Perfectly Evil Three

Chapter Ten

Deuce and Nick found the detectives working the Barrows’ case at a regular cop and fireman haunt, the Code Red. It was a bar owned by a handful of officers from a few years back. The owners kept changing as one person sold his shares in the business to another, but one thing remained constant—it was a cop shop and a favorite haunt of the local fire unit.

Deuce nodded to the bartender when they entered the bar. The young woman with her beautiful auburn hair and clear blue eyes nodded back as she went to a refrigerator for two tall ones. Deuce’s eyes never left her, even as Nick pulled his partner down the long bar, having spotted the other two detectives with a few Vice cops watching the Sunday game.

Nick shoved his partner onto a barstool as the bartender set two open beers in front of them. “Thanks, Cammie.” Nick smiled politely as his stunned partner just stared.

The young woman nodded to him, but her eyes were on his partner.

“Deuce,” she said in a bell-like tone, smiling at the target of her attention, who visibly gulped. Nick rolled his eyes.

“Man, do not even go there.” Nick warned out of the side of his mouth as the young woman walked away.

“Hey, she’s legal, and I’m clean.” Deuce muttered taking a huge swallow of his beer as he sat back to enjoy his favorite pastime in the Code Red. The freckles sprinkling the young woman’s face made her look sun kissed and beautiful beyond belief. Her body was worth a second look, a tall leggy Irish girl with a smile that promised pure unadulterated wickedness. Damn.

“And her brother is mean,” Nick said swallowing half his beer in a gulp. “You mess with Delaney’s sister, and you might find yourself on the wrong side of the shift commander.”

“Pete isn’t going to do anything.”

“Yeah, tell me that when you’re scheduled for nightshift for three months, and walking a beat downtown in uniform.”

Deuce dragged his gaze from the girl to his partner. “You don’t think he’ll have a problem with me being black-Hispanic, do you?”

“You’re black?” Deuce playfully shoved him. Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “No, but I do think he’d have a problem with you being a hound. Your reputation with women sucks, partner.”

“I’m reformed.”

“Since when?”

“The moment his sister smiled at me.”

“I thought you had a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well that’s looking a bit iffy right now.” Deuce flashed a large brilliant smile at Cammie, who blushed and looked away.

Nick hit his partner upside the head. “Concentrate. We’re working here.”

“Huh?”

Nick gave up. Taking a drink of his beer, he looked down the row of cops watching the game. “Gentlemen.”

“Nick, how’s it going?” said Karl, one of the detectives on Charles Barrows’ case.

“Not bad. I’ve got a strange case, and I think it crosses over into one of yours.”

Deuce leaned on the bar to join the conversation, pulling a bowel of shelled peanuts closer. Eating a few, he tossed the shells on the floor. “Do you remember a graduate student named Charles Barrows? He was in an accident about four days ago.”

“Barrows?” Karl shook his head glancing at his partner.

“The kid that took a gainer off a hairpin in the North Hills area.”

“Oh yeah. We believe he took the Scenic Loop Road and took a few side roads to hook up with the Westside Expressway. He didn’t make it.”

“Accident?” Deuce asked.

“Yeah, or suicide.” Karl winced as he drank the final dregs of his beer. “He went over the hairpin down a nice embankment. Hit a tree. The tree won.”

“You sure? What did the EU Investigator say?”

“Jenny and Lee are the investigators. It appears he was taking the turn, but missed. Problem is there were no skid marks. Lee thinks he might have fallen asleep at the wheel, and that’s a possibility. They couldn’t rule out suicide. Charles Barrows’ parents died in a house fire and he had taken time off from school. It’s not a reach to imagine that he was depressed.”

“Maybe, but I’ve got a coincidence that ties him to another case, and in lieu of that, it makes Charles Barrows’ death suspicious,” said Nick.

Nick’s jaw clenched. It was highly unlikely. The coincidence that Charles Barrows was working on a special project with Roland, who also ended up dead, was too problematic to not have a purpose. Charles called Brian, and then he ended up dead, his message deleted. It all tied together somehow. Had to.

“What information?” Karl’s partner asked. “Which case does it tie to?”

“Maria’s parents’ house. It looked to be a burglary, but Charles left a message for Brian Guerin. Someone erased that message, and what we retrieved tied Charles to Roland Garza’s death indirectly.”

“You want our case files,” Karl guessed.

Nick wasn’t going to take their case, not without their consent. “I need them, yeah, but I can pass the case to you, work with you, or you can kick it to me and Deuce.”

“Maria DeLuca’s involved.” The older detective laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t lie, Nick. You want this case, and if we took it, you would be mucking around in our investigation.”

“So it’s mine—ours?”

“Take it. We’ll drop the file on your desk, but keep us informed.” Karl waved to Cammie for another round of drinks. “For this—you buy the next round.” Nick reached for his wallet. “Nick, seriously, you need help or anything—for Roland and Maria, you only have to ask.”

Nick looked into his wallet. “I could use help with the bar tab.”

“Sorry, buddy. On that, you’re on your own.”

* * *

Deuce amused himself while Nick went to find Maria. He started by stopping at the shift commander’s desk to feel out how the man felt about a cop hitting on his sister.

“Hey,” said Nick seeing Maria reading through a file. He glanced around Maria’s office, noting the pictures and books that used to belong to Roland Garza.

Maria closed the file and slid it beneath a stack of files. “Hey, yourself.”

Nick pursed his lips, his dark eyes taking on a flicker of silver as they went to the pile of files. “The Barrows case…how does it read?”

Sighing, Maria pulled out the case file she confiscated from one of the investigators. She leaned back in her chair, not commenting.

“Does Jenny know you have that?”

“Lee gave it to me.”

“I didn’t ask about Lee. I have no doubt that you can wrap Lee or any other man in the department around your little finger. I asked about Jenny.”

“Technically—no.”

Nick took a seat in the chair across from her desk. “You know you shouldn’t be involved in this.”

“They’re my parents.”

“You know the rules on conflicts of interest, Maria.”

Maria passed him the file. “And if it was your mother?”

“Nothing in hell would stop me,” he admitted. “C’mon, let’s go for a ride.”

Maria stood up, grabbing her cell phone and bag. “Where’re we going?”

“Where do you think?”

“I’ll get my kit!” Hey, a woman that had a week like the one Maria had deserved a bit of fun.

Nick rubbed a hand across his mouth, amused at her reaction. “God, I wished you were as excited about me as you are a crime scene.”

Slapping him on the stomach, she walked out of the room past him. “You highly underrate your attractiveness, Detective. If I found you as part of my crime scene, I promise I would be very excited.”

“Funny. You’re very funny.”

“Yeah, I start riots.”

Nick had no doubt that was true.

* * *

The access road that connected the Scenic Loop Road to the Westside Expressway was a narrow sharp turning road that moved through the north San Antonio hill region. The embankment Charles missed was a good forty foot drop, with a steep embankment running into exposed stone and trees.

The area of impact was obvious from the damage to the surrounding area and trees.

Deuce and Nick stood back as Maria walked the road. She carried the file in her hand with the pictures on top. Leaving them, she climbed down to the crash site. Staring at the scar on the tree, and then looking back up the embankment to where they stood, she stared off into space.

“What’s she doing?” Deuce asked.

“Being Maria.” Nick searched for a cigarette while watching her.

He'd watched her for years, worked with her on and off for years. It took a lot of nerve to finally ask her out after spending forever flirting with her. Few men could break beyond the amount of concentration she gave her job, and those who could, found it disconcerting when that concentration shifted to them. It felt like someone suddenly plugged you into an electrical socket.

The Chief Medical Examiner walked a few feet beyond the site and then up a different slope. They watched as she came out further up the road from them. Walking slowly, she walked up the hill before the hairpin turn.

At the top of the hill, she walked back towards them, but her eyes never left the ground. She met up with them and then walked pass them. Stopping, she squatted down next to the asphalt. Looking back, her eyes moved along the tire tracks.

“Watcha got?” Nick asked.

“Nothing. I got nothing.” Maria stood wiping her hands down her pants legs. “There is nothing here, but there should’ve been.” Maria stopped as if something caught her eye. Stooping, she picked up a small piece of debris from the roadbed.

“What is it?”

“Flecking, it looks to be off a bumper.” Maria looked at the file again making a noise in her throat.

“What?”

“Charles Barrows drove a newer model Buick. I guess he inherited it from his parents when they died.”

“And?”

Maria handed Nick the file. “A bumper is a plastic cover and underneath, a reinforcement bar made of steel, aluminum, fiberglass composite, or plastic. A bumper system also should include mechanisms that compress to absorb crash energy—polypropylene foam or plastic honeycomb, also called "egg crate," is often used. For a bumper to be effective, there must be some distance between the reinforcement bar and the sheet metal it should protect.”

“And this?”

Maria glanced up the roadway where Charles Barrows’ car had careened down the slope not stopping or attempting to brake as it hit the guard rail.

“I need to see the car.”

* * *

Charles Barrows’ car was still in the garage used by the Crime Unit. Maria strode through the garage barely glancing to her side. Taking out her phone, she made a call.

Handing Nick the file, she put on a pair of latex gloves before going to examine the car. Moving quietly in the garage, she went to work, ignoring everything else.

Deuce frowned. “What is she looking for?”

“I’m not sure.”

Maria had circled the car, and she stopped to look at the back bumper and then went to her kit and removed her camera. Checking the exposure setting and load, she began to take pictures. Nick had no idea who she had called until Jenny and Lee entered the garage.

“What’s going on?” Jenny Parrish asked. Lee whispered something to Jenny, and Nick noted Jenny’s reaction, also the high red color on Lee’s face at Jenny’s reaction.

“Excuse me,” the woman said as she stepped through the tape around the car designating the sterile area. “Maria?”

Nick watched as the two women conferred. Maria was a senior investigator, but her promotion to the Medical Examiner’s office took her off the investigation rotation. Jenny had taken her position.

The two women talked for a few moments before Lee joined them, and the three investigators suddenly squatted beside the rear bumper of the Buick. It was a few moments before Maria stood up and took off her gloves.

Lee and Jenny also stood, but they went for their tools before going back to work on the car.

“Maria?” Nick was confused. The other team was working on what they had considered a closed case.

“I need to see the body.”

* * *

Mara came through the swinging doors. “We’re in luck, no autopsy as of yet. Last week was busy, and the accident cases were behind violent crimes in priority. Usually a Thursday accident would’ve been autopsied on Friday at the latest.”

Maria continued down the hall to the autopsy room. Turning, she opened the door for the two detectives. “You coming?”

Deuce reluctantly entered the room with his partner. Watching autopsies wasn’t the high point of his daily tasks. “Damn.”

“C’mon, partner.” Nick hit Deuce on the shoulder.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this on a Sunday.”

“Looks like a normal Sunday to me.”

“Sure, you dated her. I didn’t.”

Maria began working on the body of Charles Barrows after an orderly placed the body on the table. Ignoring the two detectives, she went through the routine inspection of the body before cutting.

“Nick…” she called to him.

Nick and Deuce joined Maria at the table, both glancing down at the body. Charles Barrows had been twenty-four. He looked younger.

“Do you see the midline contusions on the chest?” Maria’s finger pointed at an area that appeared almost as a scrape.

“The airbag?” Deuce guessed.

“You would think. It is consistent with full frontal trauma. The sternum is cracked, and ribs on both sides are broken. I can feel the edges. There’s no sign of other trauma, but…” Maria nodded to Nick to help her. They turned the body to look at the back. “Double lividity. He laid on his back and then again on his chest, more than likely across the steering wheel.”

“What are you saying, Maria? He was moved after death?” Nick helped her place the body back on his back.

“Blunt force trauma from airbag deployment would possibly crack the sternum and ribs, cause some damage and tearing to the mediastinum. Characteristic bruising would occur within the marginal areas of the thoracic cavity while compromised. The median partition of the thoracic cavity, covered by the mediastinal pleura and containing all the thoracic viscera and structures except the lungs, would have felt the push of impact, even with the airbag deployed. There should be bruising along the edges of the anterior, posterior, superior, and inferior borders. The middle would’ve been a collecting zone with a deep pooling effect as the interpleural and mediastinal space fills while blood capillaries and vessels explode.”

“Maria, please…” Nick begged.

“Look at his chest.”

Nick and Deuce stared at the pale bloody chest with a slight bluish tinge almost like a bruise, but lighter—more of a skin discoloration.

“It should be a fierce blue bruise as the blood collected in the space—like a severe beating. The surface discoloration is lividity. When he died he lay on his back for a period of time, and then was placed in the car, and second lividity occurred after the accident, but full blunt trauma to subsequent underlying tissue did not bruise. Notice how the back is discolored, and it shouldn’t be. He was slumped over the steering wheel, so that is where the blood would’ve pooled at death creating lividity.”

“He was already dead.” Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “He was killed, rested on his back until he could be placed in the car, and the accident staged. First lividity was on his back, and second was from slumping over the steering wheel.

“Yes.”

“That makes it murder.” Nick rubbed his neck, closing his eyes for a moment. “A dead man didn’t take his car for a drive.”

“I thought all lividity was a dark bruising.” Deuce asked.

“It can be, depending on the length of time that blood is allowed to pool. Lividity can have from a black and blue or a leaden or ashy gray color, as in discoloration from a contusion, congestion, or cyanosis. This is the ash gray coloring, but on his back…”

“It’s the black and blue,” finished Nick.

“Correct. He laid on his back for a much longer time.”

“So if he didn’t die from the accident, what were the cause and the time of death?”

“That, Nick, is yet to be determined.” Maria picked up her scalpel. “You staying for this?”

Nick and Deuce shared a look. “We’ll wait for the report.”

Michael wasn’t surprised to find her on his doorstep. It was late, and he had an early conference call. Maria seemed determined to interrupt his sleep. Pulling her inside, he didn’t bother to ask. Pushing her down on the sofa, he got them both a beer.

Maria held the cold beer against her forehead for a few moments with her eyes closed before taking a swallow.

Michael sat next to her, loose-limbed, holding his own beer in his hand between his legs, too numb to move.

“I honestly don’t know.” Maria closed her eyes, shaking away the need to cry. “I’m so damn exhausted.”

“Can’t normally, but since I know you’re not involved in it, I’ll give you the gruesome highlights.”

“Right. I can tell you that Charles didn’t die in a car accident. I found a piece of bumper from another car at the scene. Normally, it might or might not be part of this accident, so I looked at Charles’ car.”

“What the other investigators missed—it wasn’t their fault. I already had a suspicion that Charles’ death wasn’t an accident or suicide, so I looked at the accident from a different perspective.”

“The car hit the guardrail and went down an embankment to hit a tree. There was damage on the rear bumper. I could see it from the crime scene picture.” She stretched, easing her tired muscles.

“Bumpers are designed to protect car bodies from damage in low-speed collisions, absorbing crash energy without significant damage to the bumper itself. Low-speed crashes occur by the thousands every day on congested streets and parking lots—the kind of impacts in which effective bumpers can mean the difference between lots of costly damage and none at all. Bumpers have little to no benefit in a head-on collision or one from behind going faster than 5 mph.”

“Right. The bumper on the Buick was consistent with a car made today that doesn’t have a rating better than 2.5 mph flat-barrier test.”

Michael went and got them another beer. Taking her empty, he put it on the coffee table before handing her the other bottle.

“The piece I found was from an older car, expensive and with a heavier bumper. It was a 5 mph bumper. Bumpers used to be stronger. The first federal standards prohibited damage to safety-related equipment in low-speed crashes. Next came a property damage standard, effective for 1979 models that prohibited damage except to bumpers and their attachments in 5 mph flat-barrier tests. Cars made during the 1980-82 model years prohibited all but minor cosmetic damage to the bumper itself in 5 mph tests. The result was bumpers that protected cars from damage in many low-speed collisions, meaning lower and less frequent repair bills.”

“The 1981 Ford Escort is a good example. Its bumpers not only withstood front- and rear-into-flat-barrier Institute crash tests at 5 mph without damage as required by the federal standard then in effect, but also sustained no damage in two more demanding 5 mph tests, front-into-angle-barrier and rear-into-pole. Many recent models, on the other hand, have sustained more than $1,000 damage in such tests. One notable exception is the 1998 Volkswagen New Beetle, the best performer in terms of bumper performance since the 1981 Escort. The New Beetle sustained no damage in rear-into-full-width flat barrier and rear-into-pole impacts at 5 mph, and sustained only minor damage in the front-into-flat barrier and front-into-angle-barrier tests at the same speed.”

Sighing, Michael blinked twice from the long boring explanation. Damn if he hadn’t a lifetime of this type of lecturing from his father.

“Maria, as fascinating as this is, no doubt up there with muzzle velocities, think you can nutshell it for me?”

“Sure. Charles was dead, placed in his car, and then another car pushed his car down the steep hill. Since he was dead already, he was unable to steer the car to make the turn. There were no skid marks, so it led to an assumption that he either fell asleep at the wheel or committed suicide. Either way, he went through the guardrail. Now the other car had to use the hill to gain enough speed so that the Buick would break its traction control since the car had to be running.”

“Most modern cars have it. It's basically the system in the car that helps to decrease slipping and sliding in mud, but it also helps the car maintain an inertia relationship with the roadbed. Most roads built today have a tapering roadbed, and the tires of a car follow the natural grooves of the road, unless the road is old. Charles’ car is a Buick LaSabre. LeSabre's available full-range traction control system controls drive wheel torque to help drivers maintain traction on snow, slush, mud, and gravel. Traction control requires optional ABS brakes.”

“When the LeSabre's powertrain control module (PCM) computer detects excessive front wheel spin, it makes a series of adjustments to help the spinning tire regain traction. First, it applies brakes to the wheel. Then, it reduces power by retarding the spark to all engine cylinders. Next, if necessary, the PCM cuts off fuel to up to three cylinders. Finally, the PCM can elect to slow rotation of the drive wheels by shifting the transmission out of first and into second gear. When traction is restored through any of these intervention measures, the PCM returns full control to the driver.”

“Correct. It was more than a 5 mph torque collision, so the rear bumper was damaged when it shouldn’t have been.”

“He was dead at least four hours before the accident. I almost missed it, but a thin shinny-like instrument was thrust upward under his ribcage, puncturing his liver. The blade was so thin and sharp it barely left a mark, the bleeding was controlled by pressure, and he literally bled out into his abdominal cavity. The normal bruising obscured the entrance wound, but not from the inside. Death took about twenty minutes. He knew who killed him.”

“You really are a science geek.” Why it never occurred to him that she was into the strange and bizarre for a real reason eluded him.

Michael noted the distinction. She wouldn’t lie about science, but other things were questionable. “Nick, does he know this?”

Michael rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers in front of her to get her attention that was fast waning. “No, this information. Did you give Nick the same boring lecture?

“He and Deuce are working the case as we speak. They’re trying to chase down Charles’ last movements before the trail is too cold.”

“Talk to his friends, see what he was working on, especially since we suspect it’s connected to Roland Garza’s death.” Maria kicked off her shoes before finishing the beer. Placing the empty next to her other one, she lay down on the sofa, using Michael’s lap as a pillow. “Tomorrow they’ll run the phone records to Mom and Dad’s house to try to pinpoint when and where Charles called from.”

Michael’s hand went to her hair, brushing it away from her face and behind her ear. “You’re tired. You should go home—sleep. There's nothing else you can do tonight.”

“I can’t. What if I fall asleep and when I wake up, whoever has done this killed our parents looking for whatever Charles sent Brian?”

He was with her on that. He couldn’t stand it either. There were too many mysteries, and the only person who had the answers was a young graduate student in her morgue and Roland Garza, silenced six month previously.

“No you’re not. You’re missing sleep, decent food, and a serious shower.”

Maria barely made it two hours before her beeper woke her. Confused, her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened room. Sitting up in the bed, she tried to place her location when Michael’s voice came from the doorway.

Maria reached for the bedside light. “Where were you sleeping?” she asked suspiciously.

Maria snorted when she looked down at her body. Pulling the blanket up around her breasts, she tucked it under her arms as she dialed the phone. “And my clothes?”

“On the chair.” Michael leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “I would’ve left you in your underwear if you had been wearing any.”

“Highly overrated,” she informed him. “If you never wear any, you never have to clean them.”

“Yeah.” Maria waited until the dispatch operator answered before giving her information. She listened, taking a pen from Michael’s bedside, writing information on the notepad there. Hanging up, she nodded to her clothes. “Please?”

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Maria told the two detectives as she joined them.

“I was at Michael’s. I went to tell him what we found, and instead fell asleep on his sofa. He tossed me in his bed, and for his trouble, he got woken up two hours later.” Maria yawned.

“Necessity is the mother of invention, or in our case, the mother of compromise. Neither of us wants to bury our parents.” Maria snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “We’ll revert to type. What do we have?”

“A young mother was killed on her way home from a convenience store. The night clerk has her time indexed as arriving at five-ten this morning, and leaving five minutes later with milk.”

“Her husband is in

Afghanistan

. She left her sister watching her two small children while she ran to the store for milk.”

Maria nodded, not wanting to hear too much at that time. It made it harder when she looked at the woman’s eyes unblinking in a sightless stare.

Once she entered the crime scene area, all other sounds faded away, and there was nothing but her and the woman—her eyes staring—begging.

I close my eyes and I see these spots, like windows traveling by, all of them covered in pictures—things I should know—people. It’s like in the Wizard of Oz, when Mrs. Gulch bicycles by in the cyclone.

This problem I have, I don’t know when it started, and I sure as heck don’t know when it will end. It will end. It must—one way or another.

I saw myself today on a slab, the y-cut, my internal organs gone, weighed. All I could think was—damn my breasts were too small.

I haven’t been home in days. Gussie called just to check up on me, make sure I hadn’t run away in a torrid love affair with a dentist from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin . I don’t know. I see everything like a thread stretched from here to there, and I honestly can’t say that a life living at the foot of a lake wouldn’t be better for me.

I need rest, but I can’t do it alone. On my own, I am defenseless to the visions, the dead. They haunt me, tell me to get up—get to work. I want—I want…

Sitting there in her office, her eyes moved to the doorway that led to the autopsy room. Somewhere beyond the swinging doors was a woman on a cold slab waiting for her husband to come home from

Afghanistan

to sign out her body for burial.

Was there any safe place anymore? This world bred terrorists and serial killers like viruses, spreading like a disease. There was no morality, no conscience as the innocent were slain. Human life was a commodity easily traded for a cause, a desire, or even a sickness, and there was nothing to staunch the continuous flow of bodies gracing her autopsy table.

Maria made a face, but her eyes lacked their usual smile as all humor had long since fled. “Watcha doing here, Dad?”

Brian Guerin took the chair, holding a small white bag in his hand with a cup of coffee in a nice large Starbucks cup. Maria stared at the bag and coffee as if it were a religious icon.

Brian passed her the half dozen Krispy Kreme donuts and coffee. “Hazelnut, six sugars, two creams.”

“Gussie said to tell you that he finished the upstairs bathroom in the ‘blue’ room.”

“Great. I think I’ll sleep in there sometime. I love a room with its own bathroom.”

“I guess it is very nice. He said he has been swimming in the bath all week.” Maria laughed. “Gussie is your friend, but honey, don’t you think having him do all the renovations inside your home is…”

“Then you’re the only one.” Maria shoved a donut in her mouth in three big bites. “I know I could get it renovated faster if I hired a construction firm, but Gussie—he’s an artisan,” she said with her mouth half full. “The final results, albeit it ten years down the pike, will be well worth the time and money spent.”

“A cathouse?” Brian still couldn’t get over it. Maria had bought a house in the historical district which one hundred years ago had been an all purpose entertainment center of its day, run by a madam. It had been a bar and gambling casino, with rooms and women for rent upstairs.

“Someone had to buy it. I think it’s cool imagining what Marquis de Sade things went on in those rooms.”

Brian laughed, shaking his head. “Honey, that’s Europe . This is Texas . The best debaucheries you’ve got in your renovated ‘house of ill repute’ are some crusty old cowpokes going down on a cantina dancer with their boots and spurs still on.”

“Oh, for the love of Pete! Is everyone in this cursed town a snitch?” Maria stretched her spine. “I was tired. It happened. It’s not like a new habit or anything. I still haven’t mastered spitting through my front teeth.”

“Keep trying, I trust you’ll get there.” Brian nodded to the donuts. “Are you going to eat all six or you going to share?”

“Your mom is all Atkins’ diet crazy. How a man is supposed to think without carbo-loading first is beyond me.”

Brian laughed but his laugh did not reach his eyes. He was too busy looking his stepdaughter over. Maria looked terrible. Her face was pale with dark rings under her eyes, and she was eating the sugar and fats as if she hadn’t eaten in days. The last time he saw her so strung out was when Roland died.

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s like all these pieces are swirling around in my head, and I try them in numerous combinations, but they never seem to fit. As soon as I think I have a good chunk of it figured out, something blows it apart. It’s not like I’m missing something as much as I don’t have all the pieces.”

“Twice a week if possible. I just finished writing in my journal, and my, wasn’t that just a walk in self-involvement! It was a convoluted highway of insanity; I couldn’t even make heads or tails from it. I should just delete it.”

“Time is something I might not have in abundance.” Maria sighed, sitting back, her nervous body suddenly boneless as the sugar and caffeine hit. “I can’t explain it, but this feels utterly personal, Dad. I don’t mean your involvement, that someone broke into the house, or even Charles Barrows and Roland. I mean it feels almost personal to me—like I am the objective or target.”

Brian felt a sweat break out on his neck. “You mean like someone is watching you, gauging your reactions,” he said in thought. This wasn’t good. “Explain that, Maria.”

“No, more like they don’t have to. They already know what I’m going to do.”

“Maria.” Brian’s face shifted, darkened as worry and concern moved across it.

“If I’m going to be a puppet, I want to know who’s the puppeteer and why. I can’t do my work deaf, dumb and blind.”

Well, that Nick sure knew how to make a woman sit up and take notice. Last night, she had been so tired, in desperate need of sleep and comfort. Normally, she would’ve given into temptation and dragged Nick into bed with her, but thankfully, he was out with Deuce following leads.

To stop herself from falling into an old habit, she found herself at Michael’s place instead. It was his fault since he was the one to lecture her on ‘addictions’ and the need to quit smoking Nick’s—um, yeah, whatever. It was doubtful Michael would appreciate knowing that he was her ‘sponsor’ for her Nick addiction.

Nick had their undivided attention. “We got the records back on your phone, Brian. Charles Barrows called you from your own office at the University the night he died.”

Chapter Twelve

Carla, Brian’s secretary, sat at her desk working on Brian’s teaching schedule. Smiling when she saw him the door, she stood to get him his usual cup of coffee, but paused when the others with him filed into the office.

“Brian?”

“Carla, it’s good to see you.”

“You as well. I was worried when I heard about your house. Mariah? Is she okay?”

“Irritated that someone messed up her house, and that she can’t keep clothes on her daughter, otherwise…”

Maria made a face at her stepfather. “Ignore him, Carla. Is there coffee?”

“Absolutely. I’ll get some for...” Carla looked at the two large detectives, “...everyone.”

“No, actually, I’ll get it,” Maria offered. “I think Dad needs to talk to you.”

Deuce smiled as a determined look moved over Maria face. She was off to war. The famed coffee pot was in the staff lounge, and it was a fight to get a decent fresh cup. Squaring her shoulders, Maria did all but roll up her sleeves.

Going to the mattress.

Brian entered his office along with Nick and Deuce. Carla followed, but not without flashing a concerned look towards Maria’s back. The Professors were meek and mild people—Maria was not.

“Carla, did you notice anything out of the ordinary in my office last Friday?”

“No, I came in as usual, opened the doors at eight in the morning, and by about a quarter after there was a run of phone calls, mostly from students wanting to know if the rumors about you being missing were true.”

“Wait,” said Nick. “It wouldn’t have been Friday. The phone call took place Wednesday night. No one discovered Barrows’ body until mid-day on Thursday when a cruiser unit stopped to investigate the broken guardrail. They pulled the body and car by early evening.”

“When did Maria get the call?”

“Early Friday morning. She spent the day in Houston , barely getting back and in bed before the call woke her.” Deuce double-checked his time table.

“ Houston ?” Brian sat down in his chair and began to pilfer through his drawers.

“She was testifying in a case that had a change of venue. She didn’t receive Charles’ body. By Friday, she was off looking for you.”

Maria and Michael had found Mariah and Brian in Grand Marais by late Friday, and after spending the night, they all had driven back to Sault Ste. Marie to return the rental car and take a late afternoon flight home.

Maria had returned to work to find Nick and a new case. She worked late. After work, she had gone to El Diablo to dance, and that was where Michael found her.

“Do you remember anything unusual about Thursday morning when you came to the office?” Deuce asked.

“No.” Carla glanced around the room trying to remember that day. She had brought in the mail and sorted it, leaving all personal correspondence on the desk. The plants had needed water, and …

“The storage cabinet was open.”

Brian went to the small bank of cabinets. “Which one?”

“The middle cabinet. The door was slightly ajar when I came in to water the plants.”

Brian opened the cabinet. It contained his investigating kit, cameras, both film and digital, collecting specimen bags, vials with liquid, luminol, tweezers, and other tools. There was a special infrared scope, and extra ammunition for his revolver.

“Brian?”

“Nothing, Nick. It’s all here. I don’t see anything missing.”

Maria rejoined them toting five cups of coffee. Passing everyone a cup, she glanced into the cabinet. “Did you find anything?”

“No.” Brian shut the door. “This is the only thing Carla found out of place.”

The group slowly went through the office looking for any possible clue or a note that Charles Barrows may have left. There was nothing.

“He broke into the office, used the phone, and left a message on your home phone,” Maria sipped her coffee, pacing the room. “There has to be something. If he left information—I’m assuming a case file, then where would it be?”

“Maria, I’m telling you, I don’t know.”

Nick watched the interaction. Taking Maria’s coffee from her, he took a sip having already finished his own. “I think, Brian, that Maria is saying that if Charles was afraid for his life, he would leave it somewhere that he knew you would look.”

“Maybe the clue was in the message he left on the machine,” Maria pointed out. “And, even if it might have led you to where he left the information, we can’t know for sure that the part that contained the clue wasn’t lost when it was deleted.”

Brian scratched his brow, irritated by how helpless he felt. “No we can’t.”

Deuce pushed his jacket back as he put his hands on his hips. “He had to come to you for a reason, Brian. For some reason, he felt you would get the clue.”

Maria stared at her stepfather, “That’s because whereas the rest of us might be good, Brian is the master. He wrote the book on criminal intent and investigation. If the answer is to be known, then he's the man to do it.”

* * *

Michael finished reading the report Mariah handed him. Setting it aside, he concentrated on his lunch while his stepmother continued her one-sided discussion. Occasionally he would nod, but in truth, he had no idea what she was talking about, because the subject kept flipping. Giving up, he sat back and watched her as amusement pulled the side of his mouth.

“I’m rambling.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Michael answered, not bothering to deny it. Yep, she sure as hell was rambling. It was like a freight train—inevitable that Mariah would wear you down if you got verbally in front of her.

“The companies, what do you think?”

“Two of them, I see potential, but the other four—dump ‘em.”

“Dump them?” Mariah grabbed her investment portfolio back. “Which ones? Did you make notes for me?”

“I marked them.”

Mariah scanned her list, her ‘Oh my god’s’ increasing. “Are you sure about this one? I mean, I thought it looked very stable.”

Michael leaned over to see the one she was pointing to, and nodded. “As soon as possible, and that's all I can say.”

“But,” Mariah bit her lip, “I loved this one. The firm is a small old family firm. It recently changed hands when the old man who started it died. It’s been established in this area forever, and it offers a great diversity of goods, easily…”

Mariah stopped talking when she seemed to hear what she was saying. “Oh, it is a nice prime takeover company with a recent turnover so it has a shaky executive branch. Michael, are you about to take over this company?”

“Mariah, sell. You asked. I told you. There's nothing else I can tell you.”

“Hmm, getting into sticky area here, huh?”

“Only if you want to share a cell with Martha Stewart.”

Mariah closed the file. “I think not. There is definitely something wrong with that woman. No one can do that much decoupage without it causing some type of damage.”

Michael laughed, shaking his head. Before he met Mariah, he wouldn’t call his life boring, just gray. He had no complaints, he loved his life, but now it was like living in Oz, and not the Australian Oz. Everything was slightly off and in living Technicolor.

“Why the sudden interest in your portfolio? I thought you were going to let me manage it.”

“Oh, I would, honey, but I figure you have so much to do already. I have the final plans for the Benefit Dance next week.”

“Didn’t we just have a charity thing a couple of weeks ago?”

“We did, but that was a buffet social thing. This is an actual dance.”

“Which is different from the other one how?”

“There's dancing,” said Mariah, staring at her stepson. He wasn’t usually this dense.

“The portfolio, why are you obsessing over it?”

Mariah sniffed, shoving her folder in her bag. “Obviously, I’m preparing for my grandchildren. I need…”

Michael spit his beverage back into the glass as he coughed violently. Wiping his mouth, he glanced at his concerned stepmother with taciturn eyes. “Pardon me? Grandchildren?”

“Well you are going to have some—I mean in the future.”

“Not the immediate future,” he reassured her.

“But Maria said…”

“Maria? Uh-huh.” Oh sure, he could have painted a picture over this. Of course it was Maria. “What, is she pregnant?”

“Do I look like a crazed grandmother who has immediately registered at Nordstrom’s? No. Obviously not. My child has no interest in providing her poor decrepit mother with the fruits of her loins, or yours, and…”

Michael spit out his drink again, coughing seriously as some of the liquid had gone up his nose. Picking up the glass, he waved it to a waiter. “Take this before it murders me. Bring me a scotch, neat—make that a double—triple.”

“You drink too much.” Mariah observed.

“That is a matter of perspective. From my view, I don’t drink damn near enough. Did you honestly try to talk to me about the ‘fruit of my loins’ and Maria’s, and is that independent or together?” Michael held up a hand. “No wait. If you were, don’t. I’m not going to procreate on a timetable. I would like to find this mythical mother of my ‘fruit’ first, and I am praying to God that it is not Maria.”

“Amazing that you should mention Maria as a contender, I’d never imagine it myself.” Mariah’s mouth opened in indignation. “And what’s wrong with Maria?”

“What’s not wrong with her? Mariah, I love you dearly, but Maria—she is seriously a whack job. Any children with her would possibly have multicolored hair, wear colored lenses whether they needed them or not, live on intravenous caffeine and sugar, and wear their underwear on the outside of their clothes—if they deemed it necessary to wear any at all.”

“Her children will be preternaturally intelligent, able to solve the New York Times crossword in one sitting, and…”

“And will no doubt know the identity of a gun from the bullet and its markings, or all the brands of bubble gum made in the last century from the piece someone spit out.”

“Any children of yours would no doubt be delivered in a pressed Armani with double serge, and a stick up their…”

“I’m not uptight!”

“Oh, yes you are! As uptight as you are, Maria is equally as loose and carefree, and I have hoped—no prayed, that that the two of you would find some kind of friendship, maybe rub off on each other—in a good way.”

“I’m not uptight,” he said miffed.

Mariah stared at his plate. “Michael, you’re eating pasta.”

“That is what pasta primavera is, Mom.”

“Did you not read the literature I sent you on carbohydrates and empty sugars?”

“I’m not going on the Atkins diet. Forget it. I live a high profile life. I need all the energy I can get to make my fortune so I can someday afford these ‘fruits of my loin’ that you so desperately want. Work on Maria; she's the poster child for sugar consumption—actually the Cane Growers Association probably has her picture up in their main office as their pinup girl.”

“I tried. She listened, nodded, and then dumped five pounds of sugar in her tea. It was revolting.”

“If you don’t get her under control, all the sugar loading will probably warp her babies. They'll be hyped up speed demons sucking on Ritalin suckers, with mutated genes.”

Mariah was silent, and maybe he should have felt guilt seeing how her face paled at the thought. He should feel guilty—nope, not even a tinge of remorse. There was a definite C-note in his wallet that said Mariah would seek out Maria immediately and drag her to the doctor for genetic testing.

“Michael?”

Mariah and Michael noted that Richard Abbott had stopped at their table without either of them being aware. Standing, Michael extended his hand. “Abbott.”

“I saw Mariah here and wanted to stop.” Richard smiled at Mariah, his green eyes vivid and intelligent. “I heard that someone broke into your home. Martha was very concerned. It was on the news, and I’m glad to hear that both you and Brian are fine.”

“That’s kind, Richard. Please extend my gratitude to Martha.”

Michael remained standing as the usual platitudes continued, spying an interesting desert across the room. Triple layer truffle with a white chocolate glaze. Hmm. If he ate that, he could run off it for at least another ten hours. Imagine all the work he could get done. Sighing, Michael put that thought away since it was a scheduled dinner night at the parents’.

“Michael?”

“Pardon me?”

“Richard asked about the stockholders meeting.” Mariah glanced over to see what Michael had been staring at, her eyes narrowing when she noted the too rich dessert.

“Next week. My secretary will call with the information,” Michael informed the older man.

Oh, well hell. Michael grimaced. Richard Abbott didn’t appear pleased. He didn’t remember the man being such a stickler when he was younger. His memories of Richard were of his father and Rollie laughing with the man, and their endless late night discussions drinking beer and smoking cigars. Marrying Martha Cooper hadn’t been a good move for the man’s personality.

Proof that marriage warped and distorted a man’s better judgment. It was best to avoid it at all costs.

“Is there a problem with the company?”

“Not in the least. Last quarter profits were higher than expected, and this quarter looks to be setting an all time high.”

“The company bylaws state that all quarterly meetings will happen within a certain period of time before the next quarter has progressed too far.”

Mariah glanced at her stepson as his body straightened to his full height. Michael was many things, but he was not soft, nor was he a pushover. The Guerin men came from a long line of cattlemen, one-time cattle rustlers turned lawmen and gamblers. They settled Texas in their own way, and there was a lot of his father in him, his father, and his grandfather.

“I am well aware of the bylaws, Richard. I wrote most of them. As the CEO and the major stockholder of the company, I set the time limit, and it will be met.”

“Then I’ll wait to hear from your secretary.” Richard nodded to Mariah.

Michael took his seat, putting his napkin across his lap. When he looked up, his eyes met the worried green of his stepmother’s.

“Don’t push him too far, Michael.”

“I can handle Richard Abbott.”

She reached across the table to take his hand. “I don’t doubt that, not for a moment. Your father and I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. Richard Abbott is an opportunist. He married Martha for her position, her name, and those shares. I think it amuses him to have an interest in your father’s family business.”

Michael squeezed Mariah hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry; I’ve got an eye on him. Richard wants the CEO position. He thinks that despite our family’s shares, he could swing the voting his way if he could hold the position.”

“He’s not close is he?”

“Not by a mile. Maria is pretty much a swing vote, but I vote her shares, as I vote Dad’s shares and yours. Our block is more than sixty percent.”

“How is Richard trying to persuade the board to vote you out and himself in the CEO position?”

“Prove I’m incompetent. It’s his best bet, but he realizes he is in a stalemate. With holding sixty percent of the voting block, it's a lesson in futility on his part.”

“Is there nothing that would get you to step down from the board?”

Michael laughed. Not a damn thing in hell, “Nothing short of a natural catastrophe.”

Mariah put a loving hand to his cheek. “That’s my boy!”

Michael’s eyes suddenly became serious. He appreciated that Mariah took to him so quickly, always found him admirable. She was the best substitute mother he could ever imagine because she was always in his corner, even when he ticked her off.

“I don’t remember my own mother.”

“I know, honey. You look so much like your father, but there's something in your face, the structure of your cheekbones and eyes. Your father said you look like your mother too.”

“I’m nothing like her, not her—not Dad. Maria could’ve been their child. If she was my age, born on the same day and the same hospital, I would swear we were switched at birth.”

“Oh, I think you’re probably more like them than you know. You might be surprised. I know Maria is nothing like me, but then in a surprising twist, almost a pause when you take a breath, she does something, and she's so much like me it’s scary.” Mariah’s eyes studied his face. “We’re all pieces of the people who made us, Michael. Our parents, our grandparents, and all those before us, nothing made is in perfect symmetry—it is perfect in itself. You are perfect as you are, because you are you.”

No wonder his father loved this woman. She possessed a quick wit and insight, knowing exactly what to say, just like his father.

“I wonder if she would’ve been proud of me.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Mariah said, tears collecting in her eyes. From the moment she met him, a solemn man with a strong countenance and personality, she felt a void in him—a need. He proved to be easy to love. “I believe that your mother would have found you perfect.”

Michael snorted, but his eyes held no derision as he picked up his stepmother’s hand, kissing the back.

“Mariah, I have no children, nor any plans to have any for a long time.”

“I stand corrected. Your mother would’ve found you almost perfect.”

* * *

Maria worked the black seam. Moving through a normal autopsy, she recorded all the findings indicative of a major coronary of one Walter G. Pippins, who died in his sleep of heart failure.

The technicians left her alone, and the two other coroners on duty went about their own work as she went about hers. Methodically, she went from the beginning to the end of the autopsy, moving from Walter to the next case without pause.

It was hours later when she glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that she had lost time again, three hours worth. With a clunking noise as the army-navy retractor hit the pan, she stared at the clock. She had done her job without recollection—where her brain had been, she had no idea. Damn.

Chapter Thirteen

“Coffee, Maria?”

Maria mumbled to herself as her mother called to her from the kitchen. “Yes!” she yelled back, crossing herself in protection. “Oh please don’t let it be teaming in protein or animal fat,” she prayed.

“It’s a fruit salad with a strange dressing,” her stepfather said walking past her.

“As in real fruit?” Maria asked. Horrified, her teeth were already hurting. “I read an article on the corrosive effects of citric acid on tooth enamel.”

Putting his arm around her waist, he leaned in, whispering in her ear. “Top drawer of my desk, there's a box of Hostess Ding Dongs. Save yourself.”

“Bless you, Brian Guerin. You are a giant among men.”

Maria didn’t need a second invitation to pilfer through Brian’s secret stash. She was on the floor behind the desk on her third Ding Dong when the door opened. Carefully rising up, she looked over the desktop with the suspicious chocolate crumbs on her mouth.

Michael was lounging against the doorjamb. Hadn’t he been the weirdest bird that night? He hardly said two words to her throughout dinner, but she felt his concentrated stare on her from time to time. When she looked his way, he was talking to Brian or Mariah.

“Are you pregnant? Tell me you’re pregnant,” he ordered.

“What? Do I look pregnant?” Maria quickly stood up to take stock of her ass and stomach. Damn! When her friend Susan got pregnant she grew an extra seat.

“You better be pregnant, because your mother is under the misconception that she is soon to have a houseful of grandchildren to spoil. Sister, they ain’t comin’ from me!”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.” Michael entered the room, shutting the door to Brian’s study. “I spent one of the worst lunch dates with your mother having her expound upon the collective ‘fruits of our loins’, so maybe you better explain yourself.”

“Fruit of your loins? Did you just curse at me?”

“Maria...,” he warned.

“Fine. Whatever.” Maria sat on Brian’s desk, hiking up her skirt to get comfortable. Tossing a pack of Ding Dongs at Michael, she opened another one. It was outrageous how Hostess didn’t provide more than twelve in a box.

Reluctantly Michael opened the treat, eating it with just slightly less gusto than Maria did, but then again, he was busy checking out the indecent amount of leg she was exposing. He had been doing fine until she crossed her legs.

Breathing in deeply while his mouth was full of chocolate crumbs was disastrous. Coughing violently, he waved off her concern as he searched through his father’s office refrigerator for something to drink.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” he said between gulps of cold beer. “I’m convinced I’ve seen signs of my own death today—three times. I’m destined to choke to death.”

“Phish. I dream of dying by misadventure all the time; it’ll pass.”

“Children?”

“Stop sweating it! She can’t force you to procreate. Maybe she’ll harass you a bit. Besides, you should go first anyway.”

“Me? She’s your mother.”

“Sure, hold that against me. I’m just saying that—no I am emphatically pointing out, that you’re the eldest. It is your duty as the older sibling to blaze the trail. Mom needs grandkids, so get cracking.”

“Uh-huh.” Michael took his beer and sat in the comfy chair across from the desk. Tipping his beer bottle at her, he smiled nastily. “Actually, truth be told, I can father children when I’m in my sixties, even seventies, but you—tick, tock, tick... tock. That internal clock is racing down. No, you should start pushing out the little sugar mutants immediately.”

“Sugar mutants?” Maria glanced at him suspiciously. “You didn’t suggest anything about sugar lately to my mom, did you?”

Michael feigned innocence, his face a blank. “Huh?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. She left six messages since lunch, something about me needing a full checkup, and perhaps gene therapy.”

“I have no idea where she got that idea.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m in no position to have children at this time, and you are obviously unwilling.”

“I knew you were smart.” Children and him? Hmm, not likely, not in this decade.

“I told Mom that if neither of us started pushing them out, I’d rent her a few.”

Michael coughed on his beer, glaring at the offensive liquid. “You told her you would rent some?”

“What is wrong with you? Don’t you know how to swallow?” Maria hopped down from the desk. “I could look you over. Maybe you have a tear or something. You might need a swallow study.”

“What I need is to avoid crazy dames that make me suck my beer up my damn nose.”

“Dames? Oh, that is so sexist.”

“Dahr-ling, this is Texas , I can be sexist if I want, and believe me, I have no intention of becoming a new sensitive male.”

“That I can believe.”

Michael sat back, staring at her, his eyes moving over her easily. “Maria, you can’t rent grandchildren.”

Oh, that was bad news. “No? Are you sure? This is the twenty-first century. You can buy and rent anything. I mean...,” Michael shook his head no, “Ebay?” she said hopefully.

“There are no ‘Grandkids "R" Us’ stores, trust me on this.”

“Damn. Then it has to be you.”

“Your shelf life is limited,” he pointed out.

“Nope, you. I’m highly preserved. I’ve eaten enough Hostess Twinkies to glow in the dark. It has extended my shelf life ten fold.”

“That’s a disgusting thought.”

Maria snorted. “Tell me that later when you’re a seventy-year-old geezer popping Viagra and seltzer, trying to get enough juice to finally produce that first kid you kept putting off.”

Despite himself, Michael had to laugh. “Okay, fine. So, we look around for grandkids to rent.”

“Finally, I knew you would come to my way of thinking.”

“Now I’m truly scared.” Michael walked over to the desk to grab another pack of Ding Dongs. “So what happened today?”

“There was nothing in the office. Whatever Charles Barrows left behind, it’s a mystery. I listened to the retrieved tape over and over, and still—I’ve got nothing.”

“What about Charles’s home?”

“Nick and Deuce will check that out. It was an accident before, so no crime units went to his apartment. Nick took care of that this afternoon.”

Michael observed her unemotional retelling of the events. “I take it that you weren’t invited.”

“No body, so there was no need to call in the Medical Examiner. Technically, I’m no longer a crime unit investigator, so it’s out of my jurisdiction.”

That still smarted. No one was going to thank her to step out of her role and muck around in the investigation. She was privy to all the information, but still, the case was close to her due to personal involvement. Maria brooded for a moment.

“What are you thinking?”

“That’s a very feminine question, Michael. Women tend to want to know what men are thinking and not the other way around.”

“Now who’s sexist? Stop stereotyping.”

Maria grabbed a beer, gesturing to him. Michael nodded as Maria took a beer for him as well.

“I—I lost a few hours of coherent time today.” Michael frowned. He had no idea what that meant, and Maria sighed, rolling her eyes at the expression on his face. It wasn’t his fault exactly that he had been out of the loop on her problems. Brian and her mother wouldn’t exactly pass around the information that she was seeing a psychologist, not even to Michael.

“I lose time sometimes. My mind goes off on its own, and it sort of forgets to take my body with it.”

Michael laughed, not sure if she wasn’t joking. “And what does your body do while your brain is visiting friends?”

“Well, generally, I continue doing whatever I was doing before—driving, fucking, cutting up a corpse—the usual stuff.”

Michael paused, drinking his beer. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in the least. I think my brain is fully aware of my actions, but the sense of awareness is on a minimum scale, and higher functions are rerouted.”

“You’re not a computer.”

“The brain is, and it is in fact a mystery to men of medicine even today. I tend to worry a problem, and my mind goes on a fact-searching mission—a busman’s holiday, if you will. It’s disturbing to lose time, and at times very frightening.”

“Do you retain any of the information you’re processing?”

“Sometimes. Not always, depending on how my thoughts progressed.”

“And today?”

“Ah, well that depends on you. I think I might need to take a trip, and you look like a willing partner.”

“Me?”

“Uh-huh.

“Uh-uh. Not going to happen.” Michael took a swallow of his beer, but his eyes never left Maria’s knowing ones. “Dammit, okay, tell me what it is.”

“Breaking and entering.”

“And I was worried it would be something illegal.”

Maria smiled, but before she could tell him more, the door opened. With a quick flick of her wrist, she swiped the remaining Ding Dongs back into the open drawer before facing her mother.

“What are you two doing? Coffee is made. Don’t you want dessert?”

“Sure, Mom.” Maria smiled charmingly at her mother. “We were just stealing from Brian’s private reserves.” Maria held up her empty beer bottle and kissed her mother on the cheek as she proceeded past her out the door.

“Do I smell chocolate?”

“Do you?” Maria gave Michael a mischievous smile. “Actually Michael was just telling me all about the future children he’s so excited about having one day.”

Glaring at her, Michael was out of the chair, following them. “Actually, I believe we were talking about how Maria needed to get serious about settling down, finding a nice man with a stable income, because her procreation years are dwindling.”

“That is so true, honey. A man can father for years into old age, but a woman, she has a limited time before health factors become an issue. Did you not get the literature I e-mailed to you earlier today? Oh, and before I forget, I made an appointment for a complete physical for you with Dr. Jenners. He’s going to slide you in next Monday.”

“Mom!”

Michael was laughing when Mariah glanced at him. “Oh, I made an appointment for you too with your doctor, Michael. It’s best to make sure that everything is in tip top shape.”

It was Maria’s turn to laugh. Glancing at Michael, she made a face at him. “Or at the very least, make sure his little soldiers can still swim. I understand tight jockeys can impede performance. They strangle the poor little tadpoles. Boxers are the optimum undies of choice for fertility.”

“Maria!” Mariah said in shock, making a note to check out Michael’s boxer supply. The poor boy didn’t need tight undies—it had to be bad for digestion.

* * *

“Partner, are you ready to call it a night?” Deuce asked, closing a case file.

“In a minute. I was just reading through the autopsy findings on Charles Barrows.”

“Oh, that sounds like late night reading in bed. Why don’t you take it home, and give me the highlights tomorrow?”

“Tired?”

“Bored off my ass. Spending a day in a dead graduate student’s apartment talking to his friends isn’t my idea of an exciting day on the force.”

Nick shrugged it off. They had more uneventful days than not. “Well at least EU ruled out his apartment being the crime scene, and we didn’t find a damn file either.”

“We didn’t find a computer either.”

Deuce sat back in his chair. “That does bother me. Those intellectual types, they live for their technology. A graduate student that isn’t hooked up doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe he kept the information in his computer and the killer took it.”

“That’s a possibility.” Deuce went quiet as Nick continued to read. “Does Maria have anything interesting to report?”

“Well, she cast the blade that killed him. It was a thin long knife, almost like a flattened needle. It slid in, puncturing the liver. Her opinion is that the killer was facing Charles at the time of death, he thrust the weapon in an upward motion, and he was right handed, about four inches taller than Charles. She is worried about the angle of the thrust and the amount of force necessary to create the puncture.”

“Charles Barrows was almost six feet.”

“So we’re looking for a tall right-handed man carrying a Slim Jim.”

“ Arkansas tooth pick?”

“Not long enough.” Nick read the next page. “Maria suggests that the blade length, thickness, and shape angle is actually a special dissecting tool that could’ve been sharpened. Originally, it was a special retractor or spanner specially designed to retract the liver upward. The sharpened areas made it lethal.”

Deuce put his head down on his desk. “This case gets worse at every turn. So our former Chief Medical Examiner was killed by one of his own dissecting tools, or did the killer take the tool when he killed Roland?” Deuce waved off the question. He was being rhetorical, thinking it out. He really didn’t want an answer. “The computer is what’s currently bothering me. If the killer took it, then we might never know what both Charles and Roland found, and we’re sure as hell not going to recreate the scenes.”

“If the killer took the computer,” said Nick thoughtfully.

“Well it sure as hell wasn’t in his apartment.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t keep it somewhere else.” Nick stood up, grabbing his leather jacket.

“Where you going? Home?” Deuce said hopefully.

“We have something to check out.”

“Crud.”

Michael wasn’t sure about this. Actually, he was very unsure about it. How the heck did he let himself get talked into the stupidest things?

“I’m a business man, dammit! People in my position don’t skulk around in the dark doing illegal things.”

“Breaking and entering? That sounds suspiciously illegal to me. I watch NYPD Blue and Law and Order with the rest of the country.”

Michael reluctantly followed her, cursing under his breath as a branch snagged his jacket. Dammit, he just bought it, and it wasn’t cheap.

“Why are we approaching the Barrows’ house from the back woods in the dark of night if it’s not illegal?”

Maria stopped to let him catch up. “Are you always this whiny? Obviously, if we park in the driveway, neighbors might call the cops. This way, we can enter without alarming anyone.”

“That sounds highly suspicious like it might be—oh, I don’t know—illegal.”

“Mere technicality. I brought gloves. We’re not going to take anything, unless we find something, then we’ll deal with that when it happens.”

“I thought you said Charles Barrows’ parents died in a house fire. How can we check out their house if it's gone?”

“Wrong house. They were at their vacation home. That place is toast, and this one is not.”

Maria tripped over a root, and Michael picked her up by her arm. “Why can’t we use a flashlight?”

“Exactly.” Maria looked around, confused for a moment. “Um, do you remember which way we were going?”

“Great.” Michael rolled his eyes, shaking his head. If he got busted for doing something stupid like B&E, Richard Abbott would have all the ammunition he needed to turn the board’s vote his way.

Michael watched as she took off. His life was many things, exciting was the most tame term for it. Insane. Outrageous. Impulsive. Confusing. It was strange how all those adjectives applied to Maria as well.

“Bully for you. Watch where you’re stepping, I think the neighborhood must walk their dogs in here.”

“Maria, wait.” Michael rushed after her, but a muffled scream was all he heard. Rushing to the edge of the woods leading to the Barrows’ backyard, he found her.

Maria winced as she turned over, brushing dirt and leaves out of her face. Glancing up at the limited light from the night sky, blackened out by the sudden appearance of Michael, as his face came into view.

“Give me your hand,” he ordered as he reached down. “I’ll pull you out.”

“Michael, I don’t think this is a good idea. The edge of the hole, the ground there was soft. I think the rains…”

Maria heard it before she saw it. Balling up into a fetal position, she rolled as far to one side as possible, as a mumbled curse and the sound of falling dirt mixed with an ‘Umph’ as Michael hit the ground next to her.

The silence was a blessing after the loud noise of him falling. Maria slowly straightened her tucked body; the only sound next to her was ‘Ouch!’

Michael’s eyes met hers, and he started to make a sardonic remark, but Maria’s hand moved over his mouth silencing him. Pointing upward to the top of the pit, they saw a light move over the top of the hole. Someone was searching the wooded area with a flashlight.

“We’re outta here,” Michael whispered as the light moved on. “Now. I’ll give you a boost out, and you can lend me a hand. Stand on the other edge. It looks firmer.”

Maria nodded as Michael pushed her out of the pit, his head just barely level with the rim. Grimacing, he pushed his foot into the soil on the walls trying to find a toehold that would give enough leverage for him to crawl out of the pit when Maria shoved a part of a tree practically in his face.

Using the large piece of wood, he quickly scrambled out of the pit. Maria was crouched low to the ground, and he joined her. “What the hell was that?”

“Yeah, littering woods with stump holes is an outrage. You should contact your Congressman.”

“The killer? I don’t know. Maybe he had the same idea we did, and came to search Charles’ parents’ home.”

“We’re leaving.” Michael grabbed her hand to pull her away back into the woods the way they came.

“Michael, we can’t. If he gets the information meant for Brian, we’ll never know if they’re safe. We have to finish this.”

Michael sighed. Ducking, he pulled her down next to him closer to the ground behind a pile of limbs. “What should we do?”

“Great, I’ll lead him away. You get into the house and call Nick. Lock the door behind you.”

Michael was up and running, making a lot of noise. The unknown person was quick on his tail. Maria started for the house, but before she could run for it, she noticed Michael tripping over some downed timber. Without a moment of hesitation, she went after Michael.

Michael turned as the flashlight shone in his eyes, his arm going up to block the glare when there was a loud ‘Umphing’ sound, and then the person holding the flashlight hit the ground.

Maria was standing over Michael with a large stick in her hands where she had whacked the assailant, her hand reaching down to pull Michael to his feet.

“Hands up!” An angry voice called as a light hit them. “Put them up where I can see them.”

Michael and Maria turned to the voice, the light illuminating the dark woods. They both looked at the man Maria hit, and Maria muttering a muffled, ‘aw, damn!’ discreetly dropped the piece of wood on the ground and tried to kick it away subtly.

“Look at the bright side,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth. “At least we don’t have to call Nick now.”

“Sweet,” Michael murmured with biting scorn, glancing at the downed detective, his eyes rising to meet the angry eyes of Deuce. “Um, this is slightly skewed. It’s like this—it’s her fault.”

Nick wasn’t a happy man. Actually, he was genuinely pissed as he paced in front of the quiet duo of Michael and Maria. Holding a wet towel to the back of his head, he occasionally checked it to see if it was still bleeding.

“So, let me see if I got this right. You were going to break into the house and search it.”

Maria glared at Michael before turning back to Nick. “Nick, listen, it was just a thought. I know you looked at Charles’ apartment, but it occurred to me that since his parents died, he might actually be staying here, in their home.”

“Technically—it’s not.” Maria glared at the two men. “It’s not! The Barrows are dead, and the investigation suggests that there is a connection to the violent death of their son, so technically no search warrant is necessary in an active criminal investigation. Also—I am a member of the San Antonio investigating crime unit, so…”

“Oh, no.” Nick shook his head at her. “You are not! We’re not going down this road, Maria. You know the law. You’re not a member of the investigating team on this case. You’re the Medical Examiner!” Nick circled the room. “Do you see a body here?”

“Well that’s my point,” Maria reasoned. “There might be, so if we search the premises…”

Nick got into her face. “You’re pushing the limits of not only the law, but my patience. Don’t think I won’t arrest you.”

“Again? You said you wouldn’t…”

“Wow,” Michael stood up, offering Nick his hand. “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever really been introduced formally, but I have to say, I want to shake your hand.”

Nick caught her look, but he wasn’t having it. “Oh, no. You don’t get a pass on this one, Maria—not this time. You come in here, muck with an investigation, ruin the chain of evidence using a flimsy excuse—I’m not letting you get away with this.” Nick leaned in, trapping her in the chair. “You know what your career will look like if you get a formal charge on your record?”

“No it isn’t. It can’t be. You know that. It’s why working on personal cases is taboo.” Nick’s eyes ran over her, and his tone became gentler. “You’re screwing up here, baby.”

“Nikki, I can’t explain it, but I need to be here. I need to see the evidence unfold with my own eyes. I’m missing something, and I don’t think it’s a piece of physical evidence overlooked, but rather not found.” Maria pulled him closer by his shirt. “You know me. I never mess with a case. Never. Since I took the Medical Examiner position, how many cases have I involved myself in?”

“I can’t be on the outside on this one. I can’t afford to miss it.” Maria struggled to find the right words. “I—I don’t know how, but this case, it involves me and everyone I love, and if I screw up—miss something, I won’t come back from it.”

Nick paused for a moment. He knew her. She never risked a case, never put it in jeopardy. “Okay,” he said, giving in to her request, “but you stick with the Evidence Unit, and everything is by the book.”

Maria kissed him hard, her hand resting on his face for a moment as their eyes met. Michael frowned and whispered to Deuce, “I thought they were over.”

“Yeah, this is them over. You couldn’t be in the room with them when they were on.”

Michael lifted a brow as Maria took out her phone, walking away to call in a team. Nick watched her as well, finally turning his attention to Maria’s partner in crime.

“Ditto what she said, except don’t expect me to kiss you. No matter what Maria might imply, I don’t swing that way.”

“Fine, don’t kiss me—I’ll get Maria to do it later, but you walk where I tell you to walk, wear foot covers and gloves, and do not touch anything.”

“Pee? Can I pee?” Michael held up a hand seeing the other man’s expression. “Fine. I was joking. Look, sorry about the tree limb to the head. You do know that was Maria, right?”

“Nick, Jenny and Lee are taking the computer to the lab.” Maria reported, glancing at her watch. It was two in the morning. “We confirmed Charles was staying here. His current mail was on the desk, and there’s a receipt from a local store from the morning of the day he died.”

Michael glanced at Nick. “You know, even though I’ve known her for three years, you know her better. Is she usually this tightly wound?”

“Not really. I knew her for two years before we dated. She looked more high maintenance than I was willing to invest in, but she has a way of worming into your subconscious in a real irritating way.”

Michael was quiet for a moment. “She lost three hours of time today. I think it had everything to do with the urgency she felt to look at this house. I’m not even sure if it's this house, as much as this case. My first impression of her was that she was a bit looser in her life, not so highly strung, more of a ‘go with the flow’ type of person.”

Deuce glanced at his partner’s receding back before answering Michael. “Lately, I really couldn’t say. They were a good couple, but something went weird, and Maria backed off. I don’t even think Nick knows for sure, but he suspects it might have been his family. They all but booked a wedding chapel and set the date.”

Deuce shrugged. “Maybe or maybe not. I think it depends on if you find the right person.”

“Right person. Yeah, so how do you know when you’ve met the right person?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t found the right one for me, but I remain eternally optimistic.”

Nick waited for Maria to open the door to her house. He looked in at the darkened home frowning. “I thought Gussie was here.”

“He is, or at least he usually is. He might be at Magnolia’s or upstairs in the attic. Gussie's a free spirit. Sometimes I don’t see him for an entire month.”

“Hmm.” Nick pushed her into the house, hitting the light at the side of the door. Going through the lower level of the three story house, he checked all the doors and windows.

Nick stopped in the kitchen and searched through the refrigerator. The place was a disaster. There were dishes and paint cans everywhere. “How can you cook in here?”

“Again, I don’t cook. You know that.” It wasn’t as if she could since Gussie used all her cooking pans to mix paint. That saved her from having to learn how to use them.

Nick shook his head, spying a pound of bacon. “I guess I should thank Gussie for the groceries.”

“Nick, it’s three in the morning, and I have to be at work at eight, can’t you fix breakfast at your own place?”

“Nope.” Nick ignored her and quickly assembled the parts to a BLT. Pushing her into a chair at the table, he sat the sandwich down in front of her with a glass of milk, taking the seat opposite.

“Fries, sure, they’re potatoes. This is bread. It interacts with bread in an enzymatic way and…”

“Maria, despite your belief that fresh vegetables will cause your intestines to explode, eat the damn sandwich.”

Nick gave her a look and she took a bigger bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I was thinking about the case.”

“What? Who said I was losing time?” Maria tried, seriously tried to feign nonchalant regard, but his dark serious eyes always had a way of cutting through her bullshit. “Michael. He is such a blabbermouth. What possessed me to tell him anything?”

“He says my brain is working on a puzzle, and when it puts it together, it will rejoin my body. Cake. I could eat cake. Or a pizza, all meat.”

“It will rejoin your body, uh-huh. Is it getting worse than when we were together, better or the same?”

Maria suddenly found herself enthralled with the sandwich. Taking her time, she slowly ate it, but he wasn’t backing down. He continued to watch her until she gave in with a sigh.

“It’s worse. I don’t have to be asleep anymore. They’re like waking dreams.”

“It’s about the same. I fit in a nap, maybe about three hours a night. The more exhausted I am, the better.”

“Adam isn’t in the least bit concerned? This has been going on since you took the Medical Examiner’s job. You want to apply your brain power to this problem, doctor?”

“Don’t be condescending. I know I’m screwed up. I’m not denying that. I just need to work it through. It’s not going away on its own.”

“God, Maria. You can’t live on no sleep. It’s dangerous. You’ll start making mistakes.”

Maria stood up, dumping her plate in the sink. Taking out some dish soap, she started to clean the kitchen. Nick stopped her before she decided to do the floors.

“I know that, Nick. What do you think scares me so much? What if I already made a mistake, one I can’t fix?”