Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(14)
“No, no, no.” Aunt Barb sobbed, hanging her head, sagging between the policeman and Judy, and letting them lead her away from the stretcher and back to the Volkswagen, where they eased her, sobbing, into the passenger seat and closed the door behind her.
Judy faced Officer Hoffman. “I’m sorry that happened. I didn’t see that coming, but I should have.”
“No need to apologize.” Officer Hoffman nodded, sympathetic. “You never know how people are going to react in a situation like this. That’s why we do death notifications in pairs, and why we always make sure that the next-of-kin is sitting down when we do the notification. I’ve had the craziest things happen during a notification. One time, I told a man that his son had been killed in an auto accident, and the man jumped up from the couch and ran clear out of the house. We had to chase him down the street.”
“Oh my,” Judy said, thinking that being a policeman had to be one of the most demanding jobs on the planet.
“So thank you for your cooperation. I’ll make a note that your aunt made a personal identification.”
“I have one question before we go.” Judy couldn’t get Iris’s broken fingernails out of her mind, for some reason. “What happens next, to the body? Will there be an autopsy?”
“Yes, since the new D.A., we always autopsy after an auto accident to find out if there was a medical event.”
“How long would that take and who would get the results?”
“Let’s see, it’s Saturday night, so I bet the autopsy would be Sunday or Monday. They would release the body, probably on Tuesday, to the funeral home that would be picked out by whoever claims it.”
Judy thought ahead. “That might be my aunt, but I will do the arranging.”
“If she claims the body, she would be responsible for the expenses at the morgue. If the body were unclaimed, then it would be cremated at the county’s expense.” Officer Hoffman took a step closer. “You didn’t hear this from me, but we have a real problem with the undocumented bodies. The families know that if the body is unclaimed, we’ll cremate it at taxpayer expense, so they wait to claim the body, let the county cremate it, then claim it.”
Judy’s thoughts were stuck on Iris. “What if she didn’t die of natural causes? What if there’s something suspicious about the death?” She gestured at the guys in ties. “Can I talk to the detective on the case?”
“Sure, I’ll go get him. Stay here.” Officer Hoffman turned and jogged off toward the group, and Judy opened the car door and leaned in to her aunt.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Barb. How are you?”
“It’s just so sad.” Aunt Barb had stopped crying, but her eyes were filmed and bloodshot, and her knit cap tilted askew. She slumped in her too-big parka, wiping her eyes with a balled-up Kleenex.
“Do you feel up to seeing the detective on her case? Officer Hoffman went to get him, and I can talk with him alone or with you.”
“Let’s do it, it’s important.” Her aunt dabbed at her eyes again. “I’ll stay in the car, though. I feel tired.”
“Of course.” Judy straightened up, left the passenger door open, and turned around to see Officer Hoffman approaching them with a man about six feet tall, with a bulky build, short hair, wire-rimmed aviator glasses, and crow’s-feet that placed him in his mid-forties. She put on a professional smile, which was another thing she hadn’t learned in law school.
Officer Hoffman gestured at the detective. “Ms. Carrier, this is Detective Raymond Boone. He’s assigned to the case, and I’ll take my leave now. Nice meeting you and your aunt.”
“Thanks.” Judy waved to him as he left, and Detective Boone extended a hammy hand.
“Ms. Carrier, I’m pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming out to make the identification.”
“Thanks for your help.” Judy accepted his handshake, firm enough to make her glad she worked out. “This is my aunt, Barb Moyer, who knew Iris. Iris’s last name was Juarez.”
Detective Boone looked down at her aunt with a sympathetic frown. “Ms. Moyer, I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m glad you asked to see me and I would’ve contacted you myself in a day or two, at your home.”
Aunt Barb sniffled. “Detective, I want you to do everything possible to find out what happened here because Iris was a wonderful person, and my dearest friend, and she deserves everything that you can do for her.”
“I certainly will.” Detective Boone nodded, setting his mouth. He slipped his hand inside his dark sport coat and extracted a ballpoint pen and a skinny notepad like Officer Hoffman carried. “Now, tell me about yourself and how you know the decedent.”
Aunt Barb cleared her throat. “I’m a landscape architect and I live in Kennett Square on Vaughn Road. Iris was my best friend, and she worked for me, as a gardener and as a companion, for the past three years or so.”
Detective Boone flipped open the cardboard cover of his pad, clicked on his pen, and started taking notes. He looked over at Judy, blinking behind his aviator glasses, which were smudged. “Ms. Carrier, how do you know Ms. Juarez?”
“I just met her today at my aunt’s house.”
Aunt Barb interjected, “Iris was leaving for her shift at Mike’s Exotics. She works the three-to-eleven. She came by this morning to bring me some cookies since my family is here for a visit.”