Page 90 of Unnatural Death

“Seventy-Three, did you say the ten-twenty is Ivy Hill Cemetery?”

“Ten-four.”

“Is the subject you’re transporting deceased?” The dispatcher asks this in all seriousness.

“Ten-ten,” Fruge replies, and other cops are clicking their radio mics in amusement. “The subject isn’t literally from the cemetery, as in someone who’s dug up or about to be buried.” The more she says, the worse it gets. “A driver had an accident at Ivy Hill’s entrance, hitting the stone sign.” Fruge’s explanation has triggered a blizzard of mic-clicking.

I’m getting a better sense of what her work life is like. She’s a rookie investigator, her comrades a tough crowd. But underlying everything in her universe is the gravity of her toxicologist mother. There’s no escaping the pull of Greta Fruge’s notoriety, as her daughter so very well knows.

Blaise moved as far from Richmond as she could without leaving Virginia. She signed on with a police department in a city where she had no family or friends. Even so she’s accused of nepotism. Rumors abound aboutMommie Dearestpulling strings to get her daughter hired.

“… There’s also a white van parked on the shoulder of King Street half a mile north,” Fruge explains over the air, trying to sound as if everything’s normal. But I can see her embarrassment as the mic-clicking persists. “The flashers were on when I drove past a few minutes ago. Needs to be checked out.”

“Ten-four, Seventy-Three,” the dispatcher answers.

“Did you notice the van’s plate number when you drove past?” I ask Fruge when she’s off the air.

“Hopefully my dashcam captured it,” she replies. “To review the video, I’ll have to take out the memory card, download it to my laptop. It’s an ordeal and will have to wait until I get you home. And I’ll remind you that we don’t have any real reason to connect the van to a drone attack or anything else. All the same, I’ll make sure it’s looked into.”

CHAPTER 34

WAITING UNTIL SEVERAL CARS go by, Fruge backs out of the cemetery’s entrance. Our tire tracks from minutes earlier are already covered in snow. As we creep along King Street, I hear police sirens over the scanner. Officers are headed in this direction, responding to the suspicious van and my disabled car.

Thank God we’re on our way and I won’t have to see any of them. I won’t have to answer their questions. I feel self-conscious about my appearance. I’m embarrassed that I didn’t handle the situation better. I have four-wheel drive and knew there was ice on the road. I shouldn’t have let the drones run me into a stone sign. I can’t stop second-guessing myself.

“You sure you don’t need me to take you to the hospital?” Fruge starts in again, and at times she reminds me of Marino. She can be just as relentless, invasive and full of swagger.

“The airbag hit my lower face and jaw, also my wrists because of the way my hands were positioned on the wheel.” I spell it out for her. “I don’t think I’m badly hurt. Just burned from friction scraping off the top layer of skin. And I’m going to have some significant bruising.”

“You’re sure you didn’t pass out or maybe fall asleep for even a few seconds? And that’s why you lost control?”

“I’m sure.”

“When the windshield seemed to black out? Maybe what really happened isyoublacked out for a second or two? It would be easy to be confused …”

“It didn’t seem the windshield blacked out. I promise it did. And I’m not confused.”

“You’re not seeing double, anything like that?”

“No.”

“I don’t know if I told you? But before policing, I worked on a rescue squad one summer?”

“Yes, you’ve told me.”

“And you’re sure that before the airbag hit your head, you saw drones rushing toward you?” she persists. “I mean, it’s not a good night to be driving, as tired as you must be. Your eyes can play tricks on you.”

“I wondered the same thing for an instant. But I know what I saw.” I text Benton that I’ve had a slight mishap while driving. I tell him I’ll be fine. I’ll be home shortly and will explain more later.

You with Fruge?he answers right away.

She’s giving me a ride. My car’s a mess, has to be towed.

I appreciate her taking care of you. Make sure she knows, he replies, and I pass this along.

“He considers you a trusted friend,” I say to her. “And so do I.”

“That means a lot.” Fruge squints at bleary taillights ahead. “We got to stick together, right? The three of us go back a long way,” she adds, and we don’t really although she says it often enough.

---