Where Shadows Meet(30)

Whit Grout had done him a favor and pushed the autopsy to the top of his list, so Matt decided to meet him here in the basement of the hospital, though it was never a pleasant experience. The coroner came through the door peeling off his rubber gloves. Matt didn’t want to speculate what the stains were on the man’s lab coat. Whit shucked it, too, revealing khaki shorts and a T-shirt that read “Greenhouse Gas Coming Through—Hold Your Nose.” About forty, he was so thin the only thing that cast a shadow was his blond hair, bushy as a porcupine. In spite of Whit’s appearance, Matt had never met a smarter person. Whit noticed things. Important things.

Matt and Ajax fell into step beside him as they went to Whit’s office. “What’d you find out?”

Whit didn’t answer, plowing on ahead through the door and straight to the coffeepot. It smelled burned and stale, but he smacked his lips as he gulped half a cup. “Ah, that hits the spot. Want some?”

“No thanks. You figure out what killed Moe? Was it strychnine?”

“He had enough poison in his system to kill ten people his size.” Whit dropped into his chair, a wooden piano stool that let him twist in any direction.

Matt took the more comfortable wooden folding chair, and Ajax curled up at his feet. The coroner had a big enough budget to get some decent furniture but seemed to relish putting guests at a disadvantage. When he came in here, Matt felt like a bug under the microscope, and he suspected Whit was always analyzing how people reacted to his environment.

“He inhaled it. Check any flowers at the house.”

“We did. They were loaded with poison. They were sent to his mother. He was the one who put them in water and must have gotten enough of a whiff to kill him.”

Matt had hoped for something easier to track down, but the flowers didn’t seem to have come from any local florist. And Moe was dead and couldn’t tell them who delivered the box of roses. Nora had no idea either. He rose and moved to the door. “Thanks, Whit.”

“Got a Jane Doe that you might be interested in. About the right age. Drowned, natural causes looks like.”

Matt’s fingers tightened on the door handle. “Hair color?”

“Light red with gray.”

The right hair color. “Can I see her?”

“Sure.” Whit drained his coffee cup and rose.

Matt followed him down the hall to a room that held the cadavers in cold storage. When Whit pulled out a drawer, Matt drew in a deep breath. The rasp of the zipper sliding open on the body bag sounded loud in the cavernous room. He focused on a spot on the wall, probably the spray from a soda can.

“Well?” Whit prodded him on the arm.

Matt looked down into the woman’s face. His gaze took in the sharp nose, the narrow-set eyes, the wide forehead. “It’s not her.” Relief and disappointment did a two-step. Why did he even think it might be? Only Whit knew of his secret search. “Thanks, my friend.”

“No problem.” Whit zipped the bag closed before shoving the drawer back into place.

Back outside, Matt drew in a lungful of clean air. But the taint of death stayed with him. His cell phone rang at his belt, and he grabbed it. He noticed he’d missed several calls while he was in the dungeon. “Beitler.”

? Blake’s voice came over the phone. “Where you at, partner? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Talking to the coroner. My cell doesn’t work in the basement.”

“Your grandma called. She said she saw something the night Moe Honegger died.”

“I’ll meet you in front of headquarters.” Trudy probably was one of his missed calls. He put Ajax into the backseat, then drove to the sheriff’s office, where he slowed down long enough to allow Blake to jump into the passenger seat.

“She say what she saw?” Matt asked Blake.

Blake shrugged. “Someone cut through her corn patch, knocked down some stalks.”

“Might be kids.”

“Maybe. She seemed adamant she had to talk to you.”

She was always adamant. Matt drove west out of Rockville. When he passed the road toward Nora’s house and the other Amish farmlands, he wondered if Hannah had stayed in the community or gone home. And why had she come? She’d never explained.

Blake ran his window down. “How’s Gina?”

“Fine. You two need to work it out.”

“I’m working on it.”

Matt’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Is it true, Blake?”

His partner didn’t look at him. “Is what true?”

“You having an affair?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Matt closed his mouth. He wanted to ask where Blake had gotten the money for the ring, but he feared to hear the answer. If Gina’s suspicion wasn’t true, wouldn’t Blake deny the charge?

He turned down his grandmother’s road. Trudy’s house was the only one on this narrow way. She came to the door before Blake’s raised fist could fall on the door.

“Don’t just stand there—come in,” she said, standing aside so they could enter. “Not the dog.” She pointed her finger at Ajax. “Stay.”

Ajax’s tail drooped, but he settled down with his head on his paws and a mournful look in his eyes. “I’ll be right back, boy.” Matt pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything. This was an old disagreement, and one he wasn’t going to win. Trudy’s ways were set by seventy-two years of footsteps encased in concrete.