’s better to play it safe. “I’m not much for socializing just yet, Larry. It’s too soon. I’ve got too much going on, too much to digest.”

He stares at me and I can see the disappointment in his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not seriously thinking about getting back with David,” he says.

“I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“You know that Owenby woman was pregnant, don’t you?” The pain I feel at his words must show on my face because he immediately slaps himself on the side of the head. “Oh, Christ, Mattie. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m such a jerk. I didn’t mean to throw it in your face like that. Besides, it was a stupid question. Of course you know. You work at the ME’s office.”

“Yes, we know about the pregnancy,” I tell him. “But we don’t know who the father is yet. It’s possible that Karen was sleeping with more than one person.” My defense of David sounds feeble, even to my own highly subjective ears. Why am I trying so hard to hang on, grasping at so many straws? Why can’t I just let David go?

“Well,” Larry says, chucking a finger under my chin, “I can see you’re pretty ambivalent about all this. I just hope everything turns out the way you want it to, Mattie.”

“Thanks.” I lean over and kiss his cheek, then give him a wan smile. “Now, if I can just figure out what it is that I want, everything will be right with the world.”

Larry laughs. “If only it were that simple.”

Chapter 16

The next morning, I call Lucien first thing and learn that David spent the night in jail and is, in fact, still there, pending his bail hearing, which is scheduled for ten o’clock. The charge, as Lucien predicted, is obstruction of justice. But he suspects the cops will later drop that charge so they can pursue a bigger one, like first-degree murder.

When I get to work, Izzy and I spend half an hour at the conference table sipping coffee and speculating about both Karen Owenby’s identity and David’s degree of guilt. Then we tackle our one autopsy of the day: a forty-eight-year-old man killed in a head-on collision with a semi. The police think the dead man might have been drunk because witnesses said his car weaved across two lanes of traffic before hitting the truck.

The impact of the collision broke nearly every bone in the man’s body, leaving him oddly deformed, his shape compressed by the tons of steel that closed in on him. I take some comfort in the idea that his death was most likely instantaneous and hope he was drunk, at least enough to have numbed him to the horror of his impending doom. But that hope is dashed when the man’s blood alcohol level comes back as zero.

Then Izzy discovers evidence of a massive coronary thrombosis and a lack of blood in many areas of the body, which means the guy had a massive heart attack and was most likely dead before he ever hit the truck.

It is a little after eleven and we are just finishing up the autopsy when a woman pokes her head into the room. She looks like a flower child right out of the sixties: straight black hair, big floppy hat, calf-length peasant dress, sandals, and a string of love beads that hang to her navel. “Hi there!” she says. “You must be Mattie.”

“I am.”

“I’m Cass. I work here part-time. Answer phones, file, that sort of thing.”

“Nice to meet you, Cass.”

“I have a message for you. Lucien called and said to tell you that your husband is out on bail.”