Page 11 of A Deeper Darkness
“Of course. It will probably be Friday at the earliest. I intend to send out engraved invitations. Do you need a plus one?”
“Yes. Detective Hart will be attending, as well.”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll see to it. If you will, I’d like to return to the office of the chief medical examiner now.Justitia omnibus.”
He wandered off and Fletcher didn’t know which to shake his head at, that Nocek didn’t call it the OCME like everyone else, or the obscure reference to the motto for the District of Columbia: justice for all. Like that happened. Especially in a homicide case.
Fletcher reached in his pocket for fresh nitrile gloves and went back into the bedroom. Watched them load up the body. Yawned, and made peace with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep any time soon. Decided to go help with the canvass, after all.
And damn it, the coffee was cold, too.
Chapter Seven
Nashville, Tennessee
Dr. Samantha Owens
Sam was astounded by how expensive it was to book a plane ticket without advance notice. Eleanor had insisted on paying, had given Sam her credit card number. Still, she didn’t want to bilk the woman. She finally gave up on that notion and settled for convenience: a flight that landed at Reagan National at 11:00 a.m.
She turned off the computer, went to her bedroom and got ready for bed. Set the alarm, even though sleep was out of the question. Picked up a book from her night table. She had no idea what it was or what it concerned. She tried to read, but the words kept blurring. She gave up after half an hour and shut off the light. Laid there in the dark, listening to the house creak around her. She should get a cat, something soft and furry to sleep with her. She’d like a dog, but she was allergic.
Her thoughts coiled around themselves. She let them.
This morning’s call about the drowning. Her flight from her responsibilities. If she’d just come home earlier, she’d have gotten the message from Eleanor sooner and could have flown to D.C. tonight.
If she hadn’t been so selfish two years ago…
They might have escaped.
Water. Bullets. Hearts.
She rolled onto her side, punched her pillow to fluff it up.
She had to find a way to cope. This was her life now.
Smiling eyes, soft kisses, the breeze across the bridge.
Her house was too quiet. She missed them.
Missed them all.
Donovan.
There she was, back to exactly what she was trying to avoid thinking about—Donovan.
It was no use. It was too fresh for her to compartmentalize and hide away. She wouldn’t escape him tonight.
She went back to the computer and looked up the online stories again, the same ones she’s stared at when she got off the phone with Eleanor. They were sparse on details, long on color. Donovan was the twelfth carjacking victim in the District so far this year. He was driving through an area that wasn’t well known for violence; the community organizers were in a frenzy. That was it for the crime. The rest was local hero stuff. There was a lengthy history of his time in the service, which brought all the horrible feelings Sam had stuffed into the boot heel of her heart back to the surface.
Donovan had enlisted out of high school, done his tour in Desert Storm, then came home and went to college. Sam met him the first week of med school. He was part of her Gross Anatomy team of first-years. They took turns egging each other on to make that first cut into dead flesh, learning the depersonalization skills that were so vital to their intended career paths. But then the war started again, and he got noble, started entertaining the notion that he wanted to go back in, this time as a Ranger. He would be a tough guy, infantry. On the front lines. Leading the 11 Bang-Bang into battle. And if his medical training could help save lives in the bargain, so be it.
She couldn’t shake him from his path, which seemed to her a death wish: infantry sustained the highest number of casualties in a war. She had to admit, part of her was so hurt when he chose the military over her that she let him walk away. The night on Key Bridge, when he’d kissed her, said he loved her, then told her he was leaving and broke her heart in two.
She could have promised to wait for him, but she knew that would be a lie. She had another, one who loved her desperately, one who wanted her home, wanted to share her life. One who putherlife plans first, who called daily telling her she was missed. One she’d already committed to. In truth, even though heartbroken, Donovan reenlisting gave her permission to move back into her life the way it was originally meant to be. Donovan was simply a diversion on the road.
She told herself that, and eventually came to believe it. Mostly. She pushed the feelings down into a tiny deflated ball, flat and meaningless, a spot of black on an otherwise perfectly red and juicy heart.
She turned off the computer, careful to check that the surge protector was on, then went back to her bedroom. Shadows danced across the walls as she moved, slowly, numbly, to the bed and lay down. Got up and washed her hands. Lay down again.
