Page 65 of Unnatural Death

His feet thud up the ramp as two state police SUVs drive toward us with emergency lights flashing. Parking near the van, the officers climb out, a man and a woman, both of them young. They let us know they’ll escort Henry to his funeral home, ensuring that nobody follows or tries to interfere with the transport.

“We certainly appreciate your help,” I say to them. “More than you know.”

“I think things will be quiet here once the bodies are gone,” says the male officer.

“The TV trucks are relocating to the funeral home,” says the female. “Hopefully everybody will leave you alone now, Doctor Scarpetta.”

“Can’t you do something about that?” Henry points at the persistent drone, now hovering considerably higher.

“Not unless it breaks the law,” the male officer answers.

“It’s trespassing,” Henry says.

“It’s one of those modern-day problems there’s not much of a solution to yet,” says the woman. “I had one hovering over my backyard not all that long ago. Took it out with the power washer and then stomped the hell out of it. But I wasn’t in uniform. And I’d had a few beers.”

“Why don’t we sit inside the van,” Henry suggests to me, scowling up at the persistent drone.

“Good idea.”

CHAPTER 25

OPENING THE VAN’S PASSENGER’S door for me, Henry climbs into the driver’s side. He turns the heat to low, and now we can talk privately.

“As you mentioned earlier, we have to entertain the possibility that someone might attempt to snatch the bodies,” I say to him. “As crazy as that may sound, in this case it’s a distinct possibility.”

“People don’t realize that thousands of bodies are stolen every year,” Henry says as we talk with the heat blowing. “Remember when grave robbers dug up Charlie Chaplin and held his body for ransom? They demanded six hundred thousand dollars from his widow, if you can imagine anything so disgusting. It happens more than people would imagine.”

“We need to be prepared for just about anything.” I’m thinking about the micro hard drive I dug out of Brittany Manson’s hip.

If that’s what the Russians are after, they aren’t aware we’ve found it. They don’t necessarily know the evidence is secure and that before the night is over the bodies will be incinerated. As I’m thinking this, I’m seeing Carrie Grethen’s scarred face and mocking smile. I felt she was looking at me through the camera.

She was reminding me that revenge is best served cold, and it’s on the way. I have a bad feeling it’s been in the works. I just didn’t know it. After our last encounter seven years ago, I expected there would be consequences. I would pay the ultimate price. All of us would. But we were spared because she died. Except she didn’t.

“Whoever’s involved may not realize we recovered something they were looking for,” I tell Henry without saying what it is. “These bad people would do anything to get what they want. The police will make sure nobody comes to your place looking.”

“What about you, Kay? Who’s taking care of you?”

“Certain evidence isn’t here, and now the bodies won’t be.” I stare out at my building, most of the windows dark at this late hour. “But the damage has been done. Because of what’s on the news we’ve got to worry about all sorts of things. Not just the media but anyone who wants to cause trouble.”

“That’s how the next of kin found out. From the news,” Henry replies. “The Secret Service talked with the parents, and I’ve spoken to them as well. They were relieved not to fool with the arrangements, didn’t want to spend a penny or waste a moment of their time. Nobody’s local, and that’s probably best. I wouldn’t call them nice people.”

Henry says we don’t have to be concerned about family showing up and trying to delay what needs to be done. Huck’s parents live in Texas. Brittany’s are in Florida. It doesn’t appear the families were in contact often with each other or their son and daughter. They seemed more surprised than sorry to learn of the brutal deaths.

“I got the impression the parents had no idea what the couple was up to beyond owning a lucrative retail business.” Henry continues telling me about his phone conversations. “They didn’t know Huck and Brittany had been camping in the woods for months. Or that they might be involved in illegal activities and were about to be arrested. The parents rarely saw them. The last time was before COVID.”

The bodies will go directly to Addams Family’s crematorium, the oven fired and heating up as Henry and I talk inside his van. Tomorrow the ashes will be shipped to Florida, where they’ll be buried in a Vero Beach cemetery, he explains. Huck Manson’s family in Texas didn’t want the couple’s remains. Nobody was interested in any kind of funeral service.

“Truth is, none of them seemed to care about much except what might be in the will,” Henry says. “And I’ll be surprised if there is one.”

“Sounds like the apple didn’t fall far,” I reply. “I want you to promise you’ll drive with your police escort directly to your funeral home. I don’t want you alone for even five minutes.”

I envision Carrie Grethen shooting her submachine gun. I see the decapitated head that washed up in Monte Carlo, and the man eviscerated on a Moscow sidewalk.

“I’ll be fine, Kay. I’m told there’s quite a police presence at my funeral home, several officers also standing sentry at our crematorium,” Henry says. “Most members of my staff are gone for the day. Those of us left will take care of the cremation immediately, and that will be the end of it.”

“I wish it were the end,” I reply. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I’m here to help anytime.”

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