Already Gone

– 14 –



The coroner leads us back into the office. He takes a white binder off the shelf and starts flipping through pages. Nolan leans against the doorway, and I sit on a wooden chair in front of the desk.

The coroner reads the names of two funeral homes close to my house. “Do you have a preference?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He writes one of the names on a piece of paper and tells me he’ll have Diane’s body transferred down in the next twenty-four hours. Then he says, “Have you decided on burial or cremation?”

“He doesn’t have to do this now,” Nolan says.

“No,” the coroner says. “But state law requires a body be buried, embalmed, or cremated within seventy-two hours of death, so he needs to decide soon.”

“Right,” Nolan says. “But we can still give him some goddamn time before he—”

“Cremation,” I say. “Diane wanted to be cremated.”

The coroner nods and makes a note in the file. “I’ll take care of it.”

Nolan walks out into the hallway.





Before we can leave, the coroner lays out several papers for me to sign. I don’t know what they are, and I don’t ask. All I want is to go home.

I sign the papers.

The coroner takes a small envelope from his pocket and slides it to me across the desk. “Her personal items.”

I pick it up and open the flap.

Diane’s wedding ring is inside.

I feel my throat close. I swallow hard, then fold the envelope and slide it into my pocket.

I don’t want to look at it, not here.

“Are we done?” I ask.

The coroner closes Diane’s file and says, “We’re done.” Then he gets up and leads us out of the office and down the hall toward the metal door at the back of the building. “Detective, I’ll have my report sent to you within the next forty-eight hours.”

Nolan starts to say something, but the coroner ignores him and opens the back door. He stands to the side and waits for us to walk out. Nolan thanks him for meeting us so late.

The coroner nods and closes the door.

Nolan turns away and mumbles, “Nice f*cking guy.”

I pretend I didn’t hear, then start up the steps to the parking lot.

When we get to the car, Nolan says, “Do you want me to drop you off at home, or is there someplace else you’d rather go?”

“Like where?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you might want to be around friends tonight.”

I tell him I want to go home.

We get in the car and drive back to the city in silence. This time, the bottle stays closed.

By the time we come out of the mountains, I’ve gone over the situation a dozen times in my head. I want to remember everything, starting with the night I was attacked and ending with seeing Diane in the morgue.

The more I go over it, one thing seems clear.

Diane is dead because of me.

I don’t want to believe it, but it’s the truth and it sinks into me. I can’t shake it. A few minutes later, another thought occurs to me, this one even worse.

“I could’ve stopped it.”

Nolan looks at me. “What?”

“This is my fault, and I could’ve stopped it.”

“There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.”

“When they sent my finger back in that package, I could’ve ended it right then, but I didn’t.”

Nolan hesitates. “I’m not following.”

“One phone call and it would’ve been over. Diane would still be alive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, yes I do.”

Nolan is quiet for a moment, then he says, “I think you should stop before you say anything else.”

“I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Okay, but there are some things I can’t pretend I didn’t hear. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I tell him I do, and for the rest of the trip neither of us says a word.





When we get to my house, Nolan pulls into the driveway. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his card and writes a number on the back.

“My private cell phone.” He holds the card out to me. “If you need to get in touch, call me directly.”

I stare at the card, but I don’t take it.

“Since when are you on my side?”

“There are no sides, Jake. I’m trying to help.”

I almost laugh, but I manage to hold it back. “Sure.” I take the card. “I’ll call you.”

He knows I’m lying, but I don’t care.

From now on, I’m done with the police.

I get out and walk up the driveway to the front door. I watch Nolan pull away, then I turn and sit on the porch steps. I’m not ready to go inside, so for a while all I do is stare out at the dark street and listen to the dying October leaves rustle in the breeze.

Once I think I’m ready, I stand up and go inside. I don’t turn on any lights, and I don’t look around. Instead, I head straight for the kitchen and take a glass from the cabinet.

I open the Johnnie Walker bottle and pour.

When I finish the first, I pour another.

This time, I don’t drink.

I stare at the clean, amber liquid and the light from above the stove reflecting off the surface. I can taste the first drink in the back of my throat, and something inside me clicks. I put the glass to my lips and finish it, then decide it’ll be my last.

I’ve had enough.

I pick up the Johnnie Walker bottle and empty it into the sink. When I find the person behind everything that’s happened, I want to meet him with a clear head.

No more running.

I drop the bottle in the trash, then grab the phone and walk down the hall to my office. My address book is in the top drawer of my desk. I search the pages until I find Gabby’s number, then I sit down and dial.

It starts to ring.

I look up at the clock on the wall above my desk.

It’s past midnight.

Late.

The phone keeps ringing.

I rest my elbows on the top of my desk and listen to the familiar voice in the back of my mind telling me this is a bad idea.

This time, it’s easy to ignore.

The phone rings again. I wait for an answering machine to pick up, but it never does.

Hard to tell if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I hit the disconnect button, and the line goes dead.

I take it as a sign and decide to sleep on it before making this kind of decision. The idea of being able to sleep is ridiculous, but at least it sounds good.

I drop my address book back in the drawer, then shut off the light. I’m halfway to the kitchen when the phone rings. The sound echoes through the empty house.

My hand is shaking as I lift the receiver, but when I speak, my voice is steady.

The man on the other end asks, “Who is this?”

I close my eyes.

He was screening his calls.

Of course, he was screening his calls.

He asks again.

This time I answer. “It’s Jake Reese.”

Silence for a moment, then a short laugh.

“Well, what do you know,” Gabby says. “I was starting to think you were dead.”