The ME on call was an older woman named Dr. Helen Franks. She looked as if she were continually tired, but then the morgue had been built to accommodate approximately 300 to 350 bodies, but often held over 400.
The death of Jeremy Highsmith had been given a high priority despite the fact that by all initial appearances, it seemed as though he had simply died from a heart attack. With a possible serial killer at work, this autopsy had been moved to the top of the list.
Jackson had told Bryan that Adam Harrison was in town. He was pretty sure that Adam’s presence meant that they would get anything they needed.
What was frustrating was that, even with all the help of the LAPD, they weren’t getting anywhere.
Maybe they were by pure process of elimination.
David Neal had acted criminally, but there was no way that he could have gotten to Jeremy Highsmith.
That left Roberta Alan, Grayson Adair, Vince Carlton and Malcolm Dangerfield.
“Special Agent, Detective... Mr. McFadden,” Dr. Franks said, addressing the three men around her and the split-open body on the gurney. “I will run more tests, but whether he was dating Miss Barton or not...this looks like an accidental death.”
“Is there any way to tell how he digested the drug?” Bryan asked Dr. Franks.
“I’m having the stomach contents analyzed. He hadn’t eaten for perhaps six or so hours before he died. Digestion had begun. But...we’ll see,” she promised them. “His heart...it wasn’t particularly bad. I have a list of his medications. Cholesterol levels seemed under control, but each year of our lives, we’re putting more and more pressure on our hearts.”
“What about the rest of his organs?” Detective Vining asked.
“Sound. Lungs were clear. He wasn’t a smoker. Good kidneys. For his age, he was in good shape.” She sighed. “I know you want more from me. Mr. McFadden, I know that you’re convinced he was somehow poisoned with the drugs or that he was given them by mistake, and yet, I’m afraid I can tell you—I’ve seen it too many times. People don’t realize that more of something isn’t necessarily better. I’m not meaning to be cruel, but the gentleman might have been looking forward to a really nice date, or...”
Her voice trailed. She thought he might have hired a prostitute. Bryan couldn’t blame Dr. Franks for her opinion. This wasn’t something that hadn’t happened before to many an older man anxious to prove he could get it up when he wanted.
“He wasn’t expecting a date.” He couldn’t tell her that he knew it because Jeremy had said so himself. “Mr. Highsmith had been seeing Cara Barton. Men that deep in mourning don’t usually hire prostitutes.”
“People deal with mourning in all manner of ways,” the doctor said. “I’m not judging. Just stating facts.”
“You’re going to find that the pills were ground up and put in his food somehow,” Bryan said with certainty.
There was nothing else he was going to learn from the autopsy.
He looked at Vining. “I’ll go back on guard duty,” he said.
Vining nodded. “We’ll be here.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Bryan promised.
He walked out of the morgue and headed to his rental car, fully intending to head back to the duplex.
But outside the morgue, he hesitated. He called Sophie Manning.
She didn’t answer.
Worried, he called Marnie. She answered right away.
“We’re fine,” she said. “Actually, Adam Harrison just left.”
“Yes, Jackson told me he’d come in. He’s...exceptional.”
“I agree. Bryan, he offered me a theater.”
“A theater? Oh, yes, I should have remembered that he owns one. My mom goes on and on about it—beautiful historic place. He’s giving it to you?”
“No, I’m sorry, not the whole theater. The children’s division of it. It’s mine if I want it.”
“Wow. He’s a fan of yours!”
“I think he’s a fan of yours. I think he put forward the theater as incentive for you to join the Krewe.”
“What did you tell him?”
He realized he was holding his breath. What if they just ran away? What if he swept Marnie up and carried her thousands of miles across the country? She’d be safe. LA—Hollywood—was this killer’s beloved place, his chosen venue, and had to do with his agenda.
Bryan knew it wouldn’t work. The questions would always remain. Blood would literally lie between them.
“I didn’t tell him anything. He didn’t ask for an answer right away.”
“Ah.”
“Do you have an answer yet?”
“I can’t answer about your theater.”
He felt her smile over the line. “About the Krewe.”
“I don’t know. Probably. I think.”
“Then...maybe. Probably. I think.”
A surge of warmth swept through him. He was pretty sure that it was happiness. Was it possible? They hadn’t known each other long enough.
“Are you coming home?” she asked him.
Home. It was thousands of miles away.
And yet it wasn’t. It was becoming anywhere...any place he could hold her in his arms.
They even had a dog.
“Soon. I have to stop by the police station. Any more Cara or Jeremy sightings?”
“No. All is quiet.”
“I will see you soon.”
Before he’d even hung up, Sophie was on the line, returning his call.
“I need to look at some of the video footage of Cara’s murder again,” he said. “Can you help me?”
“I was about to head out,” Sophie said. “But for you...”
“I don’t mean to ruin your life.”
“At the moment, this place is my life. Well, it’s more of a life—than my life. Never mind. Ignore me. I’ll be here.”
*
“Marnie, are you good with a conference call?”
Grayson Adair wasn’t going to let it rest.
“Grayson—”
“I have Roberta, Malcom Dangerfield and Vince Carlton on hold. Conference call?” he asked.
She was already outnumbered, she knew.
“No matter what we say—”
“You’ll have to talk to the cops, the agents and Bryan McFadden,” Grayson said.
“Right.”
She heard a click as she was connected with the others.
“Okay, so...we’ve spoken with the organizers. Everyone is devastated. Everyone loved Jeremy—those of us who knew him loved him as a friend. Those fans who didn’t know him, well, they still loved him. Marnie, he died of natural causes! Heart attack!”
She was glad there seemed to be no news out about the true cause of his death or the reason he had the heart attack.
“He’s still dead,” she said.
“But you knew him. He’d love it. And Cara would love it.”
“Would love what?”
“The entire convention stopping at noon tomorrow. I have a congregational pastor friend. He’s happy to say a few words that would be inclusive to many religions. He won’t even offend the atheists. We go back—we make money and we survive—and we honor them both, as well. You can give a eulogy if you want...or someone else can talk. We can allow the fans to mourn, and even if a fan isn’t a best friend, it’s still important. People need to have those they love and put on pedestals. And what if, by some chance, they can look down from heaven... Cara and Jeremy both would love it.”
“I’m happy to be a part of anything you want to do,” Malcolm Dangerfield said.
“He’s not being crude, really,” Roberta said.
Vince Carlton cleared his throat. “Marnie, it will be truly tasteful. At noon, they’ll announce a moment’s silence for the beloved stars of Dark Harbor so recently lost. And the pastor will speak. And anyone else who wishes to speak may do so—well, by anyone, I mean any one of us.”
“I don’t know,” Marnie said. “I don’t think it would be in the very best of taste.”
“That’s because you have other options. You were smart enough to sock money away,” Grayson said. “And good for you. All hail Princess Marnie, who was just talented and smart—right from the very beginning. Marnie, I am honestly sorry. But I have to live. Please. Jeremy would not mind.”
“Too bad we can’t ask him,” she said.
Then again, maybe she could ask him.