Down and Dirty Page 7

  I put my hands on my hips and made a face. “Dammit.”

  I knew he was right, but that didn’t mean I liked it. Watching the stages of people’s grief, as they finally understood that their child was never coming back, was an awful thing to see. And it tore at me every time I had to make one of these visits. It was all fine and good to tell myself to keep distant and not think of the victims as human beings, but that was shot all to hell when faced with the living.

  Jack squeezed my shoulder as he passed by to get his gun belt from the top of the closet. He strapped it on and then clipped his badge to the belt.

  “Let’s ride, Doc. The sooner we get there the sooner we can be done.”

  “If you drive-thru and buy me a cup of coffee we’ll call it even on strong-arming me to come with you to do the notification. And probably I won’t want to stab you in the face on the drive.”

  “Hey, I’m an accommodating man.”

  Lance and Helen Owens lived in Alexandria, which was a good hour fifteen from Bloody Mary. So once I got my coffee I took the opportunity in the car to make sure everything was settled for the viewings. I called the flower shop, the caterer, and the girl I used to do hair and makeup, checking to make sure everyone was running on schedule. Everything had to be finished before noon in case there were early visitors that couldn’t make it to the evening viewing.

  I’d gotten lucky this semester with a couple of very competent interns that I could trust to come in and make sure everything went smoothly if I wasn’t there. Technically they were supposed to be interning with me for the coroner side of things, but King George wasn’t exactly overrun with suspicious deaths, so the funeral home at least kept them busy while they were there.

  “I didn’t realize Downton Academy was so far away. Why did the Connellis live in King George if their children were going to school in McClean?”

  “Downton is a boarding school, so all students live on campus. The school has a short break in the spring that started last Friday and ends today, so students can prepare for big projects and presentations that are due on Friday and also study for exams which start next week.

  “I got some interesting news from Lewis when I read the update this morning. The Connellis bought the house in King George because Anthony had been receiving threats after he got the job at the Department of Defense. He’s a contract engineer with high-level security clearance and he makes frequent trips to Afghanistan, so my guess is his specialty is weapons.”

  My brows rose. “That is interesting news.”

  “Connelli was a West Point graduate—computer science—and spent twelve years in the Marines, retiring as a Lieutenant Colonel. Came from a blue-collar family but worked his way up. He’s well respected and there are whispers that he’d planned to run for a Senate seat in four more years. His wife was a teacher before they married, so their party thought they’d look better to the middle class.”

  “Gotta love politicians. I guess if she’d been a stripper they’d have figured out a way to make that work too.”

  Jack swerved in between cars, his hand relaxed over the wheel, never slowing his speed or losing his focus.

  “The threats started about eight years ago just after he started the private contracting for the government. Private contracting is a competitive field, and a guy named Wayne Macerne got bumped when Connelli was brought in. He accused that Connelli had bought his way into the position by agreeing to overlook some weapons that had gone missing and ended up in the wrong countries. It was better that those weapons had never existed at all instead of the American people finding out and stirring up a shit storm.

  “Macerne was pissed and tried to go to the media, but they shut him down. His car was run off the road one night and Macerne was banged up pretty bad—lots of broken bones, some internal injuries, and a concussion. They never caught who ran him off and he claimed over and over again that he never saw the car coming and couldn’t describe it to officials.

  “He was out of work about six months of recovery time. Lost the contracts he’d kept, his house and his wife. And then he got pissed and decided Connelli was to blame for all of it.

  “The Connellis’ home was broken into on several occasions, his office was ransacked each time. Anthony Connelli reported on more than one occasion that he was being followed, but the car was always different and he couldn’t make out features on the person inside the car. Things went on like that for almost a year, Macerne was brilliant at covering his tracks.

  “Macerne escalated again and started sending pictures of the kids and wife to Connelli. And then one afternoon Julia Connelli was run off the road while driving the kids home from school. They decided enough was enough, so they packed up and bought the Marcello House under a different name and basically went into hiding. Then they amped up the security system by about a thousand percent. No reported problems since they made the move.”

  “Scary,” I said. “Where’s Macerne now?”

  “A tax-paying member of society. Works for a big firm in Manhattan as a lower level executive.”

  “I guess the DOD connection is why Cal is stuck at the scene this morning,” I said.

  “Good guess. They’re going to be out in full mass with their own investigators, making sure there’s nothing floating around the ashes that could compromise national security.”

  “That’ll be fun. I love working with the government.”

  “I’m sensing sarcasm in that statement.”

  “I always said you were sharp as a tack.” I tucked my leg under me and turned in the seat to face Jack. I knew why he was telling me about the threat. “You want me to keep checking for signs of foul play.”

  “Especially Anthony Connelli. I know you would anyway, but I wanted you to be aware that the DOD might be breathing down your neck for you to find something concrete.”

  “I can only give them what the evidence tells me. But I’ll be extra thorough.”

  The Owens lived in a gated community in a swanky area of Alexandria. It was a place where part-time politicians had homes that they only lived in when in session. A security guard greeted us at the gate and Jack showed him his badge and told him where we were going.

  The gates opened and we followed a winding road between houses that were close to the size of a city block. The lots were oversized and heavily treed, each of them having their own entry gates, which in my mind was a bit of overkill. Though with the amount of politicians in the neighborhood, maybe overkill was a necessity.

  The Owens house was at the end of the street, and Jack pulled his cruiser into the driveway, stopping just shy of the iron gates and pressing the intercom button.

  “Sheriff Lawson to see Dr. and Mrs. Owens,” Jack said to whoever answered the intercom.

  There was no reply, but the gates opened soundlessly so Jack could drive through.

  “Good Lord, could they have made a longer driveway?”

  “It’d be good for skateboarding with the way it slants like that.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “I’m sure the Owens are big skateboarders. What’s he a doctor of anyway?”

  “Plastic surgeon. And apparently his wife is a patient. Don’t stare too hard.”

  With that bombshell he turned off the car and got out, leaving me inside with my mouth gaping open. I hated when he did stuff like that. Now I’d spend the whole time staring at Mrs. Owens, wondering what had been done to her.

  Jack came around and opened my car door, and I slid the autopsy report out of my bag. Just in case my word wasn’t good enough and they needed to see the results with their own eyes.

  The front door opened before we’d reached it and a couple stood arm in arm, their faces ashen with worry and grief. Dr. Owens was a small man, only a couple of inches taller than me, and naturally thin. His features were handsome, but his skin sagged, especially under his eyes and along his jowls, detracting from his looks. I wondered why he didn’t have a colleague do some nipping and tucking, but maybe that was cons
idered bad form.

  Mrs. Owens was a couple of inches taller than her husband, super model thin, and was one of the palest people I’d ever seen in my life. I wasn’t sure what milkweed was, but I’d always heard the expression about women that had skin the color of milkweed. I figured it was a description probably invented for women like Mrs. Owens. Her hair was white-blonde and her brows perfectly arched and just a shade darker. It was like looking into the sun. I had the sudden urge to put on my sunglasses.

  And maybe I was staring a little longer than I should have. She didn’t look to be a day over twenty-five, which either made her blessed by the heavens or her husband one of the best plastic surgeons on earth.

  They knew why we were there without either of us having to say a word, and Mrs. Owens began to sob softly, her hands covering her mouth as she turned into her husband’s embrace for comfort.

  “Can we come inside?” Jack asked, his voice somber.

  Dr. Owens nodded, his movements jerky as he tried to figure out how to move his wife out of the way and let us inside, as if his brain and hands and feet were no longer communicating with each other.

  Jack put his hand at the small of my back and led me inside a spacious foyer. A double staircase led to the upper levels was the focal point, and light shone in from all the windows, glinting off the chandelier that hung from above.

  I noticed my surroundings, because I’d spent enough time around Jack over the years that it had gotten to be a habit, and I cataloged everything quickly in my mind and then put it away. Just in case. But it was hard to take my eyes off Mrs. Owens. Both as a doctor and as a human being.

  Her grief weighed heavily, so it was a living, breathing thing. And the sobs she cried came from somewhere deep inside of her. Somewhere none of us would ever be able to reach. It was a purge she’d have to deal with on her own. I knew well that stage of grief, when it consumed you to the point you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to crawl out and see daylight again. I didn’t want to tell her, but I knew it would get worse before it got better.

  Dr. Owens led us into a little sitting area off the foyer and he settled his wife down on the couch, tucking her against him like he might a child. Jack and I took the opposite facing sofa, and I knew there was no use delaying the inevitable. Quicker was better. Like a Band-Aid.

  I let Jack take the lead, and his voice was soft and gentle as he said, “I’m sorry to inform you, but the remains we found at the Connelli home yesterday were identified as Cassandra.”

  Mrs. Owens let out a moan that made chills raise on my arms and she clutched at her stomach and bent over. I looked around the room and noticed some bottles of water tucked into the shelf of a credenza against the wall and I got up without asking to get one.

  Her color wasn’t good and she was having trouble catching her breath. Dr. Owens wasn’t much better off. His face had gone pale and slow tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He was paralyzed with shock, unable to offer comfort of help.

  “Mrs. Owens,” I said after I’d gotten the water and unscrewed the top. I sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her and got close, trying to make myself her focus instead of the emotions raging inside of her.

  “Mrs. Owens. I want you to take long, slow breaths for me. Nice and easy.” I put my hand on her wrist and felt her racing pulse flutter beneath my fingers. My voice was calm and level. “My name is Doctor Graves. You can’t help us help Cassandra if you make yourself sick.”

  I kept talking to her, words of nonsense meant only to soothe. I wasn’t sure how long we sat there before she began to do as I asked and take slower breaths, but there was an ache in my lower back.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Can you drink some water for me?” I wrapped her hands around the bottle and made sure she could hold it steady before letting go.

  “You said we can help Cassandra,” Dr. Owens said, surprising me. I’d forgotten he was even there he’d been so still through the whole ordeal. His voice hitched, but he managed to hold it together. “How can we help her if she’s—gone?”

  “The cause of the fire is still under investigation,” Jack said. “You can paint a picture for us. A timeline. We want to make sure we do right by Cassandra and the Connellis. They deserve the truth to be told, whatever it may be.”

  Dr. Owens nodded, and I could tell he was starting to pull himself together. The color had come back into his cheeks and his eyes were focused and determined. He had a task to do now, a way to help, and that would help him get through this interview.

  “You said you were a doctor,” he said. “But I didn’t catch of what.”

  I knew this test. It was something other doctors did to measure qualifications and see exactly where you stood on the medical hierarchy. “I worked ER at Augusta General for several years before moving back home. But now I’m the coroner for King George County.”

  He nodded and I could tell by looking at him that he wasn’t impressed. I wasn’t a specialist, so that knocked me down a peg from the start. I was also a woman, and there were still a lot of male doctors, who could be some of the most chauvinistic people on the planet, who thought women had no place in medicine. My third infraction was that I was a dead doctor. No one in the medical profession had any respect for those who served the dead.

  Cal had been right about how much I’d hated my time working at the hospital. I’d had to deal with bullshit like this on a daily basis. Still, he deserved to know that I’d take good care of his daughter so I told him so.

  “She’s our only child,” he said. It was always harder to watch the men break.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss.” He nodded and I checked Mrs. Owens’ pulse once more, satisfied it was back to normal, and then I moved back to the couch with Jack.

  “Can you walk us through the last day you saw Cassandra?” Jack asked.

  “We told the other detective already,” Dr. Owens said. “Detective Lewis.”

  “I know. Just go through it again for me.”

  “Cassie was home for break. This is her senior year, and each of the seniors have a big presentation they have to give, both as individuals and in groups so they get the teamwork experience. The presentation counts for more than half of their grade and is a graduation requirement, so the kids spend a lot of time preparing.”

  “Who did Cassie team up with?”

  He sighed, a small smile touching his lips. “Damian Connelli and Michael Bruce. The three of them have been inseparable for years. Damian and Michael had been best friends since grade school, and then when we moved to the area they swept Cassie along like she’d they’d been friends all their lives. And then there was little Rose, always trailing behind and wanting to be part of the group. To give Damian credit, there aren’t many big brothers who would let their sisters tag along like he did.

  “ Those boys are like sons to us, and Cassie was like a daughter to their parents. And all three of them smart as can be. They were at the top of their class—one, two, and three. All of them had bright futures.”

  It didn’t escape my notice how Dr. Owens kept switching between past and present tense when talking about his daughter. It would take time to adjust to her being gone.

  “When did Cassie and Damian become romantically involved?”

  He closed his eyes and looked up, as if asking for guidance from a higher power, and a tear slipped from beneath his lashes and ran down his cheek. “About the middle of last year. I guess they just finally noticed each other in that way and that was that. They were good kids. Great kids.”

  “Was it normal for Cassie to sleep over at the Connelli’s? Did she know her way around the house well enough that she was comfortable?”

  “Sure,” he said, blowing out a breath. “She practically grew up in that house. Just like the boys are familiar with this house. Hell, they each have a bedroom upstairs if they need to stay during breaks or school holidays.

  “We, the parents I mean, kind of rotate going on adult trips without the kids
. Helen and I went to Paris for New Year’s and Cassie stayed with the Connellis. Anthony and Julia went to Australia for three weeks last summer and Damian stayed here. So yeah, she stayed enough where she’d be comfortable in the house. Same thing for Michael. Have you found Michael? He was staying there with them. They were all working on their presentation.”

  “We’ve been unable to locate him at this time.”

  “John and Cherise must be beside themselves with worry.”

  Neither of us mentioned that no one had gotten a hold of John and Cherise Bruce. The moment one of the Senator’s staff was notified, we’d have a media storm of epic proportions to deal with.

  “I can only pray he’s okay.” He breathed out a broken sigh. “Isn’t it funny how something like this makes a man pray? I’ve never done it before. But it just seems right somehow.” He hugged his wife closer and kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t wish this pain on my worst enemy. When can we have Cassie?”

  “I should be able to release her later this afternoon, but it could be as late as tomorrow. If you’ll call and tell me who you’d like to handle her interment, then I’ll have her transferred as soon as I can.” I handed Dr. Owens one of my cards and he studied it, running his finger along the edge.

  “Thank you for taking care of her.” He couldn’t look me in the eyes as he said it, but I heard the sincerity and emotion behind it. Helen began to cry again, soft tears of desperation and hopelessness.

  Jack and I got up and made the gesture for them to stay seated, and we saw ourselves out. I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air once we were back outside and tilted my face up to feel the sun.

  “We need to find Michael Bruce,” I said.

  Jack’s phone buzzed, and he read the text. “Ask and ye shall receive. Michael and his parents are waiting for us back at the station.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  I called Cal on our way back to the Sheriff’s Office to give him an update.