Chasing The Dead

Chapter Thirty-Two

Alex spent Monday morning staring out her office window trying to not to think about anything. Not after the weekend she’d had.

She didn’t want to think about the conversation she had with Judge West when he called her early Saturday. On her cell phone. Not on her burner phone, his indifference to leaving an electronic trail that tied them together another reminder that, as far as he was concerned, she was the one at risk in their relationship, not him. He listened as she told him what to say if Rossi and Wheeler showed up in his chambers, hanging up without comment when she finished, giving no indication whether he would back her up or throw her under the bus.

She didn’t want to think about the judge’s photograph of her kneeling over Dwayne Reed’s body. With everything else that had been happening, she’d had no time to deal with it, flashing on an image of Judge West handing it to Rossi, clenching her eyes until the image faded in an explosion of starbursts. Even if the photo was a fake, by the time she proved it, all anyone would remember would be that damning pose.

It was harder still not to think about the conversation she had when Bonnie called her after returning from the hospital and finding the note Alex had left for her. It was brief, but that hadn’t made it easy.

“Come home,” Bonnie said.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You read my note. You know why.”

“Don’t do this, Alex. Please. We’ll figure something out.”

“Remember the first time you took me to the ER? You showed me around, showed me all the crash carts and other equipment and introduced me to all the doctors and nurses and staff?”

“Of course I remember.”

“And there was that guy, the chief or head of the ER, what was his name?”

“Adelson. Barney Adelson.”

“Right. So you’re showing me all of that and bragging about what a great job the trauma unit does, and Dr. Adelson interrupts and says something that I’ve never forgotten. Do you remember what he said?”

Bonnie sighed. “Some things can’t be fixed.”

Desperate to find another way but certain there wasn’t, Alex cried, choking as she spoke.

“And this is one of them. I’m sorry. Good-bye.”

Alex had ignored Bonnie’s steady stream of texts and voice messages since then, and when her phone buzzed with yet another, she turned it off, stuffed it in her pants pocket, and resumed staring out the window.

A mountain of work was sitting on her desk, correspondence to answer, motions to respond to, drafts of pleadings to review, and research to read. She’d thought that plunging into work would get her focused on something productive, but she’d been wrong. The best she could do at the moment was to stare out the window, unfocused and unseeing.

Grace Canfield broke the spell, rapping her knuckles on Alex’s open door, a file folder in one hand.

“I’d say I was sorry for interrupting, but I’d be lying,” Grace said. “You think all that work is going to get done by itself?”

Alex swiveled her chair around and gave Grace a weak smile. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”

Grace shook her head. “Unh-uh. Look at you, all down in the mouth. What happened to Little Miss Piss and Vinegar from last Friday? You were all dolled up and ready for the ball and now you got your lip stuck out like your dog died.”

“My dog is fine.”

“But you aren’t. You and Bonnie have a fight?”

Alex leaned her head to one side, sighing. “You could say that. We broke up.”

Grace took one of the chairs in front of Alex’s desk. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. You two were so good together. Isn’t there something you can to do to patch things up?”

Alex shook her head. “No. It’s time to move on, and you’re right about the work.”

“Is that your way of telling me it’s none of my business and to butt out?”

“Yeah. I’d appreciate that.”

“You can appreciate it all you want, but I’ll tell you one last thing. I haven’t seen two people more in love or better suited to each other than you and Bonnie, and that’s something worth fighting for. I don’t care what happened between the two of you; it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“That’s actually two things, maybe three, but thanks. What’s up?”

Grace shoved the piles of paper on the desk out of the way, making room for the file she’d been carrying, then setting it in front of Alex.

“Here’s what I found on Joanie Sutherland. She’s been in the system since she was thirteen. She specialized in the Ps.”

“Possession and prostitution,” Alex said.

“You got it. She’s been in the county lockup half a dozen times but never gone away.”

“If she was a prostitute, that could help us on the rape charge. The coroner says he found genital trauma and Jared says their sex was consensual. So maybe Joanie had rough sex with one of her other johns earlier that evening. You think you can talk to some of the women who work Independence Avenue, maybe get a line on any of her johns?”

“My church is doing outreach to those girls. I’ll find out who to talk to.”

“Grace, you are too good for words. I don’t know another investigator who could turn her church into a source. What else did you find out about Joanie?”

“She was twenty-eight years old. Been to rehab a couple of times. Grew up in Northeast.”

“Where was she living?”

“She spent a lot of time on the street, but she stayed some with her sister, Bethany, in a mobile home park just off of Blue Ridge.”

“Where’s that?”

Grace opened the file and pointed to the address. “Pull it up on Google Maps.”

Alex punched in the address, hunching her shoulders and leaning toward the monitor as she zoomed in and out.

“How about that?”

“How about what?” Grace asked.

“The mobile home park is a little east from where her body was found, maybe a couple of miles,” she said, pointing to the map.

“So you’re thinking Joanie was familiar with the area?”

“Makes sense. I don’t think she met Jared on Match.com.” She scooted her chair away from the monitor. “What do we know about the sister?”

Grace turned to another page in the file. “Here’s a copy of her driver’s license. She’s had a couple of speeding tickets but nothing more than that. She works at the Clay County courthouse.”

“North of the river, huh. What’s she do up there?”

“Cleans.”

Alex picked up the copy of the driver’s license, studying the photograph. “This is a lousy picture, and the photocopy makes it worse, but. .”

“But what?”

“I may have run into her last Friday,” she said, telling Grace about the little girl in the creek and the woman driving the Impala.

“Well, now we’ve got an address, we can find out for sure. You want me to go see her?”

“No, I’ll go, but I want to talk to Jared first. It’s time he filled in some blanks for me.”