Chapter Six
CJ made the right turn off Arcadia Circle into the parking lot of the Forensic Sciences building.
The two-story redbrick structure stood in the center of the divided parking area with only the few contractor-planted trees surrounded by ornamental grass as landscaping.
When CJ had lived here the autopsies had been done in Birmingham or Montgomery. Some things, it seemed, had changed.
As promised, Braddock was waiting. With his neatly pressed khakis, navy polo, and polished leather shoes, he could have just left the golf course after a few holes with his buddies.
Or gotten out of the informal service at the big Methodist Church on Whitesburg where the thirtysomethings gathered to see and be seen.
But Braddock didn’t play golf or go to church.
No. The well-educated and notably arrogant major crimes detective spent all his time making sure justice was served.
On his terms.
Regardless of the cost to others.
A burst of outrage tightened the muscles of her face. She should appreciate that any member of Huntsville’s Police Department had shown up at all . . . but she didn’t. She didn’t trust the motive or the man. He wasn’t here because he cared. There had to be something in it for him or his reputation.
CJ shut off the engine and pushed away the anger. She exhaled a weary sound. All she had to do was get through the next few minutes.
Then she never had to see Kevin Braddock again. Ever.
She got out of the rental. Braddock pushed away from his SUV and strode in her direction.
His eyes were shielded by designer sunglasses.
She couldn’t recall offhand the brand, but she’d seen the hotshot surgeons around the hospital sporting similar ones.
Nothing was too good for the self-important detective.
“CJ.” He paused a solid eighteen inches of asphalt away. She’d ordered him out of her personal space enough times that he’d apparently finally gotten the message.
Still, the subtle scent of his familiar aftershave and the domination of his tall frame seeped into her senses.
Reminded her of those few evenings they’d shared.
Dinner and conversation. He’d said all the right things .
. . made her yearn for more. Made her rethink the prospect of an actual relationship in her life.
Good thing she’d gotten that painful wake-up call in the nick of time.
She stared at him now, too numb to feel the anger the mere mention of his name usually generated. That he didn’t bother removing his eyewear was irrelevant. She knew how brown his eyes were. Intensely dark, completely unreadable, and entirely too observant.
And completely capable of deceit.
She adjusted the strap of the bag dragging at her shoulder. “Braddock.”
His hands slid into his trouser pockets as if to ensure he didn’t make the mistake of reaching out to her. “I know this is difficult. Like I said on the phone, you don’t have to do this part—”
“I’m a doctor, Braddock.” She shoved the car door closed and squared her shoulders.
“Bodies are an integral element of what I do every day. I’ve seen my share of mutilation, assault, and more degrees of decomposition than I care to list, so let’s just get this done.
” Her lips compressed into a hard but shaky line.
She didn’t want Braddock or anyone else identifying her sister.
CJ needed to do this herself. Be strong. Go through the steps. Don’t think.
Braddock studied her a moment. Did he think she should be crying on his shoulder? He just didn’t know. She had been through this before with her mom. She’d always done what she had to do; she would do it now. Taking care of Shelley was her responsibility.
Too bad she’d failed so miserably.
Don’t think. Just do it.
“All right, then.” Braddock gestured to the side entrance. “The ME is waiting. I had to pull some major strings to make this happen.”
Though she couldn’t care less what hoops he’d had to jump through, she nodded.
Followed as he led the way. She quickened her pace to keep up with his long strides.
He wasn’t carrying a weapon today. His badge and cell phone were clipped to his belt.
No matter that she wanted nothing to do with him; he was her only link to what had happened to her sister.
There were questions she wanted to ask, details she needed to understand, but those could wait a few minutes.
Right now, she needed this over.
She’d managed to pull off the whole I’m-a-professional-I-can-take-it attitude so far, but with the way her insides were quaking, that wasn’t going to last long.
The heat index had to be well over a hundred, turning the city’s miles and miles of concrete and asphalt into a highly efficient oven. Her blouse and slacks were stuck to her skin. Her hair was plastered to the back of her neck.
God, she hated this place.
Inside the lobby, the climate-controlled air chilled her sweat-dampened skin, making her shiver.
Braddock acknowledged the security guard at the reception desk with a nod, then pointed to the double doors marked “Personnel Only.” The guard responded with a two-fingered salute and the doors started their slow swing inward.
The fact that CJ had known for a long time that this moment was a strong probability considering her sister’s lifestyle failed to diminish how much it hurt.
How badly she wanted this to be a misunderstanding.
Why couldn’t it be like in the movies? She would stare down at the body and find that it wasn’t Shelley.
But that wouldn’t happen. Braddock was here.
Beyond those double doors a long white center corridor led to what CJ presumed were laboratories, autopsy rooms, and cold storage units.
The too familiar smells assaulted her. No matter how new or high tech the facility, there was no perfected method to disguise the overpowering scent of preservative chemicals and refrigerated flesh.
A lump rose in her throat.
Her sister was in there . . . in one of those bags inside a deep metal drawer.
Focus on the steps.
A woman, blond hair, tall, buxom, stepped into the corridor. “Detective Braddock,” she said with a smile, then turned her attention to CJ. “Ms. Patterson.”
“Dr. Patterson,” Braddock said, circuitously correcting the woman, “this is Medical Examiner Candice Dobbins.”
“Dr. Dobbins.” CJ extended her hand.
“Dr. Patterson.” Dobbins cast a self-conscious glance at CJ, then gestured to the door across the hall. “This way.”
Dobbins entered storage unit two. She paused long enough to pull on latex gloves, offered a pair to CJ. “We don’t generally allow family members back here, but Detective Braddock insisted.”
“Thank you.” As she tugged the latex into place, CJ’s heart started that desperate pounding despite her best efforts to keep the rate measured and steady. She consciously adjusted her respiration to a slower, deeper pattern in hopes of heading off another adrenaline dump.
Wasn’t working.
Dobbins pulled a chart, then selected drawer nine. The glide of metal on metal hissed as she hauled open the long shelf.
Pulse thumping, CJ moved to one side of the extended drawer unit. She stared at the body bag as if this were her first time seeing one, as if she were watching herself do this rather than actually doing it.
“She’s scheduled for autopsy at the end of the week,” Dobbins explained. “If I can get to her sooner, I will. Preliminary tox screen showed no suspicious compounds or illegal substances.”
Startled from the surrealism, CJ’s gaze met the ME’s. “No drugs?” Shelley had said she was clean in her voicemail, but CJ had assumed that she had lied yet again.
Dobbins shook her head. “No drugs.” She flipped through the chart and continued. “At Detective Braddock’s request, I performed a priority tox screen and a brief visual assessment as soon as she arrived.”
Shelley had told her the truth. For once.
The bottom fell out of CJ’s stomach. Her head started to spin with emotions she couldn’t afford to feel right now.
“There is,” Dobbins said as she prepared to open the bag, “evidence of past physical trauma, bruises from several days to more than a week old, as well as abrasions, scratches, and bruising as recent as a few hours before death.”
CJ managed a nod. “Her ex-boyfriend beat her up pretty badly just over a month ago.” The bastard.
CJ would bet anything he had done this. She turned to Braddock.
“Have you arrested Ricky Banks?” If Braddock hadn’t taken that step already, he was a bigger fool than she’d thought.
“You know what he did to her on a regular basis.” Banks’s mistreatment of Shelley went back more than a decade.
“It’s a miracle this didn’t happen before now. ”
“I’m well aware of Shelley’s relationship with Banks,” Braddock confirmed. “He’s at the top of our suspect list.”
He’d removed the sunglasses. She tried to read what she saw in his eyes, couldn’t. That he shifted his attention away from her scrutiny too quickly suggested there was more he had no intention of sharing.
The outrage that always accompanied any time she spent in his presence stirred. “I want all the details, Braddock.”
He shared a look with Dobbins. CJ’s anxiety level skyrocketed.
Why didn’t he just give her the facts he had?
On the flight here, she’d compiled a mental list of questions she needed to ask.
Between arranging that flight and clearing her schedule at the hospital, she’d had her hands full until she’d collapsed into the seat on the plane.
“You’re aware,” he began, choosing his words so carefully that she couldn’t possibly miss the tactic, “that there’s a lot we won’t know until the autopsy is complete.”
That part she got. The outrage shifted into all-out fury. “But there are things you do know, like who found her? Where was she? What were the circumstances?” Breathe. Her mind kept telling her to look down, to just look at Shelley, but she couldn’t. Not and hold it together.