Final Words (22 page)

“That guilt is all I have left of her!” He choked on the
words. “I thought I’d let it go but…I can’t.”

She lowered her gaze to their tightly clasped hands. “I knew
you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you’d think I was crazy. That’s why I didn’t
tell you before.”

Her sudden meekness gnawed at him. “Emma—”

“I don’t want to have this…this
gift
,” she
interrupted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But I do have it and I have
to use it to solve cases and bring killers to justice.”

“You can’t testify on behalf of a dead man.”

She raised her glistening eyes as one of her tears slid
free. “Someone has to.”

Her tears cut through him and he knew that he would do
anything for her. But to accept this…

“That’s why I try to find the proof they tell me about.” Her
voice grew stronger. “That’s why I went to the Stripple Brothers’ warehouse.
There was no anonymous informant. Dennis Turner’s spirit told me where to find
the gun that Craig Potter used to kill him.”

Looking into her eyes, Jason tried to put aside everything
he thought he knew. She believed she could communicate with the dead. So far
the things she’d discovered supported that impossible theory.

And what did that mean about her alleged message from Rose?

Breath hitched in his chest and he felt himself waver.
Suddenly he wanted to waver, wanted to believe her.

“I saw you at the cemetery the other day,” he said. “When
you touched that old man in his casket. And that kid who almost drowned at the
beach the night before. Did you talk to their spirits too?”

She gripped his hands between hers. “I can communicate only
with the people who come to my autopsy table. I don’t understand it. Maybe
there’s an intimacy there that forms some kind of bond between me and the
deceased. But once they’ve told me what they need to say, they go on. I never
hear from them again.”

Jason stared at her. She talked as if she was discussing
communicating with someone who didn’t speak English instead of someone who had
died. It was crazy and yet…

“Jason, will you help me find evidence on Paul Sanders?” Her
hands tightened on his. “Please?”

Her eyes got to him. Her eyes and his own damned heart.

“I’m not saying I believe you, Emma but you do seem to know
things that you shouldn’t—couldn’t—know.” Jason took another deep breath and
gave in just a little. “But we certainly can’t arrest him on the word of a dead
man.”

* * * * *

As Emma went with Jason to the police station, she realized
that she had to give him points for being open-minded.

“I really appreciate your help,” she said as he led her
toward his desk at the rear of the quiet detectives’ room.

“We should have some privacy back here.” His voice was
gruff, revealing his inner conflict. “Most of the other guys are off-duty or
out on cases.”

Emma sat in a chair beside his desk. She pressed her purse
flat against her legs, resisting the urge to twist the strap around her fingers.
“Speaking of other detectives, I had a visit from Layne Simmons this afternoon.”

Jason scowled as he dragged out his own chair and sat. “What
did she want?”

“Just to mouth off a little. I think she’d been drinking.”
Emma rested one elbow on his desk, trying to relax. Impossible with him so
close, with this tension between them. “I got the impression that she knew you
pretty well.”

Jason shrugged. “We’ve had a few dates but it was never
anything serious.”

“I don’t think she understands that.”

“That’s why I’ve been avoiding her. Layne is a little…”

When he hesitated, Emma tilted her head to one side. “Possessive?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Yeah. That would be the word.”

“So if you’ve made it clear that you’re not interested in
her, why is she still in Clear Harbor?”

“I think she’s working on a case here. Now can we please
talk about something more pleasant than Layne Simmons?”

Emma slid her elbow off the desk. “Like murder?”

“Yeah. You have your list of autopsies?”

Emma drew a computer report from her purse. She’d run it
before they’d left her office. It listed all the post mortem procedures handled
by her office in the past twelve months.

He pecked at his keyboard. “I’ll run a list of suspects who
were referred for psych treatment in the past year. We’ll cross-check it to
your list.” Lifting his hands, he stared at the blank screen. “If I can
remember how.”

“You might want to turn the computer on,” she suggested,
gesturing toward the switch on the CPU.

A blush crept up his neck as he darted a glance in her
direction. “I guess that would help.”

He flipped the switch and then they waited while the
computer booted up. Once it was done, Jason logged in awkwardly and then
accessed an inquiry program. He entered “psychiatric referral” in a search
prompt and then they waited again while the computer processed the request.

“I still can’t believe Paul Sanders would commit murder,”
Jason said as the computer went through its paces. “He has a solid reputation
here and at the DA’s office.”

“The spirits have never been wrong.” When he gave her an
uneasy glance, she smiled. “At least you haven’t called the guys with the straightjackets
to take me away.”

For the first time that evening, he smiled too. Although
strained, it was a definite smile. Then his computer beeped again and Jason
leaned forward as the screen filled with data. “What’s the first name on your
list?”

“Thomas Addison.”

Jason scanned his result list. “That name isn’t here.”

“Try Tanya Allen.”

Jason shook his head. “Nope.”

“The next one is William Barcus.”

“Barcus. Burglary. Long list of priors. No convictions.
Referred to Dr. Paul Sanders on January fifth of this year.”

“Barcus died on March seventh. It was ruled a suicide. He
slashed his wrists.” Emma made notes in the margin of her list. “Let’s try the
next one. Michael Briggs. Died April ninth of a gunshot wound to the head.”

“Michael Briggs. No.”

“David Cain. Died March first of a drug overdose.”

“Here.” Jason pointed at the screen. “Referred to Dr. Arthur
Tamburello on February twelfth of this year.”

Emma pulled her chair around the desk, positioning it close
to his so that she could see his screen better. Her knee bumped his and they
both startled.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“No problem.”

For a moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes again. Emma
knew that he felt the same pull she felt. She saw it lurking behind the other
emotions he was feeling. But now wasn’t the time to focus on attraction, no
matter how strong it was. Now he was the one who wanted to hold back and she
couldn’t blame him.

“A different doctor.” Lowering her gaze, she tapped her pen
against the list. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Sanders wouldn’t be the only psychiatrist consulting on
suspects. We use several area psychiatrists and even send people to Houston for
consultations sometimes.”

Emma sighed. “I guess I was expecting this to be easy.”

“So we won’t be able to tie every suspicious death to Paul
Sanders. We’ll tie what we can. How many names are on your list?”

She shuffled to the last page of her report. “Seven hundred-three.”
When he looked up in surprise, she explained, “We average two autopsies a day,
six days a week.”

“This could take all night.”

The huskiness in his voice brought her gaze up to his again.
His eyes burned bright and, for a moment, neither of them spoke. Emma felt heat
flow down from her face, across her neck to her breasts and then it sank
through her body.

Jason reached for the telephone. “I’ll order sandwiches.”

Emma shot to her feet. “While you do that, I’ll run to the
ladies’ room.”

“Down the hall and to the left.”

“When isn’t it? I’ll be right back.” As Emma walked away,
she smiled tearfully. Could she really be falling in love with a man who
thought she was nuts?

As he hung up from ordering the sandwiches, Jason wondered
what he was doing. Logic insisted that what Emma knew about the Campanero and
Turner cases must have sprung from something more reasonable than conversations
with the dead. And her claim about Tyrone’s death… The idea of a respected
psychiatrist like Paul Sanders killing the coke-addicted detective didn’t
completely strain Jason’s belief—as a cop, he’d seen normal people do some
terrible things—but it bordered on it.

And that look he and she had just exchanged—full of heat and
promise and need that had nearly taken him back to lunch this afternoon. Damn,
what was he thinking?

Overwhelmed by the night’s events, Jason struggled to find a
point of reference that would help him grasp what was going on. Reality
insisted there had to be a logical explanation for Emma’s knowledge. His own
desire demanded it. But, the most logical explanation was that she was out of
her mind and that possibility didn’t sit with him any better than the notion
that she could communicate with the dead.

He pressed a hand to his forehead and couldn’t tell which
part of his body was clammier.

“You’re here late tonight, MacKenzie.”

Looking up, Jason saw Buck Hosken standing in his office
doorway. He quickly turned over the papers on his desk. He wasn’t ready to
explain what he was doing—especially not to his boss—and he hoped Emma wouldn’t
return from the ladies’ room before Hosken left.

Rising, he pushed his chair under the desk. “Thought I’d
catch up on some paperwork,” he answered warily, remembering the altercation
they’d had and wondering if the chief intended to fire him after all.

“Paperwork makes the world go around.” Hosken jingled his
coins and his doughy face flushed. “I came down hard on you today, MacKenzie.
That was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Jason stared at the man. An apology from the chief was
almost as unbelievable as Emma’s claim that she could talk to spirits. Maybe
the impossible could happen.

Hosken lifted one shoulder. “You and Garcia are my best guys
because you care. I shouldn’t have blasted you for what makes you good at your
job.”

Jason cleared his throat. “Thanks, Chief. I shouldn’t have
lost my cool at you, either.”

“Forget it. Tyrone Sharpe was your friend. I should’ve told
you what was going on.”

Jason nodded slowly. “Did Dr. Powell find anything new when
he examined Tyrone?”

“No.” Hosken jingled his coins again. “It was all for
nothing after all.”

Maybe not, Jason thought, thinking of Paul Sanders and what
Emma had insisted Tyrone had told her. “When can Ty’s parents have his body
back?”

“I’ve already made arrangements. He’ll be returned to his
hometown in the morning. The cemetery staff will reinter him tomorrow evening
if you want to be there. In fact, you oughta take the whole day off. You
deserve it.”

“Thanks.” As Hosken headed on toward the door, Jason stepped
around his desk. “Chief?”

Hosken’s alligator books creaked as he stopped and turned
back. “Yeah?”

“Do you know what case Layne Simmons is working on?”

Hosken frowned. “Who’s Layne Simmons?”

Something cold and heavy slithered through Jason’s stomach. “Detective
Layne Simmons from Houston PD. She’s in town tracking down a case from there.”

Hosken shrugged. “I never heard of her. But then Houston has
more detectives than I can shake a stick at.”

“I figured she would have checked in with you. You know,
professional courtesy. And since you came from Houston, I thought you might
have known her.”

The other man frowned again. “Well, if you hear from her
again, send her my way. I don’t like unauthorized investigations going on in my
town.” Hosken walked on out.

Puzzled, Jason sat down. He was certain that Layne had said
she was in town working on a case. Of course, although protocol required it,
she might not have checked in with Hosken.

Jason pulled his keyboard toward him again. The last thing
he wanted to do was worry about Layne, especially when he had something more
important to worry about—Emma’s questionable state of mind and his growing
willingness to overlook it.

As she did chores around her apartment Saturday afternoon,
Emma thought about Jason. They’d spent a lot of time together over the past
couple of days, attending Tyrone’s reinterment and researching cases in which
Paul Sanders had been involved. She’d begun to recognize what a dedicated cop
Jason was. And what a gentle man he was.

She’d also seen what a difficult time he was having with her
ability. He was shaken by what he’d witnessed, by what she’d known. He couldn’t
explain it and that bothered him. He didn’t believe she could communicate with
the dead but at least he’d accepted the fact that
she
believed she
could.

But that acceptance hadn’t allowed him to resume the path
down which she’d thought they were heading before tonight. He had taken a step
back personally. What she could do kept him from picking up at that kiss in the
park. Emma knew he needed time to think, to digest, to accept. But it was
difficult for her to wait. She thought about him every waking moment—and a lot
of non-waking moments—and her body reacted to each thought. That hadn’t
happened with Alan. Even in the early days of their courtship and marriage, she
hadn’t felt so…consumed. It was a feeling she was beginning to enjoy.

As she sorted laundry out of the bathroom hamper, the
telephone rang. Her heart skipped. Hoping it was Jason, she hurried to pick up
the cordless phone from its resting place next to her bed. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.”

Emma’s skipping heart slammed into her ribs. “Alan.”

“Listen, about the other night at that bar,” her ex-husband
said, adopting that silky, persuasive tone that had fooled her so often in the
past. “I wanted to explain about Gillian.”

“Alan, stop.” Emma pressed her fist against her chest. Her
heartbeat steadied and she felt stronger than she’d felt in a long time. “I don’t
want to hear your lies.”

“I’m not lying. I took her out for a drink because she’s
with the Clear Harbor Planning—”

“I don’t care. I have to go.” She took a deep breath and
told a lie of her own. “I have a date.”

“A date?” The words whipped out of his mouth. “Who the hell
with?”

“That is none of your business. Goodbye, Alan.”

Emma hung up, satisfied when the phone beeped sharply. Then,
lifting her chin, she headed back to her laundry.

* * * * *

Jason stood in the rose garden as evening approached. Closing
his eyes, he allowed himself a moment to just breathe. Perfume from the flowers
mingled with the salty scent from the sea, swirling like a heady cloud inside
him. But no sense of peace came.

Opening his eyes, he looked around. He hadn’t realized, until
he’d given Emma’s “dream” some thought, that he might be keeping Rose from her
rest. With his guilt over her death and his determination to make someone pay
for it he’d kept his sister from moving on. At least that’s what he might think
if he believed Emma’s strange story. A near-death experience, souls who couldn’t
pass on until they’d told her the details of their earthly deaths…

It was impossible and yet how else could he explain the
things she’d known? And why wouldn’t anyone want to believe that a loved one
had gone on to a beautiful, safe Heaven?

Jason plucked a yellowing leaf off the nearest bush and
wondered why he couldn’t just make himself believe Emma’s claim.

“Because it
is
impossible,” he murmured. “There are
no such things as ghosts.”

But there were devils. Human devils. Mortal devils. His job
had taught him that.

Was Paul Sanders one of them?

Just that afternoon, Jason had learned that the psychiatrist’s
parents had been murdered when Paul was a teenager. Their killer was caught but
found unfit to stand trial. He’d spent six years in a mental institution before
he’d escaped to kill again. During his next incarceration a fellow inmate had slit
his throat. Something like that could scar any man and make him thirst for
justice. But could it make him commit murder in the name of justice?

Jason thought of his own all-consuming grief after Rose had
died. He’d been angry too. But if he’d found his sister’s killer could he have
killed that person for vengeance? In the warped belief that he was doing
society a favor as Paul Sanders seemed to believe?

No easy answer came. Listening to the sea comb the sand, to
the leaves of the rose bushes rustle against each other, Jason stripped off his
leather gloves and climbed the steps leading to the deck.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up. Hope turned to
disappointment as he realized it was just Charlie.

“Hey, buddy,” Jason said with false pleasure. “You’re just
in time. I was about to throw a steak on the grill. I have an extra one in the
fridge.” Impulse had prompted him to buy the second steak but something kept
him from inviting Emma over to share it.

“That sounds good.” Charlie followed Jason into the house.

In the kitchen, Jason opened the refrigerator and took out
the other steak. Tossing the package on the counter, he reached back into the
refrigerator and pulled out two beers.

Charlie narrowed one eye and studied him. “Something is
bothering you, my friend.”

Jason handed Charlie one of the beers and then took a bowl
of homemade steak sauce out of the refrigerator. As he removed the plastic wrap
from the bowl, he glanced at his partner who remained standing nearby. Charlie
twisted the cap off his beer and waited patiently.

Jason sighed. He had no right to tell anyone what Emma
claimed she could do. But some advice would be welcome.

Stirring a fork through the sauce, he casually asked, “What
do you think happens to a person when they die?”

Charlie scoffed. “Just how many beers have you had today?”

Jason tried to sound more laid-back. “Seeing as how you’re
such a religious guy, I figured you’d have an opinion.”

Charlie lifted one shoulder. “I believe that at death the
Good Lord catches up the soul and takes it to Heaven.”

“What if that soul had unfinished business? I mean what if
it needed to pass on information before it could…rest?”

“I don’t know.” Charlie shrugged again. “Some people claim
they can communicate with spirits. But a person would have to be very special
before God would give him such an ability.”

Emma is a special person.

Pushing the sauce aside, Jason tore the plastic wrap off
Charlie’s steak. “Would someone be born with that ability or could they acquire
it later in life?”

Leaning a hip against the kitchen counter, Charlie watched
Jason with suspicious eyes. “Have you had conversations with your late sister
that you haven’t told me about?”

“I just caught some documentary on the Discovery Channel
last night and it piqued my curiosity.” Deciding this subject wasn’t a good
idea after all, Jason forced a smile. “Never mind. So what brings you out here
this evening?”

Charlie rolled his beer bottle between his palms and
returned Jason’s smile with his own superior version. “I found a witness to our
hit-and-run.”

The raw steak went limp in Jason’s hand as he stared at his
partner. “What?”

Charlie kept rolling the bottle. “I received a phone call
this afternoon from the manager of a flower shop near the accident site. There
was a young woman in the shop that evening. A beautiful bride-to-be, preparing
for her—”

“Get to the point.”

Charlie cleared his throat. “This bride and her
maid-of-honor were in the flower shop the day of the incident. They were
discussing floral arrangements with the shop owner and they videotaped the
meeting. Ah, the technological sentimentality of the new generation.”

Jason grabbed the pepper shaker and liberally spiced Charlie’s
steak. “Get on with it.”

“The bride and her friend returned to the shop this morning
and when the owner mentioned the accident, they remembered the tape. The owner
mentioned that we might be interested in it. The tape caught a blue sedan with
a dented front fender, a broken headlight and scratched paint.”

“The car that hit Brian and Emma?”

“Most likely. Fortunately they also got the license plate on
film.”

Jason’s pulse quickened. “And did you run that plate?”

“The DPS connection was down but it should be up soon.
Within a few minutes, we should know who owns that car.”

“Charlie, I could kiss you.”

Charlie grinned again and gestured with his beer bottle. “I
would settle for a less peppery steak.”

* * * * *

Barefoot, Emma carried a load of clean towels from the small
utility room off her kitchen. Emptying the laundry basket onto the sofa, she
glanced around her apartment. In spite of the open windows and the evening
breeze that stirred the gauzy curtains, the place felt lonely and dark. Emma
had lived in the apartment for over a year but it didn’t seem like much of a
home.

Neither, she realized, had the house she’d shared with Alan.
Furnished in gray suede and smoked glass, it had seemed a cold place. It wasn’t
at all like Jason’s casual, eclectic beach house. His décor resembled her own
with a mix of styles and warm, comfortable furnishings. She could imagine
herself living there with him, tidying his kitchen, working in that rose garden
and keeping Jason…

She smiled. Keeping Jason satisfied and loved.

But was that enough? He deserved a normal relationship.
Considering what she could do, he wasn’t going to get one with her. And would a
man who was accustomed to playing a very broad field—even if it had happened in
the past—even want a relationship?

Pondering the situation, Emma started folding towels.
Moments later, movement outside caught her eye and she glanced through the
window. To her surprise, she saw Jason and Charlie running up the street toward
a dark green sedan parked nearby. Both detectives carried guns as they
approached the parked car. The vehicle’s heavily tinted windows were up. She
couldn’t see anyone inside but Jason and Charlie approached the car as if it
contained one of the FBI’s ten-most-wanted fugitives. Stopping near the rear of
it, they raised their guns.

Charlie shouted, “Police! Step out of the car! Keep your
hands up!”

A moment passed and then the driver’s door opened. Emma
clutched the towel to her stomach as a man stepped out. Shock gripped her as
she recognized her ex-husband.

Charlie grabbed Alan’s arm, jerked him around and shoved him
against the side of the car. Holding his gun high and aiming it at Alan, Jason
moved around the other side of the car.

Still clutching the towel she’d been folding, Emma ran
outside, her bare feet pounding across the cool grass that lay between her
apartment and the street. Halfway across the yard between the apartment
building and the street, she saw her ex-husband look up at her. His angry
surprise faded into what looked like sadness. Facing forward, he pressed his
forehead against the car. His shoulders shook as Charlie handcuffed him.

Emma crossed the street. She heard Alan sob as she
approached the men.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured between gasps. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re under arrest, Mr. Winfeld, in the death of Brian
Reiser, for leaving the scene of an accident and for failure to render aid.”
Charlie stepped back from Alan and, holstering his gun, glanced over his
shoulder at Emma. His jaw tightened and then he grabbed Alan and pulled him
around to face her.

Emma took another step forward but stopped when she read the
guilt in Alan’s eyes.

“I saw you with that guy, Emma.” His voice slurred, thick
with tears. “I couldn’t stand it!”

Ice water coursed through her veins. “You mean Brian?”

“We believe your ex-husband was stalking you for weeks
before the hit-and-run.” Jason appeared beside her. “And that he hit you and
Brian on purpose. His damaged car has been hidden in his garage in Houston
since that night. When we looked for him at his office, his boss told us he was
in Clear Harbor on business and that he was driving a company car while he had
work done on his own.”

Emma saw hate flare in Alan’s eyes as Jason slipped his arm
around her shoulders. For a moment she thought her ex-husband meant to lunge at
Jason. Charlie must have thought so too, for he pressed a hand against Alan’s
chest.

“You have the right to remain silent, Mr. Winfeld,” the
older detective said. “I suggest you begin using it now.”

Emma began to tremble. “Is it true? Did you kill Brian?”

Jason held her tighter. “Emma, wait until we get to the
station.”

Charlie began to speak rapidly. “You have the right to an
attorney, Mr. Winfeld.”

“Yes, I did it!” The hatred in Alan’s eyes intensified as he
shouted at Emma over Charlie’s voice. “You accused me of being unfaithful when
all the while you were screwing around with that glorified mortician!”

Emma felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Alan,
that’s not true! Brian and I were just friends.”

“You took me for half the money in our bank accounts!”

She shook her head, bewildered. “That was money we saved
together. We split it fairly when we divorced.”

“There’s nothing fair about it! You’re my wife, Emma. We
belong together, like we were before.” Desperation darkened Alan’s eyes and he
lowered his voice. “Brian’s life is over, Emma. But our life isn’t.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, it is.”

“No!” He threw himself against Charlie. “I decide when we’re
through!”

“Give up, Winfeld,” Charlie warned, holding him back.

“This is my marriage and I decide when it’s over!”

When Alan continued to resist, Charlie grabbed his shirt
front and pushed him against the car again. Jaw thrust forward, he got right in
Alan’s face. “The lady is capable of making her own decisions, Winfeld. Right
now you had better decide to shut your mouth because anything you say can be
used against you in a court of law and believe me, we will use it!”