She glanced at Arlo, coloring. “He has that scar in the shape of a U on the inside of his right leg. By his groin.”
“Right.” He relayed the information. “She put me on hold. These are good details.”
“For when he’s found dead.”
Arlo looked at her in horror. She couldn’t believe she’d said it aloud. But it was true. She watched all the cop shows. They needed identifying features to match his body to the one lying in a cold steel drawer under a crisp white sheet. She knew there were no sheets, not really, but the image stuck in her brain—Josh cold and silent, unmoving, gaping wide incisions across his chest from the autopsy, his organs dumped in a plastic bag and shoved inside his stomach cavity. He’d done a rotation in forensic pathology; he’d shown her what it all looked like. She didn’t want that, didn’t want them to cut him open, mar that perfect expanse of sun-dappled skin that stretched across his strong chest. It was profane.
No, no, he was okay; she knew he was.
“I don’t want an autopsy. Tell them, Arlo. Tell them.”
Arlo hung up the cell phone.
“You didn’t tell them,” she said dully.
“Aubs, let’s cross that bridge when—if—we need to, okay? They said to call back tomorrow if he doesn’t show. They can’t file an official missing person’s report for twenty-four hours. We’re just going to have to keep looking ourselves.” He helped her to her feet. “We can go to the station, see if a personal plea will work. I can throw my boss’s name around, too.”
Arlo smelled like vomit. What if the police arrested him for being drunk in public? It would be her fault. All her fault.
“Arlo, you might want to change, maybe brush your teeth.”
He started, looking guilty. “Yeah, I’m probably pretty rank. I’ll take some gum if you have it.”
She didn’t have gum, but managed to dig out an old roll of spearmint Life Savers she’d left in her fancy bag the last time she’d carried it. She gave it to him.
“You’re a good friend, Arlo.”
She saw him shaking his head. He popped a Life Saver in his mouth and started to crunch it to pieces.
“Josh’s been my best friend for years. I’m as worried as you are.”
“I want to go home,” Aubrey said. It wasn’t so much a statement as a whimper. She cleared her throat and spoke again, stronger this time. “Let’s go to the house first, Arlo. Maybe he did leave me behind, maybe he did go home. We need to check there, too.”
Arlo hit himself in the forehead. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m not thinking clearly. We should do that before we go to the CJC. Maybe he just got tired and decided to go home, and he’s passed out.”
Neither one of them believed that, but doing something was better than sitting around doing nothing.
CHAPTER 19
Aubrey
Today
Aubrey had the phone to her ear, listened carefully to Tyler’s story.
“All I heard was bits and pieces, braggings. Word was some med student at Vanderbilt had gotten himself mixed up with some folks who were really bad. He had access to drugs through the hospital. Oxy. Hillbilly heroin. They’d talked him into doing some work for them. Dude sounded mobbed up. That’s all I know.”
“Why do you think he was talking about Josh? It could have been anyone in the program with access to the pharmacy, right?”
“Maybe. But the timing fits. And someone did kill Josh. These men, they aren’t nice, Aubrey. It wouldn’t be the first time they killed someone who got in their way.”
“Jesus. When did you hear this?”
“Last week. I was in the temporary holding cells down at -County, waiting for my parole hearing. We got stuck there overnight—remember that awful storm we had? With the tornado warnings? The guy was telling some wild stories, but this one sounded . . . plausible. Oxy is hard to get nowadays. Someone with access to the pharmacy would be invaluable.”
“Why didn’t you come to me immediately?”
“Do I look like a carrier pigeon?”
“Tyler, stop it. I’m serious. If you heard something that might explain what happened to Josh, you should have come to me right away. Or called.”
“And say what? ‘Hey, sis, I overheard some guy in the jail cell next to me claiming he heard there was a Vandy doc running drugs’? You would have thrown me out the door even faster than you did. Besides, I came, didn’t I? I told you. Not that it matters. It’s too late now. Even if he was involved, dude’s dead.”
She bit back her retort, took a deep breath. “That dude was my husband. Give me names, Tyler. Please. Who told you this? I need to know.” So I can track them down and talk to them myself. Wring their fucking necks.
His tone changed, as if one of his so-called friends had shown up and he started showing off. “No idea, beyotch.” He hung up on her.
She tossed the phone onto the table next to her and sat back onto the couch. She felt sick.