“There used to be a guy,” Dalton says. “A former resident who stayed on call until we got someone else.”
“Dr. Russell. He passed away five years ago. And before you ask, no, we do not have another former resident who was also a medical professional and willing to be on call. We’ve been through this. We’ve contacted the last two town doctors—”
“Yeah, yeah. They were assholes. I don’t want them back.”
No one mentions Beth. There’s still part of me that might say, in an emergency, maybe she could return, briefly.… But after what she did to me, Dalton couldn’t get her out of Rockton fast enough. And we don’t even know if she’s alive.
I can tell myself the council wouldn’t execute her for her crimes. For the exposure threat she posed, though? That’s why we’re stuck with Diana, isn’t it?
If I say I’m sure Beth’s alive, I’m being naive. Willfully naive? I hate that, but this is how we deal with the bargain we’ve made. We live in our castle, and we protect those within and pretend not to see that the moat is filled with ravenous piranhas. Yes, perhaps, every now and then, someone falls in, but they swim out and wander off. Yes, that’s it. Everyone who leaves is out there, alive and well.
“Perhaps I need to say this slower for you, Eric,” Phil continues. “We do not have a doctor to send.”
“At all?” There’s a note in Dalton’s voice that I know well, and I realize what he’s getting at, but Phil only sighs and says, “I’m going to blame this misbehavior on stress. I understand you are concerned, Eric. I understand how difficult it must be to have Ms. Chavez return in that condition and now to find two bodies that may be connected. But extenuating circumstances aside, there is a limit to how many times—and in how many ways—I can tell you, no, we do not have a doctor up our sleeves.”
“No?” Dalton says. “Not one hiding in plain sight?”
“Phil?” I say. “It’s Casey.”
A soft sigh, relief at the chance to deal with a rational person. “Detective, yes. Hello.”
“I believe what Eric’s asking is whether we have a doctor in town that he doesn’t know about.”
Silence. “Pardon me?”
“Eric is on the selection committee, so he knows who we have here.” Or who you pretend we have here. “But perhaps there’s a resident who asked you not to reveal his or her former occupation. Who was a viable candidate without that professional advantage and didn’t want to practice medicine here.”
“No,” Phil says, “we do not have anyone like that, Detective Butler. For medical expertise you have Mathias Atelier and Deputy Anders. That will, I’m afraid, need to be sufficient.”
*
So we have one psychiatrist who has never practiced medicine. One army medic who has never practiced medicine. Plus one homicide detective who has never even trained in medicine. That is who now stands around the bodies of two dead women. They deserve so much better.
Dalton isn’t with us. He told me he had “to check something.” That’s not squeamishness. The day I arrived in town, they’d brought in a mutilated body, and Dalton had been right in there, like it was a high school science project. Anders had been the one most affected, and at the time, I hadn’t thought much of it, except that he was a deputy, probably unaccustomed to corpses. But as a war veteran, he is accustomed to corpses, and that’s the problem. Show him a body in pieces, and he’s back in that war, what he saw there, and everything that goes with it.
Now we’re looking at these two women, and Mathias says, “The desiccation is interesting. I presume it’s a dry cave?”
“That section is,” I say. “But I haven’t seen anything like this outside a museum.”
“I have,” Anders says. “Desert does the same thing, if a body’s been out there long enough.”
I glance over. His face is impassive, and I have no idea what’s going on behind those dark eyes, but when he notices me looking, he offers a tiny smile and mouths, I’m fine.
“Abbygail’s arm was like this,” Anders says. “Not quite as preserved, and with more scavenger damage, but it would have ended up similar to this. So … let’s get to it.” He turns to me. “As the only person with forensic experience…”
I nod and scrub in.
“Will, can you—?” I look over to see he already has a notebook and pen, ready to take dictation.
I remove the women’s clothing, one piece at a time, one corpse at a time. It’s not easy. Some of it has fused to their bodies.
“There’s evidence of decomposition,” I say. “Arrested decomposition, suggesting the killer—” I stop. “Sorry. Detective brain butting in. Just the facts, ma’am.”