Always Kiss the Corpse (41 page)

Sheriff Burt Vanderhoek showed up half an hour later, then Carl Assounian and his partner, a woman in her thirties, a couple of minutes after that. They disappeared downstairs. Noel, Kyra, the white-faced receptionist and the totally silent Dr. Haines waited. A forensics unit arrived, heavy with equipment. They found the recording machine on Jones' desk, a tape in place. They listened: a confession from Stockman Jones, that he had participated in killing Sandro Vasiliadis in order, as he believed at the time, to rescue WISDOM's reputation; that Gary Haines had admitted to Jones and to Dr. Lorna Albright, in demanding an alibi of them, he had shot Dr. Richard Trevelyan and previously tampered with his boat; that Dr. Jones had already detailed all this to his wife, Bonnie O'Hara; that she tried to convince him to take the full story to the police, where he would repeat it with his lawyer present; but that Stockman Jones felt it best to conclude the whole dreadful business in this present manner.

Assounian and his partner took Dawn and Gary to separate offices and questioned them. They each made statements regarding the afternoon, and signed them. Dawn was allowed to go. Gary Haines explained he had an appointment in Seattle that evening, but Assounian assigned two patrolmen to take him to the sheriff's office for further interrogation. And to bring in Dr. Albright as well.

Assounian questioned Kyra and Noel again, verification of the information so far before him. He thanked them for providing the link between the Vasiliadis death and the new drugs the clinic had been experimenting with. Kyra and Noel requested permission to be present at the interrogation of Albright and Haines. Assounian couldn't allow that, but if they called later in the evening he would tell them anything he could as long as it didn't jeopardize his investigation. They were free to go. From the front door they saw, behind the police tape, a TV station truck.

TWENTY-THREE

Kyra and Noel drove back to Bellingham in almost complete silence. They stopped at a fast food joint for late refueling. Kyra finished her fishburger first, with Noel close behind.

At Kyra's they waited impatiently till 8:30
PM
when they couldn't stand waiting any longer. Kyra called Assounian. He told her:

Richard Trevelyan had regained consciousness and barring any setbacks would live; his wife's instant intervention had likely saved him with the kiss of life; she said his heart had stopped when she found him.

Stockman Jones was alive but it was too early to know the extent of the damage he had done to himself.

Bonnie O'Hara had corroborated her husband's story about his role in the Vasiliadis death, clarifying responsibility by underlining the fact that Haines was the primary perpetrator, Stockman having attempted to stop the administration of the second and third dose of morphine, her husband wanting only to calm Vasiliadis down and reduce his pain. She also corroborated the part Stockman claimed Lorna Albright played, again repeating what Stockman had told her.

Albright, with lawyer present—Melman couldn't act for her, he was Jones' lawyer—denied she was involved with the Vasiliadis death, but did admit she and Stockman had agreed to provide Haines with an alibi for his admitted killing of Richard Trevelyan. Why did they agree? They were afraid of Haines. He had previously threatened people with violence and was capable of killing either or both of them.

Haines, a lawyer at his side—Melman couldn't act for him either—denied he had killed or harmed anyone, and on the lawyer's advice refused to speak further.

Assounian had dispatched a Bellingham patrol car to inform Maria Vasiliadis that her son had been murdered, and that they had the alleged murderer or murderers in custody.

Kyra hung up. “We should tell all this to Chelsea. Before she hears about it on TV.”

“I'll call her.”

“Or wait till morning?”

“Now is better.” He found her number and picked up the phone.

And Kyra had better call Jerome.

A deeper voice than Noel remembered said, “Hello?”

“Hi. Chelsea? Noel Franklin. Reporting in.”

“Oh how are you? What's happening?”

“You were right to keep us on the case.” He told her about WISDOM's new medical transgendering procedures, how they'd failed with Sandro, and Jones' confession and attempted suicide.

Chelsea remained silent for a few seconds. “It must have been so awful for him. But I'm glad it wasn't Sandro who gave up.” Her voice caught in her throat. “They gave up on him.”

“Yes.”

“Will he be buried now?”

“I imagine so. You planning on coming?” The image of her at the funeral lifted his eyebrows. They said goodbye.

When he arrived back at the table, Kyra said, “Jerome invited us for supper Thursday evening.”

Noel could still make tomorrow morning's flight to Nanaimo. But he had a strong sense that Kyra wanted, maybe even needed, him there. “Okay.” Anyway, what was waiting for him at home? Two more days with Kyra, preferably quiet days, would be pleasant. And the plants on the balcony could take care of themselves. Or not.

“What did Chelsea say?”

“She seemed upset. We should have been there when we spoke to her.”

“Getting the story from TV would've been worse— Oh god!” She rubbed her brow. “Maria Vasiliadis.”

“Assounian said he sent someone to tell her.”

≈  ≈  ≈

Terry rattled around her house. They'd insisted she get some sleep. But she was still too wound up. In the dining room Richard's navy cardigan, flung off the other day, lay as it had draped. In the bathroom she smelled his aftershave, in the bedroom his tossed pajamas on the bed. Hairbrush and coins on the bureau, he'd pulled them from his pocket Sunday night, dropped a quarter, looked for it, didn't find—Three nights ago. His study, full of him. Thank heaven he'd opened his eyes and breathed, Hi. She'd never want anything more than that in her whole life. What if this hadn't been the outcome. She wouldn't think that. She had to go back to the hospital.

≈  ≈  ≈

Was eleven too late to call Chelsea back? She'd want to know the time and place of Sandro's funeral. Noel would phone in the morning once he had that information.

Maria Vasiliadis had very much appreciated Kyra's call. After speaking with Andrei she'd called Kyra back, to say the funeral was set, day after tomorrow, 2:00
PM.

≈  ≈  ≈

Bonnie watched as Stockman was wheeled from Emergency to Intensive Care. She paused to use the washroom. She checked the messages on her cellphone. Lorna. She called back. “It's Bonnie.”

“Oh Bonnie, it's so awful.”

“You can't know.” Condolences, and shock, and how could Stockman, and soon both women were in tears again. Till Bonnie heard the drift of Lorna's comments, trying to learn what Stock had told Bonnie; if anything. So Bonnie, less kindly, told Lorna.

“Bonnie, you have to believe me, I only concurred with the idea of sedation,” she responded weakly. “I didn't want Vasiliadis to die.”

“Your research, Lorna. The center of the universe, right? He had to die, didn't he? For—”
WISDOM
? She found she couldn't say the word. She closed her phone.

≈  ≈  ≈

Terry left the hospital again about 4:00
AM.
Richard was sleeping, sedated. She'd go to the lab and see to her kiddies. What an adolescent word for them. WISDOM and WIRED, all done. Bendwell shares would take a big hit.

Start looking after yourself, Paquette.

In the meantime, she had to look after the fish.

She opened the gate and drove in. No other cars. She parked, got out, closed the gate, unlocked the door, deactivated the alarm system.

In the lab she switched on the lights. The white mice squeaked; she represented food. The males were now female, but sterile. They'd be getting new females— Stupid thought. No more experiments. No more research, no more research.

≈  ≈  ≈

Lorna had tossed and turned all night, half expecting the doorbell to ring, State Patrol officers again, this time with a warrant. They'd been by around 8:00
PM.
They'd asked questions. They hadn't been rude. Just insistent. The only thing she'd learned from them that she hadn't already known, they'd asked if she had taken the Sandro Vasiliadis file. Of course not. So the file was missing. The police told her not to leave Coupeville. What a total mess—a collapsed card house, a toppled row of dominoes. At 6:33 by the backlit numbers on her clock she got up. She would comb through the WIRED records, try to construct a defense. Thank god she'd had an emergency meeting at Teeseborough House that night. She dressed, ate a cinnamon bun, and drove to the lab. She noted Terry's car in the parking lot. Maybe they could figure something out together.

≈  ≈  ≈

Terry heard the front door open and glanced toward the hall: Lorna. She felt an upwelling of rage, retreated to the caridean shrimp tank and stared into it. She hadn't thought much about Lorna during the night. Gary should have shot Lorna instead. Shit, even angrier than she'd realized. Not just their work, which was her life, but physical lives destroyed, and all because—

Lorna opened the inner door. “Hi. Didn't expect to find you here.”

“Well, I'm here.”

“I see. The Vasiliadis file is missing. Could Richard have taken it?”

Terry turned. Her rage welled. “My husband is barely alive. Bonnie's husband is in Intensive Care too. Your remaining partner is arrested for murder and attempted murder. You knew how Vasiliadis died. All you can think about is a missing file?”

Lorna, struck by the blast, backed up. “I knew they were going to sedate him—”

“You knew way more than that.”

“I didn't! The two of them—”

“The three of you agreed. Stock told Bonnie. And left it all on the tape recorder.” Terry crossed her arms, the heat of anger replaced by ice. “If you and Stock and Gary hadn't pushed so hard with the hormones, Richard wouldn't have been shot.”

“I had nothing to do with that!”

“Little by little, everything moved toward Gary shooting Richard.”

“You didn't try real hard to stop us moving to humans. Neither did Richard.”

“I objected, but I just run the lab, remember? I'm not a full team partner, remember? Richard objected, and you three overruled him.”

“It was a democratic decision. Like all—”

“Murder isn't democratic!” Terry felt her heart pounding, her face flushed. “If you hadn't killed Sandro none of this would have happened!”

“I didn't kill Sandro.” Quietly she added, “He was a failed experiment.”

Terry saw a pudgy woman in too-tight slacks and a thick Aran cardigan, lipsticked mouth twisted in desperation. Desperation only for herself. Lorna, once a close friend. Gone, all gone. “Lorna.” Her words were crystals of quartz. “Maybe you'll wiggle out of the murder charge. But you'll never practice medicine again. Get out of here. Leave! Leave!”

≈  ≈  ≈

Maria Vasiliadis spent the morning driving around the parts of Seattle that had once been central to her life—the old neighborhood, her parents' house, the homes of uncles and aunts; and the area around St. Demetrius where, on Sunday mornings long ago, she and her friends had walked and giggled and gossiped while escaping their parents still inside the church. Here, tomorrow, she'd see her son one last time. Then that too would end. At least he'd be properly buried.

She arrived at the Poseidon at precisely noon, as Andrei had requested on the phone last night. She joined him at a table by the window. Greetings and chat. They ordered. Family stories over the food. With coffee Andrei said, “Have you thought further?”

“All night. All morning. I've been here since ten.”

“And?”

“It's too late for me to come back.”

“For some things, it's never too late.”

“All right then, perhaps too soon. I haven't left Bellingham yet.”

“But Bellingham has left you.”

“I'm sorry?”

He touched her wrist with two fingers. “Kostas, Sandro.”

“But I am still there. And you see, Andrei, I am not here. There I have my house, and my life. I have no life here.”

“You have us.”

Andrei speaks with such certainty, she thought. Such a sense of: this is the way things are, they cannot be different. It drove Kostas from the old neighborhood. It made Sandro wait over thirty years to become himself. “Yes,” she said, “that's true.”

“I think you would be happier, Maria, if you came home.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“At any rate, please think of it much more. And seriously.”

“I will.” But she knew she wouldn't. At least not seriously.

≈  ≈  ≈

At ten
AM
Noel began writing his report to Chelsea. By eleven he knew it made little sense unless he preceded it by the work they did when Ursula had hired them. By noon clarity demanded that he move yet further back and include their investigation for Maria and Andrei. So the pleasant day he had hoped for with Kyra didn't begin until mid-afternoon.

At which time they took an agreeable walk along the sunny shore and refused to talk further about the Sandro Vasiliadis case. At one point Kyra said, “Jerome. What do you think?”

“Well, he's different from what you've told me about Vance and Simon. And hugely different from Sam.”

“Noel! I'm not thinking about marrying Jerome, for god's sake!”

“Well that's good.” Kyra's three previous marriages and their bad ends. “Then what are you asking? Jerome does seem to be a fine person.”

“Fine. Yes, I think so. I've never been with a fine person. Someone who was simply a nice man.”

“True. But would you want to be, some day?”