Chapter 18 #2
I could hear the shrug in Baxter’s voice. “A couple of days ago. I ran into her at the grocery.”
“Lie,” Boone said. “Lie again, and you’ll feel the consequences.”
“What the fuck can you do? I’m already dead.”
“Oh, I think you’ll discover that there are still a lot of ways I can make you suffer.
The soul is a fragile thing, Mr. Baxter.
While I don’t enjoy inflicting pain upon it, I will if that is the only way to get to the truth.
It won’t make me happy, but if you keep lying, I will show you exactly how painful those lies can be. ”
I halfway expected Baxter to push it. He struck me as the kind of guy who’d do something like that just to try and prove he wasn’t scared. The sad thing was, his type was always scared. That was the fire fueling their false bravado.
Baxter let loose another huff, quickly followed by a dismissive “whatever.” After a small pause he said, “Fine, I saw her in the coffee shop.”
“Is that the truth?” I asked Boone.
“I get a feeling it’s his truth.” When I just kind of stared at Boone, he waved a hand in the air and answered, “It’s a truthful answer, I just think there’s more to it.”
“Stalking,” Dr. Stowe offered.
My back snapped to attention, all my muscles tensing.
“I wasn’t stalking her,” Baxter protested. “Clarissa needs someone to watch out for her. That’s all I was doing. I was just making sure she wasn’t getting into trouble and that she was safe.”
Boone’s head cocked to the side, and he gave a slow nod. “That’s his truth.”
That was interesting, but not exactly what I needed to know right now. “And was she safe when you saw her?”
“She was working on her computer. Clarissa’s always working on that thing. She’s finishing up her PhD.” A note of reluctant pride filled out those words. “That was the last time I remember seeing her. God, she’s fuckin’ beautiful.”
Boone shifted, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
When I placed a hand on his shoulder, his smaller fingers covered mine.
“It’s okay. He’s telling the truth, it’s just…
It’s an obsessive type of attraction. I hesitate to call it love, although I’m sure that’s what Clinton would call it.
It’s an uncomfortable feeling. I don’t like it. ”
Message received. I needed to wrap this up.
“Mr. Baxter, did you do anything to physically harm Clarissa Peyton?”
“Of course not.” Baxter sounded indignant by the mere suggestion. “I would never hurt Clarissa.” That was the thing about obsession, Clinton Baxter didn’t see his actions or the fear he incited in Miss Peyton as harmful.
“Truth,” Boone offered before I could ask.
“God, why would you even think that?” Baxter’s indignation ratcheted up a notch or two and caused Boone to flinch again.
I considered throwing out all the times Miss Peyton had called the police, had filed official reports, and told Clinton Baxter she wanted nothing to do with him.
While all those comments would be fact, Baxter would never see it that way.
Knowing he hadn’t been the cause of Clarissa Peyton’s death was enough for now.
Clinton Baxter may not have murdered Clarissa Peyton, but I had a nagging feeling their murderer was one and the same. Maybe Baxter knew who killed him. “Mr. Baxter, do you know how you died?”
Another pause before Baxter answered, “It hurt.” His voice was decidedly softer and held a wounded quality. Baxter’s bones rattled before settling again.
Boone rubbed a hand over his chest while wincing. “His chest hurts,” Boone said.
“That makes sense.” Dr. Stowe pointed to the cuts along Baxter’s rib bones. Boone nodded like he understood.
“I’m sorry to ask this, but do you remember any details about the person who did this to you?” I didn’t use the word murder. That singular word carried a lot of emotion.
“I… It happened fast. And slow.” I let Baxter chew on that comment for a moment and wasn’t disappointed when he clarified. “The attack came quickly, but I didn’t die quickly. It was… It hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” Boone said before I could.
Baxter grunted something unintelligible.
“Do you know who attacked you?” I asked.
“No.” One simple word that sank my stomach.
“I was in my house, scrolling through social media. I like checking out the new photos Clarissa posts. I remember being pissed because there was a guy I didn’t recognize in one of them, and the next thing I remember is pain.
Everything was dark and swirly. I… That’s all I can remember. Fuck it hurt.”
Boone leaned over, his hand fisting in his shirt. Mouth open, soft pants exited his mouth as he drew in harsh breaths.
“Boone?” I grabbed his shoulders, my worry skyrocketing. I rarely saw him this reactive.
“I’m okay. It’s just… The pain is really his overriding emotion. It’s so vast. I don’t think Clinton can really distinguish much more.”
“Okay.” I carded my fingers through Boone’s hair. “Let him go.”
Boone’s neck twisted, his bright green eyes questioning. “Are you sure? I can hold on longer. It’s just memories of his pain, not truly my own.”
“Yours or his, right now I doubt there’s much to distinguish the two. I got what I needed. Let him go.”
Boone’s eyelids slid closed, and his mouth pulled tight before he said, “Clinton Timothy Baxter, I release you. Go in peace.” The relief softening Boone’s expression was instantaneous.
Digging in my pocket, I produced a lemon Jolly Rancher and slid it between Boone’s lips. He didn’t question the action and simply took the piece of candy into his mouth. I didn’t like the bead of sweat sliding down his brow. We still had five more souls to go.
“Dr. Stowe, would you mind calling reception and asking if we can get some food and sodas delivered?”
“It’s already ringing,” Dr. Stowe answered.
I moved Boone to a nearby chair, easing him into it. “We can stop here,” I offered.
As expected, Boone adamantly shook his head. “You need answers.”
“I won’t argue that point, but I can get them the old-fashioned way.
” It would take more time, but before I’d met and gotten close to Erasmus Boone, I’d worked homicide cases just like nearly every other human in the country.
While I’d never claim to be the best homicide detective out there, I was no slouch either.
Boone offered an understanding grin. “I know you can. But you know me. I like to help when I can.”
“I do know that. What I also know is that you’ll run yourself into the ground doing it.”
Boone’s grin turned into a full-fledged smile. “Pot, meet kettle.”
I started to protest, but the words died on my lips. “We are a pair.”
“That we are.” Boone leaned his head against my thigh. “And I wouldn’t want to be paired with anyone else. This pot is very happy with the kettle he found.”
“Food’s on the way,” Dr. Stowe announced.
Hands pressing against the chair’s armrests, Boone pushed himself up and walked toward the next set of bones. “Come on, Franklin. Momma always said, ‘The sooner you start, the sooner you’re done.’”
Not one to argue with Momma Boone, I dutifully followed Boone, my hand comfortably resting at the small of his back. Eyes slipping closed, Boone said, “Edwin Jonathon Clark, I call your soul back to your body.”
Head tilted back, I stared at the ceiling. John Doe number two now identified. It was Gladys Clark’s son.