The Secret Friend

62

Tim Bryson's body lay on a steel table underneath a blue sheet spotted with blood.

Darby headed to the back of the autopsy suite. Cliff Watts, arms folded across his chest and face swollen from the stitched gash on his forehead, looked over the shoulder of Neil Joseph, who was hunched over one of the benches examining a clear, Ziplock bag smeared with blood. Lying next to the bag was a cell phone with a cracked screen.

'This was inside his jacket pocket,' Neil said to her, tapping his pen against the bag. It held Jennifer Sanders' driver's licence, hospital ID and credit cards. 'I understand you found a purse next to the remains.'

Darby nodded. 'It was empty,' she said.

'Bryson searched the hospital last weekend, right?'

'We split into teams. The basement is a maze.'

'Was Bryson with you?'

'No.'

Neil looked to Watts and said, 'How was the search organized?'

'Three people on each team – two cops and someone from Sinclair security,' Watts said. 'Danvers PD loaned us some people.'

'I talked with Bill Jordan. He said there are several ways to get inside the hospital. Bryson was well aware of them.'

'Meaning?'

'Maybe your partner went back for this evidence here and didn't get around to disposing of it.'

'Cut the shit, Neil, you know as well as I do Fletcher planted this bag before he tossed Tim off the roof.'

'I don't know that. The only thing I know is that this bag here was found inside Tim Bryson's jacket. Maybe there's some truth to what Bryson told Tina Sanders about that piece of missing evidence – what was it again, a belt?'

'You're taking sides with a psychopath?'

'No, Cliff, I'm trying to figure out why Fletcher tossed Bryson off the roof – in a public place, no less. I'm trying to figure out if your partner was dirty.' Neil straightened and looked Watts directly in the eye. 'You two worked together in Saugus, right?'

'I don't have to put up with this shit.' Watts stormed out of the room.

'Don't go too far,' Neil called after him. He caught the expression on Darby's face and said, 'Something you want to add?'

'I was thinking about a quote Fletcher told me, a line from George Bernard Shaw: "If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."'

'Well, it looks like the son of a bitch is going to get his wish. Bryson's all over the news. How long do you want to bet it will be until his conversation with Tina Sanders gets out? My guess is the end of the week.'

'A cassette was playing when I found the remains,' Darby said. 'If Bryson went back there and cleaned out her purse, why would he leave the cassette?'

'That's a good question. You got an answer for me?'

'Not yet, but if I were you, I'd shitcan the attitude.'

Darby left to change into scrubs. She ran cold water over her face until her skin was numb.

When she came back into the room with her equipment, ID was taking pictures. Tim Bryson's mangled, crushed body lay under the harsh autopsy light, still dressed in his bloody clothing. Bags were tied around his hands.

Neil walked up next to her and leaned against the counter. 'Tina Sanders still won't speak to us,' he said. 'You think Fletcher threatened her?'

'I don't know. My guess is she's in shock. All these years go by and then in the course of two days she not only discovers her daughter's remains, she's given the name of the man who killed her.'

'Have you spoken to Jonathan Hale recently?'

'Bryson and I went to talk to him on Saturday.'

'So you haven't talked to him since?'

'No. Why?'

'I took a look through Bryson's cell phone. Hale's name is listed on Bryson's call log. Hale called twice last night. Bryson got a voicemail, but I don't know his password so I can't unlock it. You mind if I speak to Hale?'

'Be my guest.'

ID finished the first round of pictures. Darby collected grit samples from underneath Bryson's fingernails. There were no marks on his palms; he hadn't fought off Fletcher. His right wrist was broken.

Collecting fibres and pieces of glass from the clothing, Darby spotted a bruised area on Bryson's neck.

'It looks like an injection site,' she told Neil. 'We'll have to wait until the tox screen comes back.'

Darby went to work cutting the clothing. She replayed her conversation with Tina Sanders, remembering the framed picture of the young girl she had seen on Bryson's desk.

I had one, my daughter, Emily, Bryson had told her that morning after visiting Jonathan Hale. She had this really rare form of leukaemia. We took her to every specialist under the sun. Seeing everything she went through, I would have sold my soul to the devil to spare her life. I know that sounds overly melodramatic, but it's the honest-to-God truth. You'll do anything for your kids. Anything in the world.

Was Bryson made so desperate by his fear and love for his daughter that he orchestrated a plan to throw away the key piece of evidence in a murder investigation in exchange for money he used in a final attempt to save his daughter's life?

Darby slipped into that private place where she carried her true feelings about people, the same part which demanded a fierce, almost childish fairness in all human transactions; that constantly fought to separate everyone and everything into clearly labelled categories of right and wrong, good and evil. What side did Bryson fall? Darby considered the question and was surprised, even slightly appalled, to feel a cold, grim satisfaction.

To wash it away, Darby thought of the framed picture of the young girl. She focused on Emily Bryson's smile to summon some measure of sympathy and still she felt empty.