“I’ll tell you, Colt, far’s I know, Denny Lowe ain’t tied to Amy. God’s honest truth.”
That meant whatever he was hiding, and he was hiding something, might be tied to Colt or Feb and he wasn’t saying. Which meant it was.
“Doc, no matter how deep you bury that skeleton in your closet, somethin’ always happens to make it rattle.”
“You hear those bones rattlin’, son, take my advice. You close the closet door.”
Then Doc hung up. Another dead end.
“Fucking shit,” Colt cursed as he put down his phone.
“Looks like your day’s turnin’ out good as mine,” Sully noted as he walked up.
Colt knew what Sully was talking about. Colleagues, neighbors and friends of Lowe were being interviewed everywhere. All they got was a few “We always thought he was a bit quiet,” but nothing else. It was a shock even to his Mom and Dad, who still lived in town. Denny’s mother was so cut up she’d had to be sedated by paramedics. No one had heard from him or seen him since the day Puck died, which the coroner told them was also the day he reckoned Marie died. They were coming up zero which meant the only thing they had left was waiting for him to kill again.
He had no chance to reply to Sully, the phone on his desk rang again. He pulled it out of the receiver and put it to his ear.
“Lieutenant Colton,” he answered.
“She’s dead.”
Colt knew the voice, even if it was a whisper. Julie McCall.
Fuck.
“What?”
“She’s dead, Lieutenant. I’m standin’ in her house and she’s dead.”
“Who?” Colt asked but he knew.
“Amy,” she whispered and it surprised him, coming from that woman, but he heard tears in that one word.
“Exit the house immediately, Ms. McCall. Don’t touch anything. Officers will be there shortly and I’ll meet you out front.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t touch anything,” he repeated.
“I won’t.”
He hit a button on the phone and then hit the extension for dispatch. “Connie, get a unit out to Amy Harris’s house, one six eight Rosemary Street. We got a four one nine.”
“Four one nine,” Connie repeated. “Sure thing, Colt,” she finished and disconnected.
Sully was close when Colt put the phone down and grabbed his blazer off the back of his chair.
“Why you sendin’ a unit to Amy Harris’s house on a four one nine?”
Colt didn’t look at him when he answered. He was on the move.
“Because she’s dead.”
* * * * *
Colt stood in Amy Harris’s bedroom watching the boys cut her dead body down from the ceiling fan.
Hanged. Apparent suicide. No bruising. No marks. Hair tidy. Clothing tidy. House tidy, like she was preparing for company.
She had no shoes on. Chair on its side under her. No sign of struggle. No forced entry.
The coroner, Andy, told Colt his best guess, she died the day before, Monday.
Colt walked out of the room into Amy’s living room and pulled the phone out of his back pocket. The display said it was ten passed six. No Costa’s tonight.
He opened it, scrolled down to Feb and hit go.
“Hello?”
“Baby, hate to tell you this but we can’t do Costa’s. I got work.”
She was quiet a minute then she asked, “What kind of work?”
“Suicide.”
He heard her gasp before she said, “Who?”
Colt had no intention of telling her that when they were on the phone. He hadn’t had a lot of success controlling her temper or her emotions when he was in the same room with her. He was not going to make that attempt over the fucking phone.
“We’ll talk about it when I get home from work.”
“When’s that gonna be?”
He heard the zip go on the body bag.
“Late.”
“I’ll give Mom and Dad a break and close tonight.”
“They’ve only covered for you and Morrie one night.”
“They’re not as young as they used to be.”
“I heard that!” Colt heard Jackie shout in the background.
He would have smiled normally, but he didn’t feel like smiling just about now.
“Feb –”
“Colt, it’s just…” she hesitated, uncomfortable, edgy, not sure if she should share, “I need to store up my markers for when we actually make it to Costa’s.”
There it was. Indication of a future.
That made him feel like smiling. He didn’t smile but he did let it go.
“Is Morrie on with you tonight?”
“No, he’s home havin’ dinner with Dee and the kids.”
“He comin’ back?”