Page 29 of A Deeper Darkness
“Sam?”
“Hi, Eleanor. We’re finished.”
“Did you find anything?”
Sam imagined Eleanor sitting at the counter in her pristine, gaily decorated kitchen, an untouched teacup at her elbow, waiting, so alone, for Sam to call. She didn’t want that.
“I did. Why didn’t you tell me Eddie was overseas recently?”
Eleanor paused for a second, then said, “Because he wasn’t. He hasn’t been back for three years. He’d never go willingly, either. He despised that place. Why in the world would you think he’d been back over there?”
Sam was quiet for a moment. “Do you want the details?”
“Please, Sam. I didn’t ask you up here for tea.”
“He had fresh irritations in his lungs that mimics the scar tissue he built up from his tours.”
It was Eleanor’s turn to be quiet. “I’m confused. What does that mean?”
“There’s a common phenomenon that’s cropped up in soldiers who serve in the Arabian Peninsula. Because of all the sand, it’s embedding in their lungs. Add to that natural situation the fact that the air over there is tainted—they burn their trash, computers, plastic—those things put chemicals in the air that people breathe, and you have a mess. Soldiers are coming home with asthma, bronchial conditions, the works. Eventually there will be a high incidence of lung and skin cancers in those who served. But in the here and now, with this finding in Eddie’s autopsy… Forensically, it means that sometime in the past few days before his death, he breathed in sand. Tests are being run to determine where the sand came from. As far as the investigation into why he died, I have no idea. Not yet. But something isn’t right.”
She heard the tone in her voice, grimly determined. She was on the hook now. She couldn’t walk away and let it rest. She was going to figure out who killed Eddie, and why. Eleanor must have heard it, too, because she began to cry.
“Oh, thank God, Sam. I knew there was something more to this.”
“It’s too early to know anything for sure, Eleanor. Once we find where the sand is indigenous to, we’ll know much more. I’m heading over to meet with the detective on Eddie’s case right now.”
“You’ll stay in touch?” Eleanor sounded old and weak. A lioness who’s been guarding the den for too long without feeding herself, exhausted and famished.
“Of course. Why don’t you lie down for a bit? Doctor’s orders. I’ll call Susan and let her know.”
“Sam, why don’t you let me.”
Sam understood the question immediately. Susan Donovan wouldn’t want to hear that Sam had been right.
“Of course. But then, a nap. Promise?”
She got off the phone and put the car into gear. Fletcher’s office wasn’t too far away. She wondered how much information he’d been holding back from the family. And what surprises that information held.
Chapter Sixteen
Washington, D.C.
Detective Darren Fletcher
Fletcher accepted a cup of coffee from Hart, who looked like a rattlesnake woken from a too-short bath in the sun.
“They found Edward Donovan’s car.”
Fletcher stopped the cup on its way to his mouth. “Donovan’s car?”
“Yeah,” Hart said. “Up by Branch Avenue in PG County, near the Safeway in Clinton. Someone torched it.”
“Really?” Fletcher allowed himself a contemplative sip of coffee then. Only one reason a suspect torches a car—they think they can erase evidence. Often times, they were right.
“They found a casing, too. Under the front seat—.9 mil.”
“But no gun?”
